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The Gauntlet	By : BirdofFire Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 10159 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I am responsible for all that you have read and enjoyed in... Oh, wait, wrong disclaimer. Ahem. All rights for the creation of the Harry Potter series are property of JK Rowling. I do not make any profit from them or this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-I
- 2-II
- 3-III
- 4-IV
- 5-V
- 6-VI
- 7-VII
- 8-VIII
- 5
- 6
- 7
VI

“I only have ‘yes’ men around me. Who needs ‘no’ men?”

― Mae West

The house is dark and blistering cold; her breaths puff out before her, wisps of smoke further clouded by dust. Even in the dim light, she can see the rot and decay on the embroidered walls. Her hand brushes against one now, only for a clump of wallpaper to come off and fall onto the carpet, noiselessly.

A distinct, rancid smell burns her nostrils - the nauseating smell of burning flesh. Hermione walks faster now, her bare toes curling into themselves at the carpet that has become red floorboards.

Suddenly, a haunting shriek pierces through the house and Hermione’s heart stops. She walks faster.

The shrieking continues, pain echoing through its sound.

Faster.

The shrieks are pleas, now. Pleas to stop. Please stop.

Faster.

The floorboards are wet and Hermione looks down. Below, staining her feet, is a river of blood.

A haunting scream echoes around the corridor.

…

Hermione barely stopped her forehead from hitting the table. Her eyes felt like they’d been used to clean a beach pier, and she could fit half her worldly possessions in the bags under them. She was exhausted, drained from the nightmare that had kept her awake for the rest of the night. After her own choked screams had woken her up, the pillow muffling them so that Harry hadn’t heard, she had given up on sleep as a bad job (the whole Ernie thing certainly hadn’t helped either) and hidden from her demons in the kitchen.

This check-up, taking place a week after she had left St. Mungo’s for Grimmauld Place, had been going just great so far (note the sarcasm). Dr Besette’s incessant questions only served as an improvement (again, sarcasm), with the woman asking about anything and everything under the sun – even about things that Hermione, quite frankly, didn’t think concerned her.

Sensing her irritation, Pansy shot a sympathetic glance her way, her dark hair reflecting the harsh hospital lighting. But Hermione was already too far gone for it to be helpful.

“Have you resumed your usual sleeping pattern?” Dr Besette asked, shuffling through the pieces of parchment on her lap.

  “Define ‘usual sleeping pattern’.” Hermione knew what Dr Besette was talking about, but she refused to make it easier for her. If Hermione had to answer such a question, the good doctor was going to have to be embarrassingly specific.

  “Have you, Mr Krum and Mr Malfoy slept together since last week?” There was a light blush on the doctor’s cheeks and Hermione felt a grim satisfaction bubbling underneath the mortification.

“No, we haven’t.”

“And you haven’t moved back in with them?”

“No.”

  “Have you met with them both in a casual setting?”

A pause. “Malfoy showed up at my office, yesterday.”

Dr Besette laid down her quill and removed her horn-rimmed glasses, eyeing Hermione tiredly. “Miss Granger, there is little we can do to help you if you don’t try to resume your usual routine as best as you can.”

“We’re working on a project together, Malfoy and I,” Hermione volunteered, but the doctor didn’t look impressed.

“That’s not good enough, Miss Granger. The parts of your memory that are missing centre on Mr Krum and Mr Malfoy. In order to regain those memories, you are going to have to resume your previous routine: eat where you used to eat, sleep where – and with whom – you used to sleep, live where you used to live.”

“It’s a little difficult, Doctor.” Pansy jumped in. “She and Malfoy used to have a… complicated relationship.” Hermione shot a warning glance at her friend. The last thing she wanted was for her business to become public knowledge, but Pansy didn’t seem to notice, gazing innocently at the bespectacled, robe-clad woman before them.

  “We know next to nothing about your unique condition, Miss Granger,” Dr Besette explained, dark eyes worried. “There hasn’t been an incident with this curse since records began and we are flying blind, here. Since its purpose was to simulate the effects of Imperio, we have no idea why you have been affected in this way. For all we know, you could never regain those memories at all or, even worse, you could regress, losing every memory you have. All we can do is tell you to move back into your former home and resume your old life.” Heart sinking, Hermione nodded. She could regress? She was already having trouble with losing the comparatively few memories she had. What would happen if she could no longer remember anything else? If she couldn’t even recognise her own face?

Seeing that Hermione was visibly shaken, Dr Besette sought to comfort her. “Even though you’ve told me that your condition hasn’t improved, it doesn’t seem that it has worsened, either, so there is no need to be alarmed just yet. But you should definitely think about moving back in with your boy-,” at Hermione’s look of censure, she cut herself off, “ex-boyfriends.”

…

“What a remarkable coincidence, Hermione,” Malfoy drawled as Hermione stepped into the lift. “I was just coming up to see you.” Too annoyed by recent discoveries, Hermione didn’t have the energy to think up a clever rejoinder.

“Malfoy, always a pleasure.”

“So I’ve been told.” Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever met someone as arrogant as Malfoy, even on his most humble day. And this was one of the men she had been shagging on a regular basis?

Dear God.

The lift’s rapid movement sent that annoying swooshing feeling straight to Hermione’s thankfully empty stomach. She could feel Malfoy’s gaze boring into the back of her head but she refused to satisfy him by acknowledging it. The already musty air was even heavier with silence, filled with Hermione’s doubts and Malfoy’s smugness. It’s not that she was actually considering moving in with him and Viktor, oh no. But the fact that St. Mungo’s had no idea what was wrong with her - that scared her a little. It also made her a little more open to spending some time with them. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

The lift dinged to her floor.

“I brought you a present.” Malfoy stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit jacket. He was all in grey, today, with a white shirt and slate-coloured tie.

“What?” Hermione frowned at him. But his gaze had turned to the opening doors. There, clad in navy-blue robes, was Viktor.

“Hermione.” Viktor’s smile was even brighter than the charmed sunlight streaming in through the windows (a modification Hermione had insisted on when she had joined the Finance department, claiming that it improved morale if workers could see the outside world, even if it weren’t actually ‘real’ due to them being hundreds of metres underground).

“Viktor, what are you doing here?” Hermione gasped as Malfoy effectively pushed her out of the lift. She brushed away his hands even as her eyes took in the tall and dark Bulgarian standing before her.

  “I come from practice. Ve have lunch,” he said simply, dark eyes raking over her slender form. Malfoy, appearing unfazed by Hermione’s earlier brush-off, stood silently by, watching.

  “But Malfoy and I were just about to-”

  “We’ll do that later, Hermione,” Malfoy butted in, hands still in his pockets.

  “Is not like vork is going anywhere, mila.” Viktor was firm. “And knowing you, you haff not eaten, yet.” Hermione’s stomach was grumbling at her and she had promised herself to spend more time with them. But the potential for awkwardness was so great…

  “Come, Hermione.” Viktor stepped forward, a small smirk quirking his full lips. “I know great place for fish and chips.” Hermione narrowed her eyes. He had always known her weakness for the moreish delight, damn him to hell.

  “Fine.”

…

  “See, mila.” Viktor spooned tartar sauce over his breadcrumb-coated haddock. “Is good to get out of stuffy office.” Hermione glanced up from her full plate loaded with thick-cut chips and flaky cod to see Viktor smiling winsomely at her and Malfoy eyeing her carefully, his own plate untouched.

  “It is,” Hermione conceded. “Thank you.” Viktor nodded.

  “Ve have not had lunch together in too long, Hermione,” Viktor said quietly. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say. Up until last June (and, she assumed, even more recently than that), it had been common practice for she and Viktor to eat lunch together, meeting up at least thrice a week to try out various restaurants and eateries. As of last March, Malfoy had begun to join them, suggesting other places that the two hadn’t even heard of, often taking them to different spots all over Europe.

If Hermione were being completely honest, having enjoyed their company (Malfoy’s more bregrudgingly), she had been missing their get-togethers. Viktor was one of the few people who could drag her away from her desk for a meal.

  “Do we still do this, then?” Hermione asked. If she were the one asking questions, she’d be less likely to be asked questions – particularly about where she had been before she’d met Malfoy in the lift. Her St Mungo’s check-up was off limits, as far as Hermione was concerned.

She watched as the two men visibly reacted to the first question she had asked about their life together, exchanging quick glances.

  “Of course,” Viktor answered, forking some fish into his mouth. “Is tradition.”

  “Along with other, more entertaining activities,” Draco murmured, grey eyes darkening and a smirk twisting his lips. A searing heat flooded Hermione’s cheeks but she chose to ignore his innuendo-laden comment. Viktor sent a warning glance his way but Malfoy didn’t seem apologetic in the least.

Hermione considered herself lucky that the other diners didn’t seem to have heard a thing.

The Bay, a popular seafood restaurant that had apparently opened up back in April, was bustling with customers there for the lunch-hour rush, despite it being well past two o’clock. Viktor had apparated all three of them there almost half an hour ago, claiming that it served the best fish and chips in London. And, after having devoured almost half her stuffed plate in less than ten minutes, Hermione had to agree with him.

She and Viktor returned to eating for a moment, Hermione’s cheeks still heated from the blush that had coloured them a deep red. God, Malfoy could be so crass.

  “What did Macmillan want?” At Malfoy’s question, Hermione briefly stopped chewing. Ernie’s visit was one of the last things she wanted to think about.

  “His sister, Ortentia, works in my department. He was looking for her,” Hermione explained, focussing on chewing and swallowing normally and hoping that that would bring an end to the conversation. But Malfoy wasn’t satisfied.

  “So, he’s back in the country, then?” Hermione looked up to find that Malfoy’s silver eyes were fixed steadily on her, demanding answers.

  “For the next week or so, yes.” Finally, Malfoy seemed satisfied, leaning back against the leather-backed bench. He and Viktor were seated side-by-side, Hermione across the table from them. His plate was still untouched and Hermione remembered that Malfoy detested fried food, claiming that it ‘insulted his palate to consume such lesser produce’. Hermione frowned at that as the three fell back into silence. She continued cutting, chewing and swallowing the delicious fare, even as her suspicions from last night’s encounter with the former Hufflepuff crept back into her mind. Hermione tried to push them aside, focus on finishing her food and getting back to the office where work would provide a welcome distraction, but, eventually, they became too much.

  “I cheated on him, didn’t I?” A pin could have shattered the balloon of silence at their table and none of them would have noticed. Viktor looked distinctly uneasy, while Malfoy scowled down into his plate.

  “Define ‘cheated’.”

  “Malfoy.” Hermione’s tone was one of warning. Now was not the time for his games.

  “Only technically,” he allowed.

  “What other way is there?” Hermione was despairing. Her heart sank as her suspicions were confirmed. She had cheated on Ernie Macmillan, one of the quintessential ‘good guys’. God, her morals had really gone to hell over the last year, hadn’t they?

“Hermione, there vere other circumstances,” Viktor explained gently, dark eyes soft. “You alone not to blame. Macmillan not innocent in all this.” But Hermione was well past the point of no return, self-recrimination settling down right next to Guilt, who had set up its own bed last night.

“I always swore that I would never do something like that.” Hermione sounded choked. “No matter how bad things got, no matter how tempted I was, I would never betray someone like that.”

“Hermione-”

“Oh, don’t worry, Malfoy, I don’t blame you two,” Hermione continued, mouth full of half-chewed food. “This was my fault. I am the one who should have kept my legs closed.”

Viktor coughed on his mouthful of chips.

“And what about Penelope?” Hermione asked, looking up now. Both Viktor and Malfoy were silent, watching her carefully. “Did you – did we-”

“That is complicated, also,” Viktor answered quietly, eyes sincere. Malfoy leaned forward, his elbows now on the table (Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what his parents would think about that).

“Don’t judge yourself without knowing the full story, Hermione,” Malfoy told her, oddly gently. But that did little to ease Hermione’s concerns.

“But-”

  “Trust us, mila,” Viktor took up. “There vas good reason for vhat ve did.”

“Tell me, then.” At Hermione’s demand, Viktor and Malfoy exchanged glances, seeming to have a full conversation without saying a word. After a moment, they turned back to her, looking oddly determined.

   “Sure,” Malfoy said, in a manner so bright that it should have set off Hermione’s warning signals. But she was too concentrated on finally getting some answers to the questions that had haunted her exile to the kitchen earlier that morning.

“Okay, so-”

“After you move back in with us.” Hermione’s mouth gaped open as Malfoy smirked at her in a manner so smug, it deserved its own tuxedo. Viktor grinned cheekily as he popped a chip into his mouth, shaking some more salt over the few still on his plate.

“Excuse me?” She was disbelieving.

“Move in vith us, get answer. Is simple.” Hermione’s mouth remained open at the sheer nerve of the two men.

“I will most certainly not be moving back in with you,” Hermione stated implicitly, her voice raised. The pair at the next table glanced over, but, for once, Hermione didn’t notice, so flabbergasted was she at the sudden turn of events.

“Then you will never know.” Malfoy leaned back against the bench once more, eyes glinting mischievously. Eyes narrowed, Hermione watched as Viktor continued to enjoy his meal, complete with noises of enjoyment – exaggerated, she was sure. How dare they pull something like this? Clearly she had been wrong last night in thinking Malfoy (and, by association, Viktor) knew her, because they seemed to think that they were going to get away with this.

Oh, how misguided of them.

“You are going to tell me,” she informed them firmly, giving them the Look that had gotten her her way time and time again over the years.

  “Sure. Ve vill come by for bags tomorrow.” Viktor finished his chips with a flourish and returned to his fish.

  “Over your dead bodies, Viktor.”

“Then you von’t get answer and you vill stew,” Viktor stated matter-of-factly. “You are Hermione Gran-ger. Is vhat you do.” Irritated both at the way they didn’t appear ruffled in the slightest at her Look and the fact that he was annoyingly right (Hermione would probably spend the next day or so ‘stewing’ over the entire situation), Hermione huffed and sat back. For the first time since she’d woken in the hospital almost two weeks ago, Malfoy’s eyes lit up with laughter, mouth quirking up in something other than a smirk.

“And don’t bother asking Potluck and the Wet Nurse because they don’t know a thing.” Hermione glared at them both for a moment, contemplating her next move. But stubborn is as stubborn does…

“I’m not moving back in.”

“Then ‘stew’.”

Annoyed beyond all belief now, Hermione watched as Viktor polished off both his plate and Malfoy’s as the blond man beside him watched her the entire time, a smirk once again firmly in place.

…

Hanging around with Malfoy had made Viktor decidedly Slytherin, Hermione decided as she hung up her pencil skirt in her wardrobe that night. Sure, she had never been able to boss Viktor around (him being just as stubborn as she was, if not even more so), but she had been able to convince him round to her way of thinking when the occasion called for it. Of course that was back before Malfoy came into the picture, showing up in Britain just a few days after Viktor did and disrupting years of friendship.

The Golden Years, as Hermione would now refer to them.

She had gone to them, cap-in-hand, desperate for information about her own life and they had used it as an opportunity to blackmail her? She could have quite cheerfully throttled them both. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought that they’d known what Dr Besette had told her that morning. But there wasn’t any way they could have, not unless…

Pansy.

Hermione slammed her oak wardrobe doors shut in anger. Damn Parkinson to Hell.

The rest of the day hadn’t gone much better. Annoyed with both men, Hermione had told Malfoy in no uncertain terms to return to his office and complete what he could there – alone; they would reconvene tomorrow. With a sweeping bow (that Hermione was sure was done mockingly), he had followed her instructions, heading back to his office in Mayfair while Viktor had returned to Dorset, where a Puddlemere United training session awaited.

No one had been more surprised than Hermione when Viktor had transferred from the Vratsa Vultures to Puddlemere United in March 2003. Having given up on the world-renowned seeker as a lost cause back in 2000, the team were ecstatic to have him and, under his captaincy, had gone on to win both the League and European cup. Hermione had just been happy to have her friend back in the country, despite his now constant companion, a certain, annoying blond-haired man.

Though, at this present time, Hermione would have quite happily packed both of them back to Bulgaria, friendship be damned. Pansy could go, too, as she definitely wouldn’t be missed.

Exhausted from the day’s events, Hermione flopped onto her bed, clad in a white t-shirt that she had commandeered from Harry’s wardrobe (the white men’s shirt that she had apparently worn to bed up until her accident was no longer an option, for obvious reasons). It was almost ten o’clock and she’d only just gotten back from the Ministry, her work keeping her there until just half an hour ago. Okay, so work and her desire to keep herself as busy as possible. Despite Malfoy and Viktor’s assurances that there was a genuine explanation for her scandalous, treacherous ways, the guilt still ate away at her. She couldn’t get Ernie’s hurt eyes out of her mind; they had earmarked the corner of every piece of parchment like sun-glare.

And to think Viktor and Malfoy wouldn’t help ease that guilt, even though they were they only ones who could. ‘What the Hell were you thinking shacking up with those two, Past Hermione?’ she asked herself through mentally gritted teeth.

At least she had the promise of a good night’s sleep to comfort her. She knew from past experience that, despite her stressful and annoying day, the nightmare wouldn’t be back tonight. It only paid a visit every few months or so.

Very different to the nightly visits it had paid her in the months following the war.

Fatigue, beguiling and seductive as the Dance of the Seven Veils, crept over her limbs, weighing them down. Despite the fact that she had yet to crawl under the covers, Hermione let her eyes drift closed.

She’d just rest for a minute. Yep, just a minute. Then she’d get up and ….

Get up and…

….

“Nova Scotia?” Hermione asks, reeling in disbelief. “You want me to move with you to Nova Scotia?”

“It’s a great place, Hermione,” Ernie explains defensively. “You could easily transfer to the Canadian Ministry and it’s a good place to raise kids.” Hermione holds up a hand to halt his flow, laughter burbling up in her throat. Surely he’s joking.

“Kids? I’m only 24, Ernie. I’m not interested in having kids right now and I’m certainly not interested in transferring to the Canadian Ministry - not after all the hard work I’ve put into my department.” Frustrated, Ernie rises from the table, picking up his only half-empty plate.

“There’s no reason why you can’t work your magic over in Canada, too, Hermione.” Hermione lets an involuntary laugh escape her.

“I don’t want to, Ernie. How can you just spring something like this on me?” Ernie turns back, plate still in hand. The twelve-seat dining table that he insisted on buying for the kitchen is immense between them, almost as solid as the tension quickly filling the room.

“I was only told about this today-”

“And you want me to make a decision by when exactly?” Hermione stands from her seat, irritation firing up her nerves. She gathers her plates noisily, the china clinking together.

“A few weeks, maybe more.” Hermione snorts in irritation as Ernie rushes on, “This is such a great opportunity, Hermione.”

“Great for you, maybe.” Hermione walks over to the sink, almost throwing her plates into it. “What about me?”

“You can come with me.” Ernie is almost pleading but Hermione isn’t interested.

“How could you agree to something like this without even telling me?” Hermione shakes her head in disbelief. “Not even an owl, a quick note – nothing.” Ernie moves to stand beside her, arms circling around her slender form, but Hermione steps away, moving back to the table to pack up all the paraphernalia Ernie insists they drag out every time they eat.

Paraphernalia she always ends up being the one to clean.

“I thought you’d be happy for me. You’re always talking about how much I deserve a promotion. This is it.”

“Well, excuse me for thinking that that promotion would be to somewhere within a thousand-mile radius,” Hermione answers bitingly, shoving one last asparagus spear into her mouth and chewing furiously.

“Hermione-”

“No, Ernie. You should have asked me before you accepted it. We just moved in together; we’re supposed to make these decisions as a team.” Ernie plunged his dishes into the soapy water, droplets staining his blue shirt.

“You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.”

“You’re asking me to leave my entire life behind to come with you to some godforsaken country, just so you can satisfy your thankless bosses,” Hermione spat, anger welling up inside her like droplets of blood from an untended wound.

“No, I’m asking you to give us a chance to make a fresh start. Somewhere that isn’t tainted by his ghost-”

“Do not bring him into this. What about my friends, my family-”

“Well, it’s not as if you really have a family.” At Ernie’s thoughtless words, Hermione freezes.

“What?” Her tongue lies heavy in her mouth. Ernie already looks as if he regrets his unnecessarily harsh words.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione cuts him off, returning to cleaning the congealed sauce out of its boat.

“But-”

“Leave it.” This time, even Hermione is surprised by the bitterness in her tone. She and Ernie stare at each other, the air heavy with all that has been said. All that has gone unsaid.

...

Gasping, Hermione sat up and banged her forehead against the pine headboard. She moaned in pain, made even worse by the sharp stab the dream had sent through her head.

No, not a dream, she realised. A memory.

Well, wasn’t that a kick in the head?

A little later than promised but here, nevertheless. At over 4,000 words, it’s also even longer than last week’s instalment (this is the vein we shall be continuing on in).

Well, we have some interaction between Hermione, Draco and Viktor for the first time since I and I hope it lived up to expectations.

Let me know what you think. You might not believe this, but your reviews and feedback inspire me, so thank you so much to all who send them. I love you all dearly.

Anyway, I’m also working on a fic for the ‘Hermione Smut’ challenge over on LJ and it’s going really well. It hasn’t affected my work on TG at all, so don’t worry about that.

If anyone wants to friend me over on LJ, my username is ‘Tha_Phoenix’ over there (just add the livejournal . com and head on over).

Till next week,

TBOF.
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