Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N:I tried to keep the chapters even between all four characters, but there were several instances where I needed to repeat a character POV twice in a row to tell the story. This is one of those times.
D/S: "You also manage to get away with exaggeration like nobody I’ve read."--Hahahahaha! I never thought of that. Much like my alliteration issues, I'm not always aware I'm doing it.
"I like a stabby Snape."
--*Snort* You're not the only one.
"this felt like a really pivotal insight into his perception of his father."
--It is. But Draco and Lucius have some serious issues, so just because Draco thinks something doesn't necessarily mean it's true. (Although Draco is pretty perceptive in this story . . . he's also wounded.)
"I wonder if she can hold out for another 70 chapters? ;)"
--Bahahaha! I doubt she'll make it more than two.
7—Interlude
“I said, ‘Hey, what’s goin’ on?’”—4 Non-Blondes
(Hermione)
Work the next week was a madhouse. Hermione and her tiny team had the impossible task of not only investigating creature discrimination, but gathering all pertinent information for the Justice Department if their cases went to trial. It was more work than three people could handle, but Hermione was bound and determined not to let any creatures fall through the cracks. That usually meant working her fingers to the bone, staying late, begging for funds. Whatever it took, she’d do it.
But this week the universe had seen fit to bless her with a reprieve. Although she was frantic and flustered, Draco kept showing up and insisting she take a break for sanity’s sake. After the weekend’s confusing climax, she wasn’t sure how Draco would react come Monday morning, but she was delighted to find him just as eager as he’d been at the party.
Experiencing the full brilliance of Draco’s charms was like falling down Alice’s rabbit hole. She’d never seen anything like it. He was all flirty and chivalrous; and while she found being the center of his attention totally bizarre, it was also exciting . . . and beneficial to her mental health. The long list of “Everything That Could Go Wrong,” which she kept tacked up in her brain for safe keeping, was no match for Draco’s boyish grin. He’d spend the entire lunch hour playing footsie with her under the table and “accidentally” touching her hand; for fifty-five blissful minutes the only thing she was worried about was whether her knickers were sturdy enough to withstand the hour’s deluge. She suddenly understood why all the witches in the building had dubbed him the Ministry’s Most Eligible Bachelor. He switched on the smiles and—Bam!—you were Cinderella meeting her prince. What a high. No wonder he had a herd of women following him around like the Pied Piper of Pussy.
He never mentioned what had happened between them, and Hermione couldn’t get a read on his true intentions. Did he think she was part of his horny harem now? Did he think they were dating? Did he just want to be friends with benefits? He was being extraordinarily affectionate, which was odd but not unwelcome. When her goblin case was put to bed, she’d talk to him about what they’d done and find out what he was thinking; but for the time being, she couldn’t deal with any additional drama, so she just went with the flow.
On Friday, after hand-delivering the final evidence packet to the Justice Department, Hermione hurried back to her desk to pack up for the day. When she rounded the wall of her cubicle, she was shocked to find an origami lotus perched atop her blue blotter.
Smiling, she bent down to inspect the flower’s crisp creases and delicate details. It was exquisite, precise and professional. Incredibly intricate. Extending her finger, she brushed one inner petal—and jumped back as it sprang to life. Flicking and flipping in a flurry of unfurling, the parchment unfolded itself, dancing over the desk like a epileptic paper airplane.
When it was flat and still, Hermione hesitantly leaned in and peered at the ostentatious penmanship. Who on earth did she know with handwriting like that? The letter seemed to have worn itself out, and when she poked it, it remained immobile, so she picked it up for closer inspection.
Dear Miss Granger,
I would be honored to have you for dinner this evening at the Manor. I’ve had a special menu prepared in anticipation of your company—I hope you’re in the mood to eat with your hands. Afterward, if you’re so inclined, we can adjourn to the library and reminisce. It’s been far too quiet in there since your departure. Say you’ll come.
My mouth is already watering,
Lucius
Was he serious? That had to be the dirtiest dinner invitation ever sent. The whole thing was nothing but innuendo and double entendre. How inappropriate. She loved it.
It suddenly struck her that Lucius must have been debating the invite all week. He actually had been thinking about her . . . possibly whilst wanking . . . with her knickers. Stop it, Hermione! Don’t start that again . . . at least not here. Wait till we get home. If you start thinking about naked Lucius, you’re going to wind up letting your pussy RSVP for you, and you don’t want to do anything rash.
Yes. Be reasonable. Just because you want to sit on his face doesn’t mean you should have dinner with him.
Her brain was right, there were many reasons to decline. Lucius Malfoy was cold and intimidating—two qualities she usually avoided in a date. But while he’d been a menace in the past, he’d been nothing but silent and somber since his wife had died. She wasn’t afraid of him, but there was still that sliver of apprehension. The man had spent the majority of his life being a dangerous knobhead. Was it really a good idea to go back for more?
Her pussy brushed off her safety concerns and assured her that Draco would never allow anything horrible to happen; it then reminded her that the real threat wasn’t heart broken ex-Death Eaters but the people surrounding her at that very instant and the gossip they spread like a contagious disease. Her reputation would be ruined if anyone found out. But it wasn’t as if Lucius was going to report her exploits to the world; he had his own secrets to keep quiet. Of course she would never stoop so low as to expose someone’s private life, but Lucius didn’t need to know that.
So you’ve decided then? You’re just going to ignore his past so you can get laid?
Well, you’re a bit late, Colonel Conscience; I think I already hurdled that fence last weekend. And I didn’t hear you going on about his past when he was sliding his hand between my legs. Besides, you know he’s not like that anymore. He hasn’t made a peep since the final battle.
Even if he is different, that doesn’t mean you are. Is this who you are now, pursuing men with a history of violence? Forgiving his sins just so you can ride his cock?
It is a particularly nice cock.
I thought you were supposed to be the strong one, the moral one, the one who doesn’t throw caution to the wind? Where’s the warrior who never gives an inch? Where’s the girl who fought an entire army of evil and won?
She’s right here! I’m still fighting every single day. Don’t I ever get a fucking break? Don’t I get to be human? Am I supposed to play Princess Prude for the rest of my life to satisfy everyone else’s expectations? Who’s to say I can’t be strong and virtuous while satisfying my sexual needs? Those things are not mutually exclusive. And don’t you pull that holier-than-thou shit with me. I was there. I know what we were fighting for, and it wasn’t to shame my desires or brand Lucius Malfoy as untouchable.
And you saw the way he looked at me when I held his hand last weekend. Don’t tell me there was anything evil in those eyes.
I’m sure I’ve got nothing to worry about. And Draco will be there if I need backup.
Speaking of Draco, maybe she should hustle up to his office and ask if she could go home with him. One’s first orgy would be much less nerve-wracking if accompanied by a friend. The clock struck five, and Hermione jumped into action, spurred on by the realization that she’d have to run to catch him.
Grabbing her robes and bag, she dashed down the hall and just made the lift. When she got to Draco’s office, his elderly secretary, Jeanette, had already tied on her plastic rain bonnet and was just slipping into her cloak.
“Have I missed Draco?” Hermione asked, breathless from her jog through the halls.
Jeanette smiled and tucked her scarf into her collar. “Haven’t seen him since four.”
Hermione almost smacked herself in the head. Draco had a way of sneaking out early without ever getting caught. “Right. He said something about a meeting.”
Jeanette smirked, her wrinkled lips pulling taut. “Did he? Usually on Fridays he’s in a big hurry to get home and drink cocoa in the bath . . . although I suspect cocoa is code for wanking.”
Little old white-haired ladies should never say wanking; Hermione had almost burst her sinuses with the strength of her snort. “Yes . . . well . . . he’s never offered me any cocoa, so I can’t comment either way. I guess I’ll just see him later. Have a nice weekend, Jeanette.”
Waving goodbye, Hermione hurried off to catch the lift to the atrium. It was probably best that Draco had already gone; she should take a shower and change her clothes . . . maybe “have some cocoa” to take the edge off.
When she got to her little flat, which Draco had sarcastically coined her Cupboard, Crookshanks was meowing loudly and circling his empty food dish like a hungry shark. Hermione set down her things, and as she filled his bowl, she told him about Mr. Malfoy’s invitation and how she was going out that night. Crooks gave her a less-talk-more-food look, so she left him to his Kitty Kibble and went to take a shower.
Hermione tried to let the heat of the spray pound away her day, but she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to relax. Giving up on the hydro-therapy, she turned her attention to scrubbing herself raw. Her exfoliation routine had fallen by the wayside, and she figured she’d need to buff off a few layers to find some soft skin. Once she was clean, she debated the merits of a quick go with the shower-head. An orgasm would relax her . . . but she wanted to save up all her pleasure points for a bigger reward later that night. With a sigh of finality, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a charmed towel to keep warm while she went in search of some suitable attire.
She didn’t have that many clothes, so the decision wasn’t difficult. Most of her dresses were too work-centric for a datey dinner. She needed an outfit that said “Fuckmefuckmefuckme!” without making her look desperate—so showing up in nothing but a negligee and high heels was definitely out. Her grey sweater dress seemed promising, form-fitting yet conservative. Hermione held it up to herself in the mirror to see how it looked.
Nice. Classy but not matronly.
She laid it out on the bed and went to find some erection-inspiring lingerie. That was a much longer debate. She didn’t want Mr. Malfoy nicking any more of her knickers, but she wanted to entice. Her black push up bra would give her some decent cleavage; so that at least was an easy choice. She tossed it on the bed and continued to riffle through her underwear.
Black would match her bra . . . satin . . . lace . . . microfiber . . . Bah! Who could choose? That was when she found her old garter belt stuffed in the back of the drawer. She pulled it out with a wide smile. Very sexy. And tights would be far too clunky for a possible sexcapade; this was the perfect opportunity to wear something impractical. Where were those lacy-topped nude stocking she’d bought to go with it? Digging through her tights, she found them wrapped up in a pair of old pantyhose.
Pulling off her towel, she shimmed into the garter belt and checked herself in the mirror. Ooooo! You’re a naughty girl, Hermione Granger.
You know what’s even naughtier? No knickers. Panty problem solved.
Hermione burst into giggles. She’d always wanted to Basic Instinct one of her unsuspecting dates. And even if she didn’t whip out her kitty in the middle of dinner, it would be exciting to know she was bare beneath her conservative dress.
“You ready for some fun, Muffy?”
She spread her labia to make sure she wasn’t bedecked with towel fuzz.
All clear.
Hermione started to laugh at herself, a mad cackle of nervousness that rose up from the depths of her churning stomach and took on a life of its own. Oh marvelous! Of all the nights to lose her mind. What timing!
Pressing her hands into her belly to smash the butterflies that had erupted from her duodenum, she took a deep breath. Okay. No reason to panic. It’s just a date. A date with the Malfoys. You see Draco every day. Nothing to be nervous about. And Mr. Malfoy is just a man . . . not a chocolate-coated orgasm filled with rainbows and puppies. Just a man.
‘A man with a magically delicious dick,’ her pussy drawled.
She looked down. Why does my pussy voice sound like Mae West? She rubbed her forehead and told her brain to shut up. It was time to get ready, and here she was psyching herself out and arguing with her sarcastic snatch.
“You’ll just have to be mental later. I’m busy tonight.”
When she received no reply from any inanimate body parts, she assured herself she was quite sane and went on with her preparations—ignoring the growing tremor in her hands.
Hermione dressed quickly—refusing to dally, which would only increase the probability of panic—then headed to the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. The weather had left her mane looking like an electro-static science experiment, and she knew there was only one thing for it. Chignon.
Raking the brush through her curls, she detangled the poofy mass until it resembled a frizzy bale of hay, which did nothing to ease her mind concerning her supposed sanity. Deranged milkmaid wasn’t quite the look she was going for.
Never one to admit defeat so early in the game, Hermione cracked her knuckles and prepared for battle.
Gathering her magic clips, she twisted and smoothed her locks into a classy up-do, gnawing on her lower lip as she concentrated on her reflection. By the time she’d gotten it all arranged and magically pinned in place, her arms were trembling with exhaustion. But it does look good, she told herself, shaking out her shoulders and stretching her neck. Heaving a sigh of relief that it had all gone to plan, she went to work on her makeup, shading and highlighting her face for a polished presentation. She wanted to wow them; for some reason she felt as if she had something to prove.
Maybe she just needed to be sure she was still capable of attracting a man, that she wasn’t invisible to the opposite sex. The wizards at work either treated her like one of the guys or stared straight through her. Granted she didn’t always have the time to look like a superstar, but didn’t she at least deserve a passing glance? She wasn’t a troll for Merlin’s sake.
When she took a step back to check the full effect in the mirror, she was pleasantly surprised. Usually she came off as harried and frazzled, but tonight she looked calm and sophisticated.
Appearances can be deceiving, she thought, patting the remaining butterflies and blowing out a shaky exhale.
“Crooks, I’m leaving now,” she shouted as she shoved her wand in her evening clutch and stepped into her black heels. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Crookshanks was bathing himself on the sofa like a squashy little maharajah, but he stopped to give her an appraising once over as she passed. At least she’d caught the attention of one male that night.
Warding the door behind her, Hermione started down the road. It was an unseasonably warm night, and striding along the busy streets without the weight of her cloak left her giddy with the promise of Spring. Instead of savoring the propitious weather with a leisurely stroll, she quickened her step. If she dawdled, her thoughts would wander to some improbable problem, and she’d talk herself out of the whole thing. She couldn’t go back to her flat. Not alone. Not again. She needed this.
Ducking into the nearest Apparition-friendly alley, Hermione gripped her clutch and squeezed her eyes shut, spinning in a small circle until she folded into nothingness. When she reappeared at the Malfoy’s lavish front gate, she took a moment to catch her breath and calm her stuttering heart.
Just relax, Hermione. You’ve got this. Draco’s right—play it cool. Cool like Crookshanks. I am the queen of cool, calm cats. Standing taller, she nodded resolutely. Right. Here we go.
She called out the password, “Goblin Gold,” and the gate swung open with a grating groan of metal on metal.
Hermione started down the curving drive, keeping her eyes peeled for any aviary attack. Those white peacocks were creepy as hell. She couldn’t stand the way they followed her every move with their demonic eyes. And that sound they made was like something from a horror movie. Shuddering, she picked up the pace, hoping to avoid the birds.
When she got to the front door, she smoothed down her dress and patted her hair to make sure everything was as she’d left it; then she tugged the magicked bell pull and held her breath.
To her great relief, it was Draco who opened the door, but he looked positively puzzled by her presence.
“Granger? What are you doing here?”
“I invited her,” Lucius said as he descended the staircase behind Draco.
It dawned on Hermione that Lucius had intended for them to dine alone. His letter never once mentioned Draco, but her oversexed brain had turned a simple dinner into a Malfoy orgy. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.
Draco rapidly recovered from his shock and held open the door for her. “Come in. I didn’t know we were having company.” He cast an accusing look at his father.
Lucius was dressed nicely, if a bit casually, his crisp white shirt open at the collar. As soon as he saw her, his expression softened. “I didn’t know if you would accept my olive branch.”
Hermione swallowed down the ball of butterflies that had surged up her esophagus. I am the queen of cool, calm cats. “No olive branch was necessary. I . . . came because I was hungry, and I trusted I’d get my fill at your table.”
One corner of Lucius’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I think you just might. Please follow me,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the back hall. “I've already prepared the dining room for your arrival."
"Were you going to invite me?" Draco petulantly called after him.
"I suppose," Lucius drawled without looking back.
Draco rolled his eyes and put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, guiding her through the foyer. "Imagine, not inviting his own son," he muttered under his breath. "RUUuuude."
Hermione smiled and relaxed into the familiarity that was Draco, glad to have him by her side. While she was physically attracted to Mr. Malfoy, Draco had the distinct ability to put her at ease . . . even when her reserves of courage had run low.
Draco squeezed her arm and nodded at her to go ahead of him through the dining room’s sliding pocket door. Hermione stepped across the threshold—and froze. Snape was seated at the table, his black hole of a wardrobe sucking all the light from the room.
Oh.
Lucius hadn’t intended for it to be a private dinner at all.
"What's Up?" by 4 Non-Blondes. 1992. Written by Linda Perry (4NB's lead singer and main songwriter, who also wrote such hits as Aguilera's "Beautiful," and P!nk's "Get the Party Started"). In 2014 she married Sara Gilbert (Rosanne's Darlene, and co-host of the talk), and in 2015 she was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. (BTW, I think she kind of hates What's Up for being too overproduced, but I like it. Or maybe I just love her voice. Or maybe I just love singing "Haaaaaaay, haaaaaay!" at the top of my lungs. It also reminds me of middle school. Ah memories.)
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6NXnxTNIWkc
Interlude—a musical composition inserted between the parts of a longer composition . . . —Merriam Webster
Mae West, for those who don't know, was a famous actress/sex symbol in the 30's and 40's (although she was still working into the late 70's). A comedian and screenwriter, she's known for her bawdy one liners and comebacks. (She was the writer for a lot of the movies she starred in.) As a child she performed in vaudeville, and later on stage in NY. When she began to write plays and scripts, she encountered a lot of censorship (and was even sent to jail when one of her scripts was deemed too inappropriate.) She died of stroke complications the year I was born (1980).
Here's to inappropriate women everywhere <3
"A hard man is good to find."—Mae West
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