Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 6
- 7
- 8
VII

“When you've suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling”

― Yann Martel

“Crap!” Irritated, Hermione grabbed her wand and cast a quick Evanesco on her spilt coffee. Having already failed to make a cup successfully three times (salt rather than sugar in the first, the second had been too watery, and the third was left to cool for too long and ended up stone cold), she had been nigh ecstatic to have finally made one that was drinkable, and now this. It was enough to make a girl want to retreat back to the warm comfort of her bed.

Too bad that, lately, sleep hadn’t been an option for her.

After waking up from that dream, Hermione had spent the night in fitful sleep, returning to consciousness seemingly every few minutes. She’d finally given up on it as a bad job, choosing instead to spend the rest of the night finishing up her notes for next week’s meeting. It was just a shame that they were the only productive thing to have been done over the last few hours, especially as she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what seemed like weeks.

Shivering, Hermione tapped her wand twice on the coffee maker, turning it on for the fifth time. At this early hour, the kitchen was like an ice locker, the cold of the paved stone floor making her toes turn into themselves for protection. The timed warming charms weren’t due to kick in until 8am, which was over an hour from now, and Hermione didn’t want to risk messing them up by casting one now. So, she’d just have to freeze.

Hermione hopped up onto the marble countertop, waiting for the coffee-maker to finish its work. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about her dream. On one hand, she was glad that she’d finally remembered something, while on the other, the memory itself left her a little sickened. A few days ago, she’d been able to remember as far as Ernie’s plea for her to join him in Nova Scotia, but no more. It had been almost as if her memory was a torn piece of paper, her ability to recall greater parts of some events than others like its jagged edges, and to have another piece suddenly glued back on – well, it was startling to say the least.

Hours after, her head still pounded.

She also couldn’t ignore the strong possibility that her lunch with both Viktor and Malfoy had probably sparked the return of that particular memory; one that she was sure was connected to their affair. As irritated as she was with them, it was clear that Dr Besette had been right: spending time with them was indeed the key to regaining her memories.

What Ernie had said had her most surprised, though. She had never known that he could be so - cruel, especially when he knew how badly saying something like that would have hurt her.

Still hurt her, because she had effectively been hearing his words for the first time.

Not that his saying that would have been sufficient excuse for her to cheat on him, because Hermione was dead sure that she wouldn’t have taken it as that.

But then again, had you asked her last June if she would have considered dating either Viktor or Malfoy, her answer would have been a definitive ‘Hell no’.

A plume of steam from the coffee-maker brought Hermione back round to the present, and she hopped off the counter and poured herself her fifth mug. From now on, she told herself, she was only going to concentrate on one issue at a time. Ernie’s being in London for the next week, probably showing up at her workplace every now and then to meet his sister, couldn’t be allowed to get to her. So she was back in the frame of mind she had been when they had dated over a year ago. So she’d been reminded of one of the points of contention in their relationship. So she’d have to spend even more time with Viktor and Malfoy now that it was clear that doing so was working. Hermione was more than capable of making it through the rest of the week, she was sure.

Nodding firmly, Hermione took a large gulp of her steaming coffee. Her tongue recoiled in protest, but she barely felt the burn (sleep deprivation was good for one thing, it turned out). She was going to go to work, work with Malfoy and keep her cool. Over her cold dead body would she show him just how annoyed she was with him and Viktor over their refusal to tell her the story of their affair. In turn, she wouldn’t tell them that she’d remembered something, and, yes, she was aware of how childish she was being. She just didn’t care.

If she had survived a year on the run being pursued by a megalomaniac, then she could definitely survive this.

…

“Malfoy, I swear to God, if you change that proposal one more time-”

“Don’t be so hard-headed, Hermione. It’s better and you know it.”

“How is it better? Because you say so?”

“Well, I was going to list several different reasons, but that alone seems good enough; so, yes, because I say so.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in anger, dangerously close to losing it. Malfoy, on the other hand, appeared the picture of relaxation, leaning back in his leather wheelie chair, mouth twitching in barely withheld amusement.

“You know, Malfoy, I could kill you and no one would miss you,” she hissed, nails digging painfully into her palms.

   “Plenty of people would note my absence, Hermione, yourself included.”

   “I sincerely doubt that.”

   “You might not know why just yet,” Malfoy continued, grey eyes boring into her. “But you would.” Taken aback, Hermione paused, unable to break away from his steely gaze. He sounded so sure, especially as she couldn’t remember him in that way.

   “Be that as it may, stop changing the damn proposal.” Hermione reached across and tapped her wand on the parchment, the words transforming themselves into their original form. “It’s fine as it is.” Clearly unconvinced, Malfoy crossed his right foot over his left, the embodiment of aristocratic disdain. When she turned back to the parchment in front of her, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Malfoy tap his wand twice on the table and the words scramble themselves once again.

Hermione was dangerously close to strangling a certain blond.

The two had been working together for just over four hours and already Hermione needed a break. Hermione had known the day would be one for the history books when, after barely having set foot through the door, Malfoy had smirked at her in the most irritating fashion, instantly setting her nerves on edge.

“Changed your mind about moving back in, Hermione?” he had asked, hands tucked in the jacket pockets of his black-on-black suit. Hermione’s eyes had narrowed, annoyed that he and Viktor had clearly assumed that she would kotow so quickly to their frankly unreasonable demands.

“No.” A curt reply. Malfoy had shrugged then, appearing even less bothered about the whole affair than he had at yesterday’s lunch.

“Okay.” He had strutted into her office, then, whistling blithely, while Hermione had traipsed behind him, irritation already setting in.

From there, things had only gotten worse. After initially working in her office, she had demanded that they switch to the conference room, loudly informing Malfoy (to the amusement of her entire department) that the 40m² space was too small to contain his ginormous ego and even larger head. Rather than sniping at her, though, Malfoy had thrown his head back and cackled, obediently following her to the conference room.

That was when Hermione’s fists had first clenched.

Over the next two hours, Malfoy had proceeded to shoot down almost all her ideas, outlining just why they wouldn’t work in practice, and doing it all with a superior smirk on his face and amused grey eyes. What was even more irritating was that Malfoy was actually right, but Hermione would rather bathe in Bubotuber Pus than admit it aloud.

Hence the gritted teeth. So hard had she been grinding them that Hermione was sure white dust would fly out of her mouth if she were to brush her teeth right at that very moment.

“Malfoy,” Hermione barked, eyes still on the parchment before her; one that would be right at the front of the proposal and needed her urgent attention. But Malfoy didn’t make a move to change it back, instead folding his arms behind his head.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry, Kitten,” he drawled, voice laced with a smirk. Startled, Hermione glanced up, eyes wide, to see Malfoy gazing back at her with a dark, knowing look in his eyes. Suddenly uncomfortable, a peculiar heat rushed to her cheeks and her heart gave a hard thud against her ribcage. She knew he’d said that just to get a rise out of her, but it was still hard to resist giving him what he wanted.

Pet names? Really? And one so familiar and, frankly, sexual as ‘Kitten’?

“Don’t call me that,” she answered as firmly as she could through a suddenly dry throat. A reminder of their previous extremely intimate relationship was the last thing Hermione wanted right then, though Malfoy didn’t seem to care about that whatsoever. Satisfaction seemed to gleam in his eyes as he reclined even further back in his chair, his smirk almost catlike. Determine to ignore his penetrating gaze, Hermione looked back down at her work, not even commenting on the fact that Malfoy hadn’t written a single thing in almost half an hour. Her cheeks were still uncomfortably warm, but she refused to acknowledge it. Apparently amused by this, Malfoy tilted his head, eyeing her with interest.

“For someone who claims not to remember anything, you sure seem affected, Hermione.” Her name was practically purred, grating its way along her nerves.

“Screw you, Malfoy.” A laugh was the only response she got.

To her annoyance, five minutes later, the proposal had yet to be changed back.

…

Picking through her chicken Caesar salad, Pansy relished the fact that at least she’d had her first good night’s sleep in over a fortnight. For the first time since Hermione left St. Mungo’s, neither Draco nor Viktor had shown up to her apartment, discreetly seeking comfort from the only person who’d be willing to give it. As sorry as she’d felt for them, Pansy couldn’t afford to slack off at work. Her boss already hated her enough as it was, she didn’t need to give Stinson another excuse to fire her – one she was sure he was just itching to have.

Once again, her past mistakes coming back to haunt her.

As Ortentia Boot and her giggling cronies walked past her table for the seventh time, Pansy didn’t have to look up to know exactly what they were discussing. No doubt she was eating the wrong thing or sitting in the wrong place; unlike Mr Stinson, they didn’t need an excuse to try and make her life a living Hell.

‘Try’ being the keyword, here. After surviving seven years in the snake pit that was the previously esteemed House of Salazar, Pansy was made of tougher stuff.

Didn’t make it any easier, though.

Where is Hermione, Pansy wondered. The two had made arrangements to eat lunch together, despite the fact that Hermione was still mad over Pansy’s keeping Potter’s little secret about Yaxley. After over a week of keeping the former Gryffindor Princess in the dark over Yaxley’s incarceration and the curse he had used on her, Potter had finally buckled under pressure (typical Gryffindor, Pansy scoffed) and told his best friend all about it. She, Weasley and the dark-haired idiot had only just managed to convince Hermione that tracking the fuckwit down and making him pay wasn’t the best idea (despite their own feelings to the contrary); that she should let her two best friends handle things and not bury herself in research when she already had such a busy work schedule. Hermione had eventually promised to allow them to do their thing, but Pansy didn’t hold out much hope that it would keep for the long-term.

Hermione wasn’t exactly known for sitting back and letting others do her dirty work.

Around her, the deli continued to bustle with customers, all eager to get their hands on one of the award-winning salads available at the counter. Hermione and Pansy had first bumped into each other here over four years ago, the former bookworm so engrossed in her work that she’d barely even noticed. Barely three years out of the war then, Pansy could now admit that she had been on the defence, hissing a nasty comment in Hermione’s direction – not that she had been paid any attention. The former Gryffindor had simply kept walking, tray perfectly balanced at the end of her wand, nose still buried in pieces of parchment.

It had taken a joint project with the Wizengamot (where, against the oft-expressed wishes of the general public, Pansy worked as a law official) and the Department of Finance for the two women to become friends. Hermione had seen through Pansy’s harsh exterior, glimpsing the hurt and apologetic woman behind it, and the former Slytherin had – after several false starts – accepted that Hermione actually wanted to befriend her.

Had been one of the very few to have wanted to do so since the War had ended.

And four years later, here we are, Pansy pondered, glancing up to see Hermione and a strutting Draco making their way towards her table now. The former Prince of Slytherin might be one of her best friends, but Hermione was also one of her closest; Viktor, too, had come to have a particular place in her heart (though she’d be damned if she’d admit it). The two men aside, no one wanted to see the three back together more than Pansy did. Up until recently, they had been almost deliriously happy and, though Hermione was incapable of knowing it, Pansy could see that the trio’s breakup had already had an effect on the brunette.

It still didn’t mean that she wanted her home to become a glorified bed and breakfast, though, Pansy mentally scoffed.

“I don’t even know why I bother working with you, Malfoy.” Hermione slammed her tote bag onto the wooden table, making Pansy’s half-full glass of pumpkin juice tremble dangerously.

“Maybe it’s because I’m just as good as you and you know it.” Malfoy sank elegantly onto the bench across from Pansy, throwing his cloak over its leather back. Hermione, halfway to sitting, herself, swung round to face him, clearly annoyed, and Pansy watched as the two proceeded to bicker with one another. Being friends with the two, Pansy could see what an outsider would be unable to: while Hermione clearly meant every angry word she was saying, Draco was being playful, grey eyes dancing and a small smirk twitching his lips.

Finally, fed up, Hermione stormed off to the counter, purse in hand, and Pansy turned back to the blond before her, only to see something that made her heart stutter painfully. In place of the amused, playful man that had inhabited the bench just moments before, was a haggard individual with dull eyes and drawn expression. Draco was staring at Hermione’s retreating back with hopelessness in his eyes; his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had whitened.

Instinctively, Pansy reached out to grasp his hand, seeking to comfort. Draco didn’t even glance over, so engrossed was he in the brunette who was now laughing with a worker behind the counter. A faint smile crossed his lips at that, though it only saddened Pansy even more. It spoke of a broken heart – one that he (and Viktor) had been working so hard to keep hidden.

At that moment, Pansy knew she couldn’t just sit by and allow this to continue. She had to do something.

“Draco,” she murmured. The silver-haired man finally looked over at her, and Pansy gasped at the face stark with despair. She almost opened her mouth to say something acknowledging his expression, but his gaze turned into a glare, warning her against it. “She’ll come around.” Pansy changed her words at the last minute, but if anything, Draco looked even more annoyed.

“I’m not a child that you have to comfort with empty platitudes, Pansy,” he spat, eyes firing back to life. Despite the fact that it was clearly in anger, Pansy was grateful for it, nonetheless. Not that she’d let him know that. If there was anything Draco hated, it was pity.

“I know that, Draco,” Pansy replied, sharply. “But I can see better than anyone what a toll this is taking on you and Viktor.”

“And you think you can do anything to help us?” Draco laughed humourlessly, pulling his hand out of her grasp. “Just leave it.”

“You seemed to think I could help you when you were spending every night at my house.” Pansy was blunt, though she immediately regretted it when Draco’s eyes deadened once more. She glanced over at the counter, making sure that Hermione was still engrossed in choosing her and Draco’s meals, before continuing, “Look, right now, she trusts me a hell of a lot more than she trusts you. Just go with me on this.”

“Go with you on what?”

“Give me a minute and you’ll see.” Draco’s lips pursed in irritation, but he finally nodded an agreement, glancing back up as Hermione started to make her way back towards them, as if helpless not to. If Pansy hadn’t felt as sorry for him as she did, she would have let out a loud snigger. Draco was lucky they were friends, she decided.

“Here you go, Malfoy.” Hermione placed a platter laden with seafood and rice before the silver-haired man. “Puppies’ lungs and children’s souls, just like you asked.” Pansy looked back over at Draco to find that his mask was back in place, an eyebrow raised in apparent amusement. As he snarked back, she laughed under her breath in wonder. Sad though the circumstances were, there was no denying that she was in the presence of a true master.

Hermione plopped herself into the seat besides Pansy, completely missing Draco’s lips pursing for a moment, before returning to their previously-smirking form. Seeing this, Pansy knew that what she was about to do was the right thing. Almost twitching with excitement (it had been over a week since she had manipulated – sorry, brought round a situation to her liking, and she was well past due), she turned to Hermione, salad now forgotten.

“Molly told me to invite you over for Sunday lunch,” she told Hermione blithely. “She said that it’s been too long since you last came and she hasn’t had a chance to see you since you left St. Mungo’s.” Pansy watched as Hermione did that shifting thing on the bench that she always did before insisting that she had too much work to even consider spending an hour or so away from her desk. That shifting thing that she had done almost every week until last September.

Strengthened by this, Pansy paid Hermione no mind, cutting in before the brunette could even get a word out.

“She said to remind you that you haven’t been to a lunch in over a month and Teddy is starting to miss you.” At the mention of her honorary nephew, Hermione grew visibly uncomfortable, eyes darting around the table, but Pansy had never backed down from using emotional blackmail before and she didn’t intend to start now. It was always so effective.

“Fine.” Hermione gave in gracelessly, starting to pick through her salad with a pout. Excellent. Now it was time for the finishing touch…

“Oh, and she said that you and Viktor are invited too, Draco,” Pansy added innocently, now munching away merrily on some sprouts. Hermione almost spat out her chicken but neither Pansy nor Draco paid her any mind, the only sign that the latter had even heard her being a small smile gracing his lips. The brunette glared accusingly at Pansy but the former Slytherin gazed with wide-eyed innocence around the restaurant, and Hermione soon gave up, choosing to menacingly eye her salad instead.

Draco threw an admiring glance Pansy’s way (well, as admiring as he was capable of) and she couldn’t prevent a devious smile from crossing her lips. Pansy had a plan.

By the time Sunday lunch was over, Hermione would have packed her bags and moved back in with Draco and Viktor, or she wasn’t a Parkinson.

Yes, I know it’s two weeks late and I sincerely apologise. What with uni starting back up, I had to pack and move all the way back, leaving very little time to write. Not to worry, though. Now that I’m settled in and classes have started, I’ve set aside time every Sunday to write and edit, and chapters will be up either every Sunday or every Wednesday.

This chapter can be thought of as filler, if you like, though there is some character and plot development in here. The speed will pick up slightly from here on and we’ll start to see POVs from Draco and Viktor as well.

We’ve got quite a few events coming up, several previously unmentioned characters to be introduced and I’m thinking this could be in the 30-chapter region because I have so much more ground that I want to cover.

Anyway, let me know what you think. Your reviews are what kept me inspired over the last few weeks and I truly appreciate each and every one.

Till next week (or maybe even this Sunday),

TBOF.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Gauntlet