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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.

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54—Forte
“I want to thank you.”—Natalie Merchant
(Lucius) 
Potter and Weasley both reached for their wands as Lucius approached, their expressions clouding with suspicion, but Hermione’s face lit up like the sun, a glint of pleasure sparkling in her brown eyes.
Lucius chose to disregard his guests’ defensive posturing, but just to highlight their rudeness, he bowed to them in greeting, his manners overly polite. “Pardon me for eavesdropping, but it seemed like the appropriate time to interject.”
Snickering at his effusive welcome, Hermione shook her head. “Did you say something about a middleman?”
“I did indeed. But where to begin . . .?” He smiled slyly, already knowing exactly where to begin. “Do you recall the day we went out and, while shopping, you spurned my attempt to present you with a token of my affection?” He popped one eyebrow in a suggestive arch, making it clear which gift he meant.
Hermione bobbed her head in a laughing nod. “I do.” 
“After I recovered from your stern and rather harrowing rebuke, I spent some time thinking about what you’d said, about what things are important to you—which inevitably led to a mental inventory of your most enthusiastic endeavors. And that gave me an idea. Since you were so adamant about me not spending my money on you, I made some inquiries at Gringotts last week and, once I’d convinced them I hadn’t lost my mind, they agreed to help me set up a charity in your name.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly.
“I had intended to wait until the paperwork was finalized before telling you; but now that your days are free, I thought, perhaps, you could run the charity yourself. If you’d rather not, I mean, if you have another job you’d prefer, I can hire a trustee to oversee the fund’s distribution—all at your behest, of course.”
Potter and Weasley turned to each other, undisguised astonishment reflected in their bulging eyes. Even Draco appeared visibly floored.
Hermione was the only one who didn’t react. Her face hadn't moved a millimeter, and he wondered if she’d gone into shock. 
But then her mouth opened a fraction of an inch, and in a breathless whisper, she confirmed her coherence with one question, “My own charity?”
Reverently, he nodded to her authority. “All your own.”
“I can help anyone I please? No restrictions?”
“It’s all entirely at your discretion. I know you’re capable of finding the most worthy candidates.”
Hermione stared at him a few seconds longer, her gaze fixed and lifeless, and then quite unexpectedly, she burst into tears. Slapping both hands over her face, she hid the downpour, but the sobbing proved too loud to conceal. Lucius and Draco both went for her at the same time—Draco bundling her in a protective hug while Lucius dropped to one knee, his hands running over hers, stroking her face and fingers.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Hermione threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him to the ground. “Thank you, Lucius,” she choked out. “This is so much better than any stupid necklace or clothes.”
Draco smiled at him over her head, and for the first time in a long time, Lucius thought he saw pride in his son’s eyes. Pride in his father. He’d forgotten that look—and what it felt like to be the cause of it. His heart expanded several centimeters, just enough for him to fit that feeling inside so he didn’t forget again. 
“This is cutting out the middleman,” Hermione blubbered into his shoulder. “I have so many ideas. When can I start?”
“How about next Monday? We’ll go in and sign the papers over the weekend. You can start planning in the meantime. I know how much you enjoy the organizational phase.”
“Is there enough money to hire someone to help me?”
“Did you have someone in mind?”
“Florence from work?”
“Yes, of course; that sounds fine.”
“How much money is it, Lucius? How many creatures can I help?”
He didn’t want to scare her with the number, and he didn’t want Potter and Weasley to hear how much he had to spare. “Let’s just say I invested the money you wouldn't let me spend on you, and it did extremely well. I don’t think you’re going to want for funds. Ever.”
“Oh gods, this means so much to me, Lucius. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
"You're welcome, love.” He couldn’t resist kissing her tangled head. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes. Very much. I can’t believe you did all this for me.” And with that, her weeping resumed, but at a much lighter pace.
“Well, I say this calls for a celebration,” Draco proclaimed. “Join us in a toast, you two?”
When no reply was forthcoming, Lucius looked over his shoulder to see what had happened to their guests, only to find the boys staring at him, doing their best large-mouth bass impersonations. Smirking at their horrified confusion, he gave Draco a nod, and his son bounded off toward the drinks cabinet.
Lucius took Draco’s vacated seat and pulled Hermione to his chest. Cradling her close, he breathed in deeply so the aroma of honey and vanilla suffused his senses in her warmth. Massaging the nape of her neck, right at her scalp, he took her back to the memory of their bath, and just as he’d hoped, she relaxed against him.
That’s it, love. I’ve got you. Everything’s all right now.
Actually, it was more than all right. It was transcendent. And possibly vital. Something about imparting that gift felt imperative to his wellbeing, as if his body had been programmed to find fulfillment in benefaction. It made him wonder if Hermione had been right about him. Was he really a generous man beneath all the avarice and pretension?
Or had she made the act of giving irresistible?
Where once he would have laughed at the thought of wasting money on a charity, now he felt only relief and contentment. As if it were Christmas and he’d found the most perfect gift for the most perfect witch.
Except Hermione was the gift. So instead of the hollow dread that usually accompanied the loss of a large sum, Lucius felt richer than he ever had in his entire life. Kissing her springy crown, he silently thanked her for keeping him on her payroll.
Hermione turned her head toward the boys and patted his chest. “See what I mean? Different.”
Ron’s eyebrows shot up, and the muscles around Harry’s mouth jumped with suppressed amusement.
Potter pushed his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes, but then he nodded as if he were coming to terms with what he’d just witnessed. “I’m not entirely convinced, but I’m certainly not going to rain on your parade.”
Hermione beamed, her wet face blossoming with hope. “I’m not asking you to love him too; I was just aiming for resigned acknowledgment.”
Harry adjusted his glasses and peered at her with a slight squint. “One pleasant visit isn’t enough to convince me of anything. But people can change, and I seriously doubt you’d stay with a man who mistreated you, so . . . for the time being . . . I can grudgingly accept it.”
Ron scrubbed his face with both palms. “This is really disturbing to see in person, but I’m with Harry—I don’t like your choice in men, but I still love you. We just want you to be safe.”
Hermione exploded in a fresh wave of tears and staggered off the couch, running at them like a wailing banshee. Worry flashed across their faces, but their concern quickly turned to horror when she flung herself at them, her arms tight around their necks.
They both patted her arms in a gesture of friendship and reassurance—then patted harder so she’d let them breathe.
“Okay, Hermione,” Ron rasped. “You’re choking me!”
She held on a second longer, kissing them both on the cheek before letting go and rising to her feet. “I really don’t care what anyone else thinks, but you two are my best friends. I want you to at least like the men I love.”
Harry rubbed at the pink mark ringing his throat. “We’ll see about that; I don’t think I’m ready for like just yet. But . . . how about if I come out in favor of your new charity. With the ‘Chosen One’ endorsing it, it's bound to be a success. Maybe you can even get some volunteers or something.”
Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’d really do that?”
“‘Course I would.”
“Me too, ‘Mione,” Ron said, stretching his neck to the side and gingerly touching it as if searching for a flesh wound. “We’ll hit ‘em with the whole set. All that Golden Trio malarky’s gotta be good for something. The reporters’ll eat this up. Celebrities and charities make for great press. Please tell me you’re not going to call this one SPEW or anything, though. I can’t let you do that to yourself again.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. I’ll have to think of something a bit more inclusive—maybe not so unintentionally vomity.”
Draco draped his arm around her, a glass of champagne in his hand. “How about Draco’s Do-gooder? Catchy, huh?”
She snorted and affectionately clasped his hand as she took the glass. “How about something less Draco-centric?”
“The Munificent Malfoy Fund?”
Grinning, Hermione rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Nice try.”
“I’ve just been calling it the Hermione Granger Fund,” Lucius told her. “But The HG Foundation would sound nice.”
As they brainstormed possible names, Draco passed around the rest of the champagne, and with the change in mood, Hermione’s tears began to dry.
Taking his place at her side, Lucius offered his silent support, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Gently, he tugged on her hair, and when she smiled up at him, he lowered his mouth for a quick kiss. But instead of meeting his lips, she grabbed him by the shirtfront and tucked her face into his neck.
“I love you, Lucius,” she whispered, her warm breath sending a prickly line of gooseflesh down his spine. “So so so much. And don’t you dare think I’m saying that because you just gave me a truckload of Galleons. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you—when we were alone—but I just can’t hold it in any more. Please don’t worry about saying it back. We’ll deal with all that later. I just need you to know my heart’s about to explode with how much I love you right now.” Her voice broke. “And how much I loved you yesterday. And how much I’ll love you tomorrow. And every day after that.”
She kissed the corner of his mouth and let him go, her eyes wet, but her smile radiant.
Malfoy’s heart zipped through his chest as his stomach rolled left and right, a rock tumbler of butterflies raging in his belly, which left him feeling both giddy and airsick—the same way he used to feel with Narcissa. Gods, how he’d missed that rush! The rush of being loved by a woman, of being exactly what she needed. 
Of being hers.
"I wish Severus were here," she said. “I feel wrong when one of you is missing. Is he down in his lab?”
Snape slinked around the corner like a cat burglar’s shadow. “No, I’m right here.”
Hermione’s eyes sparked with joy. “Come get a glass and drink with us. Have you heard the good news?”
“I have,” Severus said smoothly.
Draco handed him a glass and tapped it with his own. “To Hermione’s new venture—Draco Malfoy Humanities Incorporated.”
Hermione pinched him in playful exasperation. “NO.”
“Fine, fine.” Draco said with a nod of deference. Smiling, he met her eye and raised his glass, but when he spoke, his voice was soft and serious, “To generous partners and the most kind-hearted witch I know, Phoenix Fire Charities, where every creature is spoken for.”
Stunned, they all stared at him in shock.
“What, too wordy?” he quipped.
“Not at all,” Hermione said. “I quite liked it. Where’d you come up with that?”
“My incredible brain.”
“I like it too,” Harry said, ignoring Draco’s alleged brain. “That’s the best one so far.”
“I’ll toast to that.” Hermione raised her glass. “To Phoenix Fire Charities.”
They all clinked glasses and echoed the toast, “To Phoenix Fire Charities.”
Harry and Ron hesitated before imbibing, eyeing the pink liquid as if it might be poison. When everyone else drank and suffered no ill effects, they both shrugged and downed the contents with a grimace of trepidation.
Lucius rolled his eyes. As if he’d poison a perfectly good bottle of Van Pétillant.
Les philistins.
Forte—loud; strong
“Kind and Generous” by Natalie Merchant. Written by Natalie Merchant and released in 1998.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LR6PV-Irv7s
BTW, Lucius is calling the boys philistines at the end there :)
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