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Cardinality	By : Andafaith Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 35123 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor various characters or plots from the world within. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. See full disclaimer below.

Chapter List
- 1-Troika
- 2-Triplicity
- 1
- 2
Author’s Note: This is quite possibly the smuttiest fic I’ve ever started writing, which will be filled with all sorts of kinks and goodness because I just feel like writing shameless gratuitous sex sometimes. Also, I popped my moderate slash-writing cherry with this. I hope you enjoy!

Full Warnings/Kinks: Threesome, M/F, M/M, F/M/M, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bi, Dominance/Submission, Fetish, Dom/Domme, Fingering, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Face/Throat Fucking, Face Sitting, Dirty Talk, Sloppy Seconds, Agrexophilia, Frottage, Bondage, Blindfolding, Spanking, Slapping, Caning, Marks, Marathon Sex, Oversensitive Sex, Tease and Denial, Experimentation, a bit of first-time Domme experience, unusual power exchange, a spot of Humiliation, and perhaps a touch of Voyeurism, depending on what you consider voyeurism. WIP, because there will be more. No plot. Not even a lick of one. This list will be updated as each chapter is added.

Full Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Inspiration for this fic, taken from Chapter 12, Silver and Opals (pp. 243-244 in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince [U.S. edition]):

“Harry, that’s three of my little suppers you’ve missed now!” said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. “It won’t do, m’boy, I’m determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they’re really —”

“So why don’t you come along, Harry?” demanded Slughorn.

“Well, I’ve had Quidditch practice, Professor,” said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.

“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all this hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can’t possibly want to practice in this weather. …”

“I can’t, Professor, I’ve got — er — an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”

“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “Ah, well… you can’t evade me forever, Harry!”

And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.

“I can’t believe you’ve wriggled out of another one,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “They’re not that bad, you know… They’re even quite fun sometimes…”

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

Cardinality

(One and One and One)

Troika

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

The nerves in Hermione’s stomach were fluttering uneasily as she took a seat around a large circular table in Slughorn’s office. Slughorn himself, Pyrus Cresswell, the Carrow twins, Melinda Bobbin, Marcus Belby, Virginia Bagnold, Blaise Zabini, and Cormac McLaggen were all spread evenly amongst it. Although she knew all of their names, there were only two people who were familiar – if only via proximity rather than direct association: McLaggen and Zabini.

Silently, she cursed Harry for scheduling Quidditch practice at this exact time on this exact date. She knew he disliked the idea of the Slug Club but, if he had any decency as her friend, he wouldn’t have left her alone in this, taking Ginny with him. If either of them were there, she wouldn’t have felt nervous at all.

Her only current solace was that the appetisers were good. The puff pastry crumbled and melted in her mouth, mixing deliciously with the spinach filling on the inside.

Sitting next to her was, of course, McLaggen, who was speaking. He was boastful as always, going on and on about playing Quidditch with Ludo Bagman and Vasily Dimitrov. The mention of Vasily made her think of Viktor – the two were best mates and shared a flat in Bulgaria. Amid eating another cheesy puff pastry-d appetiser, she heard Viktor’s name and a question being directed at her.

“You dated Krum, didn’t you?” McLaggen asked, looking down at her and raising a curious eyebrow.

“Erm – yeah.” Hermione nodded, reaching for her goblet of Butterbeer; nothing was served out of its original container and even the cutlery was dripping with opulence.

Slughorn, naturally, capitalized on her admission. “How wonderful! Are you still seeing Viktor Krum then?”

She set her goblet back down onto the table and picked up her jewel encrusted dinner fork. “No, but we write each other occasionally. He’s always very busy, especially during the season.” Unlike McLaggen, she wasn’t going to endlessly talk about it and name-drop left and right.

However, Slughorn just had to go into a story of how he once had an affair with the captain of the Falmouth Falcons in his youth. During the long-winded soliloquy, Blaise Zabini – who was seated across from her – stared at her oddly and she started to wonder if she had food on her face.

Hermione took another sip of her Butterbeer and tried to discreetly check her reflection using the back of a spoon, spotting nothing. She pulled the cloth napkin from her lap to wipe around her lips anyway, just in case. Zabini’s gaze was a bit unnerving.

“…I heard your mother does a lot of travelling there!” Slughorn interrupted Zabini’s staring, for which Hermione was thankful.

“Spain? Of course, she’s Antonio’s muse,” Zabini answered dutifully, straight and to the point.

Hermione’s brows furrowed. How in the world did they get on the topic of Spain?

With a gleeful glint, Slughorn’s eyes grew wide. “That wouldn’t be Antonio Cerdas – the famous artist?”

When Zabini nodded, Slughorn had a field day, sparking random conversation after random conversation. She had to hand it to old Sluggy – he had a strange way of being able to start at one end of the table with a conversation and end at the other side, somehow involving everyone. The topics flowed from one into the next, person to person. It was a bit like watching an orchestra under the conductor’s baton. Hermione felt a bit like the harp at the back while McLaggen was the soloist’s violin.

With Slughorn’s direction, it was easy to spot the self-important people. The professor obsessively doted upon them. Virginia Bagnold, a fourth year Hufflepuff, was another self-important braggart; her grandmother was the once Minister of Magic and was mentioned at every chance. Melinda Bobbin told them every detail about her own potions experiments in her father’s lab. They owned a large chain of apothecaries so that was to be expected.

Yet, the lack of boasting on Zabini’s part was surprising – Hermione had expected him to be far more arrogant when brought into the spotlight; but, if anything, he was the absolute definition of aloof. And, Merlin, he was staring at her again. Did she have spinach stuck in her teeth?

Then she realized she was asked another question and she looked up at Slughorn, trying to remember what it was. Oh, yes, what did her parents do for a living? She had completely lost track of the conversation once Bagnold started speaking.

“They’re dentists. It’s a bit like a Healer that specializes in fixing teeth, which is rather hard to do without magic,” Hermione said, fiddling with the napkin in her lap.

“That must be fascinating,” Slughorn replied, pouring himself another goblet full of mead. “How is it that they fix teeth then?”

“With drills and various tools,” she answered, but then she remembered that they would have no idea what a drill was, which prompted her to further explain, “Drills are little devices that have a metal tip that spins very fast. It can make holes and chip away hard materials like bone and hard plaque. When you get a cavity, you go in to the dentist and they drill into the decayed area to scrape it all away. This leaves a big hole so – afterward – they fill it up and it’s as good as new.”

“Sounds like torture,” Zabini drawled from across the table.

“It’s not that bad,” she countered, turning toward him. “They numb it first before doing it so you can’t feel it much.”

A smirk pulled at Zabini’s lips. “‘Much’ being the operative word.”

His quip caused a laugh to spread around the table and Slughorn utilized the topic of Healers to ask Pyrus Cresswell about his aunt, who wrote a series of books on magical healing. Under the table, she felt McLaggen’s knee bump against hers and she could have sworn that he was farther away from her when the dinner party started.

Crossing her legs, she scooted over on her seat and focused on the main course, which was a scrumptious mushroom quiche with a side of delicately spiced heritco verts. The accompanying wine-based sauce was swirled artfully across the silver plate and served not only as a part of the meal, but also an artistic garnish.

“Beautiful,” Hermione heard McLaggen mutter and glanced over to see him running a bite of his quiche through the intricately swirled sauce.

“Yes, it is,” she replied back, under her breath. “I almost hate to ruin it.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see McLaggen’s sly smile. “I was referring to you, but I suppose the sauce is delicious too.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. She should have seen it coming, the way he sidled up to her slowly – without her notice – moving everything toward her, including himself. Why McLaggen had recently taken a liking to her, she had no idea.

“Aren’t you supposed to be over there?” she softly asked. “Closer to Melinda?”

“Nah. I’d rather be right here,” he responded quietly, not disturbing the conversation that Slughorn was now having with Pyrus Cresswell and Hestia Carrow. “Melinda doesn’t smell nearly as good as you do, Granger.”

McLaggen inhaled deeply through his nose and Hermione glared at him, shifting as far away as she could on the seat of her chair. Zabini’s eyes bored into her from across the table and she chanced a glance up at him. One of his perfectly manicured brows rose and his lips curled in amusement.

Great, now they had an audience.

McLaggen’s fingers brushed along the side of her thigh, over her skirt, in a way that could’ve probably been confused as an accident, but Hermione knew better and smacked his hand away. Her other hand was using her fork to viciously stab at her quiche.

“I always knew you’d be feisty,” McLaggen commented, licking up the leftover sauce on the tines of his fork.

Next Slug Club meeting, she vowed that she was going to make sure she didn’t get a seat next to McLaggen.

Hermione pursed her lips, spearing a few plump, green hericot verts. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“Because you’re embarrassed to admit it?” McLaggen swiped his finger across the swirled pattern of sauce on his plate and languidly sucked it off, staring across the table toward Zabini.

Bravo. He found the audience.

“No. Because it doesn’t deserve a response,” she scathingly hissed, her eyes narrowed. “And you’re being very inappropriate.”

“Your hair gets a bit wild when you’re angry.” She felt McLaggen tug at a bushy lock of it behind her back. “I like that. It’s sexy.”

“Would you please stop accosting me? I’m trying to enjoy my dinner,” Hermione said through her teeth.

And Zabini was still watching them with his dark, unfathomable eyes; his elbow was resting on the top of the table and his fingers were curled along the side of his impeccably sculpted face.

She was going to blame this on Harry. It was all his fault that this was happening.

“Come on, Granger,” McLaggen said in a coaxing manner. “You can’t hate me that much.”

“Keep touching me and you’ll be reduced to loathing on my ‘hate meter’ any second now.” She took another bite of her quiche and downed it with Butterbeer.

McLaggen chuckled faintly. “I think I’m making Zabini jealous,” he said, placing his palm on her knee under the table and stroking her skin with his fingers.

“I really doubt that.” When she pinched the back of his hand hard, McLaggen quickly removed it. “He’s amused by the new entertainment.”

“No, he’s jealous – he fancies you, you know.”

Hermione turned her head to glare at him doubtfully. “That’s preposterous. We’ve barely ever spoken to each other.”

“You don’t need to speak to someone to find them attractive, Granger. We’ve only exchanged a few sentences in the past and look at where we are now.”

“Yes, with you molesting me under the table.” She stabbed her fork at her heritco verts. “You’re lucky that I’m too polite to hex you at the moment – I know some very fitting spells.”

That only made McLaggen’s grin widen. “You should meet with us after Slughorn lets us out.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed and she paused mid-bite, almost dropping her fork. “What?”

“Me and Zabini,” he elaborated and she itched to correct his grammar, but refrained because the subject matter was too bloody perplexing to process. “There’s an abandoned classroom not far from here – room seven-oh-two.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would I do that?”

“You know you want to,” McLaggen replied lowly. “That, and you want to hex me, which I’ll fully allow if you show up. I’m sure Zabini’ll know how to counter it; he’s almost as much of a book snogger as you are.”

Hermione glanced over at Zabini, who was looking incredibly innocent – too innocent. “Calling me a ‘book snogger’ is not a way to get into my good graces, McLaggen,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

“Call me Cormac,” he said, topping off his goblet of Butterbeer. “I’ve always wanted to hear that name on your lips.”

‘Presumptuous arrogant bastard’ was more likely.

Hermione exhaled sharply, retorting, “In your dreams.”

“Heard it enough in those – reality is far more satisfying.”

Grinding her teeth together in annoyance, she sucked in a deep calming breath through her nose. “You know Marietta Edgecomb?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject and recovering from her irritation with a devious smile.

McLaggen nodded, the centre of his forehead creasing in confusion.

“I was the one who permanently hexed the word ‘SNEAK’ onto her forehead and, if you don’t want that to happen to you – possibly with the word ‘BASTARD’ – I suggest that you shut up,” she threatened quietly, feeling very pleased with herself.

“Anything you want, Granger,” he replied, holding up his hands in defeat and moving away from her a few inches.

It allowed her some personal breathing space, at last. And bloody Zabini was still staring, but he looked intrigued now. She wondered if he did an amplification spell on his hearing to eavesdrop on their conversation, because it seemed as if he had, judging by his expression.

She knew for certain when Zabini’s smirk broadened and he winked at her before averting his gaze, jumping into Professor Slughorn’s discussion about Graff’s Phase Theory of Potions Development.

Hermione had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t having some extremely bizarre dream.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

Curiosity tended to kill the cat, but chance favoured the prepared mind.

Now, where was room seven-hundred-and-two…?

Hermione clutched her wand tightly in her hand and stalked through the corridors, her modest court shoes clicking lightly against the stone floors. Various hexes and curses flew about her brain – she still wasn’t sure which one she’d use first when the time came.

Six-ninety-eight, six-ninety-nine–

Around the corner and three doors down, she found her destination and she paused outside the entrance. The door was ajar, but only by a millimeter – enough to push it open easily but not enough to see anything behind it. She dithered in front of it, unsure.

There wasn’t a sound coming from the inside – if anything, it was too silent, and the air had the weighty feel of a silencing charm if she concentrated hard enough. McLaggen was most likely in there already, probably waiting to spring his trap for her because, honestly? McLaggen and Zabini? They didn’t seem very familiar. Even if Zabini winked at her, it was incredibly unlikely that he was a part of this.

Making sure her wand was at the ready, Hermione pushed the door open and her brows rose and her jaw dropped.

Every expectation she had completely flew out the window.

Oh, Zabini was there alright.

The dark Slytherin boy had McLaggen bowed backwards and pinned down to an ancient teacher’s desk by his wrists. Their cloaks laid forgotten at their feet and their shirts were unbuttoned, their ties just barely hanging on to their necks. His tall, lithe figure was pressed up against McLaggen’s equally tall, but stalwart physique, their dark and light skin tones contrasting.

Zabini’s mouth maneuvered against McLaggen’s, open wide, their kiss fierce and intense; even through the dim light of a Lumos Maxima hanging over them, Hermione could see their tongues slipping along each other in an aggressive duel.

And the moaning.

A deep tremble of arousal shot through her.

This was possibly the most erotic thing that she had ever seen or heard.

“Shut the door, would you, Granger?” Zabini asked calmly after he pulled his mouth away from McLaggen’s for a brief moment. McLaggen stared at her with a look of lust-filled surprise as Zabini moved lower, kissing over McLaggen’s strong jaw and muscular neck.

Snapped out of her gawking trance, Hermione entered the room fully and pressed the door shut behind her. “Right…” she trailed off, shifting on her feet and fiddling with her wand. “Er – what’s this all about?”

“We want you to join us,” McLaggen said breathlessly and Zabini’s hand moved from McLaggen’s wrist to grip his blonde hair and tug his head back, causing McLaggen to groan.

“I think you’ve done enough speaking for the night, McLaggen,” Zabini muttered threateningly, his swollen lips twisting into a smirk.

The Slytherin boy turned his head toward her and nodded to a chair seated in their direction, suggesting that she take a seat. Hermione moved toward it, but paused, resting her hand over the high wooden back.

“What did he mean by that, exactly?” she asked, her brows furrowed, her mind not quite wrapping around the entire idea. She needed an explanation – clarity. This had to be some sort of trick.

“I apologize for his eagerness,” Zabini replied, taking out his wand and strapping McLaggen down to the desk with magic.

He was spread out, his arms splayed to each corner and his thighs wide apart, every joint attached to the angles of the desk. His back laid flat against the top and his arse was perched on the edge, the fabric of his trousers on the verge of ripping at the centre from being pulled taut. It almost seemed cruel but McLaggen appeared to thoroughly enjoy the harsh treatment.

Zabini continued, staring straight at her, “He has issues with controlling his urges.” His fingers traced over the straining bulge in McLaggen’s trousers as he addressed him. “Don’t you?”

The blonde nodded, obediently keeping his lips sealed. It was astonishing; usually it took a lot to shut him up. One simple direction from Zabini told her exactly who was the one in charge in their… relationship?

“That didn’t answer my question,” Hermione intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. She was staring at the bulge in McLaggen’s trousers that grew under the languid stroking of Zabini’s hand. It felt so bloody wrong to watch, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Patience,” Zabini said in a sibilant whisper, his nimble fingers undoing McLaggen’s belt and opening the strained zipper.

Dipping under the waistband of McLaggen’s boxers, Zabini’s hand grasped around McLaggen’s turgid cock, pulling it out and shifting the elastic waistband to sit under the weighty swell of McLaggen’s balls. He trailed a finger along the large vein on the underside, making it twitch slightly. McLaggen bit his lip in response.

“We discussed having you join us on numerous occasions,” Zabini explained evenly, wrapping his hand around the base of McLaggen’s cock and stroking in hard upward motions. McLaggen’s abs tensed and a heady groan built up in his throat. “Various fantasies – they always make him come the hardest – and I’ve entertained the occasional thought of it as well. Who wouldn’t want to see what Hermione Granger – the Gryffindor swot – is made of? But the opportunity of turning fantasy into reality was always unlikely. That is, until now.”

Zabini stopped stroking, moving his fingers to the exposed head of McLaggen’s cock. He pressed his thumb against the tip and rubbed hard. The blonde Gryffindor inhaled sharply, his hips writhing as much as they could against the restraints.

Zabini’s words caused a flush to spread up Hermione’s neck and she considered them carefully, so many questions rushing through her mind. “I – erm – you… what do you want me to do? And how long have you been doing this for? I didn’t even know you were… ahm… what exactly are you doing with each other?” The questions poured out of her and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

A quiet laugh bubbled up from Zabini’s lips. “We’re just fooling around. It’s a great way of letting out… frustrations,” he drawled. “And I assure you that you wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could sit there and watch if you like; or you can join in – McLaggen’s very fun to tease –”

He demonstrated this by ghosting his fingers along the Gryffindor boy’s cock, making him moan in desperation. “– you could even sit on his face and let him lick your cunt while I fuck him.” A drop of precome leaked from the tip of McLaggen’s cock, reacting to the dirty words, and Zabini grinned like the cat that caught the canary. “That’s one of his favourite fantasies.”

Hermione sat heavily in the chair, shifting her robe off to help abate the heated flush that was starting to cover her entire body. “I’ll… I don’t know.” She shrugged, swallowing thickly. A very small part of her felt like she should leave but, at the same time, she didn’t think she could move toward that bloody door. What did she really have to lose anyway?

“I’ll… watch? I don’t think I’d…”

Be comfortable enough to join you, even though that would probably cover half of my own fantasies.

“Interesting choice. Anything in particular that you want to see?” Zabini drawled, raising an eyebrow. His hands moved to the parted crotch of McLaggen’s trousers, tugging sharply at the corners and ripping them down his legs. The shirt was next, torn upward and trapping McLaggen’s arms.

The Gryffindor boy laid there, his body completely exposed – looking thoroughly ravished – shreds of clothes just barely clinging to him. His muscles were bulging underneath his lightly tanned skin, tense from being pulled in every direction and strapped down to the desk. There was a smattering of curly blonde hair across his chest, leading downward toward his abs, and thickening below his navel and above his rather generous cock.

It wasn’t fair for someone so egotistical and arrogant to be that attractive.

“Do you give each other… head? Fallatio?” Hermione asked, tilting her head curiously.

Zabini hummed in confirmation, the corners of his lips curving upward. “Fallatio – how proper. Are you asking me to suck his cock?”

Her eyes widened and a pleasured throb settled at her centre, coursing through her in a wave of heat. “Yes,” she replied a little breathlessly and McLaggen moaned in anticipation.

Zabini’s salacious grin widened, his eyes appraising her. “I will if you tell me to.”

Her mouth dropped open a little and her stomach tightened thrillingly. “Will you do it?”

“I told you to tell me what you want – not ask me.” Zabini arched a suggestive eyebrow. “Be exact. If there’s one thing you excel at, it’s definitely exactitude.”

Merlin, she loved it when people used words that were rarely used.

He really wanted her to say it, didn’t he?

Her stomach was quivering in excitement from it all. She wanted to say it, but it wasn’t normal for her to say these types of things, which made her hesitate for a moment.

She thought the words over and over and, as she said it, the sentence felt foreign once it came out of her mouth: “I want you to suck his cock.”

Blood rushed through her body in an long wave of heat, turning her head light. And the looks on Zabini and McLaggen’s faces after she said it… Her insides clenched pleasurably.

“Anything you want, Granger,” Zabini purred lowly, making her briefly recall McLaggen’s use of the same phrase earlier. But that was nothing like this.

Her train of thought stopped the moment Zabini moved. With agonizing patience, he shed his tie and shrugged off his shirt, revealing his dark velvety skin and loosely defined form – less bulky and softer than McLaggen’s muscled physique. It was artistic and almost as if he was sculpted out of creamy milk chocolate. Zabini kept his trousers on and his lengthy limbs shifted as he kneeled in between McLaggen’s thighs, his long fingers reaching forward to fondle his balls.

Hermione could barely breathe through the anticipation.

Slowly, Zabini’s lips wrapped around McLaggen’s shaft, sinking down, inch by inch, until he had his nose buried against the thatch of curls surrounding his cock. It was as if he didn’t even know what a gag reflex was and she stared transfixed, vaguely jealous at his skill. Zabini bobbed his head, making lewd sucking noises on the way up and humming on the way down. The noises were a thing that always got to her – very few things turned her on more than moans, grunts, panting, skin slapping, and wet sounds of sex.

From where she was sitting, she could clearly hear McLaggen’s erratic inhalations; his husky groans echoed off the walls, loud and unabashed.

Pulling away with a wet ‘pop’, Zabini’s tongue swept across the tip of McLaggen’s cock and he asked, “You like that she’s watching this, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” the Gryffindor boy moaned and Zabini’s hand moved up to pull down the foreskin before he sucked hard around the overly exposed head and shaft.

Visibly scraping his teeth lightly over the tip, Zabini indomitably responded, “No one gave you permission to talk.” His mouth slid back over McLaggen’s cock, engulfing him fully, his throat struggling against the thick length as he swallowed around him. He was sucking in earnest now, bobbing his head even faster.

Hermione’s hands gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from reaching down to relieve the ache pulsing through her tender clit. Her knickers, she could feel, were soaked through already, probably leaving an embarrassing damp spot on the back of her skirt. She was tempted to join them, like Zabini said; contemplating the thought of tugging off her ruined pants, crawling up onto the desk, and rubbing her quim all over McLaggen’s plump, moaning lips.

That would certainly relieve the ache, which she was trying to quell by shifting in her seat.

Just as she was sure McLaggen was going to come straight down Zabini’s throat, Zabini pulled away with a smirk, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“Fuck.” McLaggen let out an exasperated growl, thrashing against his bindings.

“Not yet, my greedy little Gryffindor.” Zabini lightly twisted his fingers over the tip of McLaggen’s cock. “I think it’s time for you to show Granger what a good cock sucker you are.”

Zabini tugged his wand out of his back pocket, and with a sharp wave and a twist, McLaggen was hoisted up off of the desk to his feet, letting out a soft startled moan. Another flick of the wand made the invisible bindings around McLaggen’s wrists trap them together behind his back, like a pair of handcuffs.

“On your knees,” Zabini ordered, gripping the top of McLaggen’s head by his hair and pressing him down to kneel onto the floor.

In a fluid motion, the dark Slytherin unbuckled his trousers, unzipping them languidly and pulling his long, hard cock out. The engorged head swiped across McLaggen’s lips and the blonde lapped at it with his tongue.

“Open your mouth,” Zabini voiced gruffly, “stick out your tongue. Good.” Using McLaggen’s hair to guide him, he pulled McLaggen’s mouth over his cock, forcing him to bob his head as the Gryffindor sucked slowly. Zabini let out a long moan, turning toward Hermione to trail his eyes over her while he guided McLaggen’s movements, forcing him to take every inch of his cock into his mouth and holding him there until McLaggen writhed, choking.

Yes, this was definitely the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Hermione crossed her legs, unable to draw her eyes away from it; they felt slightly dry from not blinking nearly enough.

“I think Granger’s enjoying our little show,” Zabini panted, biting his lip and staring down at the blonde head bobbing back and forth over his cock. McLaggen moaned around him, bobbing deeper, his lips wrapped tightly around Zabini’s shaft.

“Use your tongue,” Zabini muttered, his voice darkening with arousal. “Swirl it - yes. Like that. Want her to see how you make me come?”

At McLaggen’s answering groan, Zabini tugged the Gryffindor boy’s head back and thrust his hips forward, sinking his cock down into McLaggen’s mouth.

"Perfect.”

His wandhand gripped the edge of the desk while his other fisted at McLaggen’s hair. His hips moved sinuously as he roughly pumped his cock into McLaggen’s mouth, using him to get off. Hermione’s eyes widened and her heart pounded in her chest. Her insides pulsed as Zabini let out a long moan, his hips moving more erratically. McLaggen struggled a little, but Zabini kept him steady. The Gryffindor was making muted noises that were cut off by Zabini’s cock every time it sank into him.

“Circe,” Zabini groaned raggedly, his jaw clenching and muscles seizing. Sweat glistened over his chest as he came.

Letting out a shuddered breath, Zabini slowly worked himself in and out of McLaggen’s mouth, panting, “Be a good little whore. Swallow it all down.”

Hermione didn’t even think it was possible to be turned on this much without actually touching herself. Watching Zabini slide himself from McLaggen’s swollen lips, she shifted in her chair and recrossed her legs.

Holding tightly onto his wand, Zabini flicked it, sending McLaggen floating upwards and back down onto the desk in his previously stretched and bound position. Stuffing his spent cock back into his open trousers, Zabini paused, turning toward her.

His dark amber eyes lingered along her body. “Why don’t you come over here and have a seat, Granger? I believe it’s your turn.”

Her turn?

Hermione’s brows rose and she hesitated at first, but the temptation and her arousal won out. Her legs carried her up off the chair and she stood before them, not exactly sure where she was supposed to ‘have a seat’. There didn’t seem to be much of the desk left available.

Zabini turned and moved to his knees in front of her, lifting his hands up her skirt to remove her knickers. Stepping out of them, she shifted out of her shoes, feeling her skirt drop to the floor once Zabini undid the zipper, not once asking if it was okay. But she figured that now was not the time to be modest – not when all the blood in her body was throbbing through her, heady and agitated with pulsating arousal.

“Where do I… sit?” she asked, staring at McLaggen’s cock. It was still hard and precome was starting to drip down the side. Her eyes trailed up his body to his face and he stared back at her, appraising her in such a licentious manner that it caused a wave of heat to course through her.

Without warning, Zabini lifted her by her waist to seat her on McLaggen’s hard stomach, his hands spreading her legs wide along McLaggen’s thighs; in this position, McLaggen’s cock jutted out from between her legs.

“I think right here is a good place,” Zabini muttered and she felt extremely unsure for a scant second until Zabini suddenly dropped to his knees once again and his mouth latched onto her clit, sucking hard and fast. His fingers moved up to press into her soaking wet, aching cunt. Gripping onto McLaggen’s thighs, she threw her head back and moaned at the unexpected assault.

Her brain was processing the situation carefully, barely able to believe it. She was practically sitting on Cormac McLaggen’s cock with Blaise Zabini’s fingers buried inside her and his mouth was lapping and sucking at her clit like nothing she had ever felt before. When she did this with Viktor, it wasn’t even half as good as this. Tension built up inside her, rapidly coiling at her centre.

Zabini’s fingers pumped in and out of her, occasionally spreading her wetness along McLaggen’s length – she could hear the Gryffindor boy taking in breaths between his teeth behind her, moaning – before dipping back in and curling to rub against that spot inside her. Her nails dug into McLaggen’s thighs as she bucked against Zabini’s tongue.

Her blood was on fire, shooting toward her limbs and making her weak.

“That’s it,” Zabini muttered into her cunt, his lips moving against it. “Come all over his cock. I want to see it drenched.”

He sucked hard and long, his fingers rubbing circles inside her at the same time, causing that coil of tension inside her to burst. Her vision blurred around the edges, pleasure seeping through every nerve.

As she came down from it all, she watched Zabini stroke the underside of McLaggen’s length, pressing his cock along her slit. She felt McLaggen’s deep, rumbling groans vibrating through his chest against her lower back. Denying McLaggen any sort of release, Zabini’s hands moved to latch onto the tails of her shirt. He opened button after button and kissed his way up her stomach, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

“You look glorious, Granger,” he remarked breathily, spreading his hands over her ribs through her open shirt and cupping her heaving breasts through her bra.

She moaned incoherently, mentally saying ‘thank you’, but outwardly blabbering gibberish. Placing a kiss in the centre of her chest, Zabini shifted himself up and pressed against her fully, trapping McLaggen’s cock between them.

Instinctively, Hermione’s arms wrapped around him, gripping at his shoulders. Urging her to lay back onto McLaggen’s torso, Zabini’s lips met hers and she gasped, tasting herself mixed with the saltiness of McLaggen’s pre-come on them. It was obscene and seductive and so… hot – there wasn’t any other word for it; she couldn’t help herself from melting into it, moaning into his mouth as she stroked her tongue along his. She could feel Zabini’s hands moving down to shuck off his trousers. His semi-hard length pressed against her lower stomach next to McLaggen’s and her eyes snapped open as she pulled away from him, looking down in alarm.

The image of two erect cocks against her made her brain have a small war with itself because, thinking of what she was doing, she felt a bit mental. She was almost naked with two other people who she barely knew and one who she basically detested – and they were nearly having a threesome. How far did she want to take this? She definitely wasn’t just watching anymore.

And, really, what kind of person would it make her if she went through with it? She was usually the good girl… the proper, composed, and sometimes prudish one, even if it wasn’t completely how she was deep down.

That deep part of her was battling against her ‘good girl’ morality, chastising her for being completely idiotic because it would be mad of her to turn down this opportunity. How many times had she daydreamt about being with two men? Too many to bloody count, even though the blokes in her daydreams were usually Viktor Krum and possibly one of his friends, or Ron. She couldn’t doubt that it would be a good learning experience if she went through with it – not to mention incredibly amazing, appealing to so many of her hidden desires.

“You alright?” Zabini asked, his voice rough and thick with lust.

The sound of it made her resistance dissolve like an ice cube in the centre of a burning inferno and she pulled his head down to kiss him again, nipping at his swollen lips and sucking his lower lip into her mouth. He groaned coarsely, reaching underneath her to unhook her bra and shove her shirt down her arms; she let him strip off the last bits of her clothing until she was lying fully nude on top of McLaggen, who seemed to be straining extra hard against his bindings. His muscles felt bulged underneath her backside.

Zabini rubbed himself against her wet, sensitive quim, stimulating McLaggen against her hip at the same time. The Gryffindor boy let out a huff of breath, gasping; she could feel it against the top of her head. He was surely watching them snog and grind against each other on top of him, which caused a thrill of desperate need to tingle through her veins.

Letting out a disappointed moan when Zabini straightened up and pulled away from her, she recovered as he directed, breathing unevenly, “Go sit on his face, love.” The Slytherin’s eyes briefly glanced to McLaggen, above her head. “He’s very good with is mouth – prattling isn’t its only skill.”

Merlin.

Trembling slightly, Hermione folded her previously splayed legs beneath her and crawled backwards. She moved herself to straddle over McLaggen’s head, her knees resting on either side of his pectoral muscles. She looked down at him to find him staring back with a half-lidded gaze, running his tongue along the parted seam of his lips.

A whispered counterspell from Zabini allowed McLaggen free from his bindings and the Slytherin boy pushed up McLaggen’s thighs, bending his legs at the knee and keeping them spread wide. With a roll of his shoulders, McLaggen’s arms came up around Hermione’s thighs, moving her legs wider and brusquely pulling her down onto his face.

Hermione moaned at the contact; his wet lips danced over her sensitive cunt, kissing her there. His tongue flicking out to tease her clit as he gently sucked. Tingling pleasure, which was already so concentrated there, started to spread from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes at the sensation. It was different than Zabini – Zabini ate her out with a fierce, possessive, and highly-skilled hunger. McLaggen seemed to prefer starting slowly, savouring, as if he was trying to ease her into the desperation of needing to come.

In front of her, Zabini teased McLaggen’s cock with the tips of his fingers as his other hand – fingers covered in a slick substance he’d conjured – disappeared between McLaggen’s parted thighs. Rumbling groans sounded from the Gryffindor boy, causing her to throb deep and hard as the sounds were muffled and lost in the folds of her nether lips. Whimpering, she ground herself down against his mouth, his stubbly chin swiping across her clit. She couldn’t bite back the loud moan that escaped her and she gripped at his chest, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin.

Hermione watched Zabini line himself up with McLaggen’s arse and slowly thrust forward, sinking in and reaching across for her. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a deep lingering kiss. McLaggen’s tongue pressed inside her and she gasped against Zabini’s lips, the vibrations of McLaggen’s breathy groans diffusing through her.

Bucking feverishly against McLaggen’s face, Hermione pulled away from Zabini’s lips, throwing her head back and moaning. She was so so close and she felt Zabini’s hand move lower to properly rub her clit while McLaggen’s tongue swirled inside her, touching all the right places.

“F-fuck,” she breathed, feeling herself collapse as her legs shook. They continued their relentless assault, McLaggen’s arms holding her up. Her nerves were quaking violently and the pleasure was nearly excruciating as it shot through her like white hot, scorching heat.

Zabini straightened back upright, forcing McLaggen’s legs wide and fucking him in earnest now. McLaggen’s mouth lightly sucked over her, cleaning up her release with long, languid strokes in between the desperate noises he was making. It sent sharp oversensitive pulses through her in the aftermath of her orgasm.

Zabini’s fingers wrapped around the base of McLaggen’s length and his teeth sunk into his lower lip, biting off a deep groan. Their eyes met and Hermione glanced down at McLaggen’s cock, which looked close to bursting.

“Give it lick, Granger,” Zabini muttered roughly, rolling his hips and causing McLaggen to let out an almost pained moan. “I bet you could make him come just using your tongue if I slide my cock right there.” He punctuated his words with harsh upward thrusts, making McLaggen thrash and nearly cry out. “Just – like – this.”

Spurred on, Hermione shifted forward with her shaky knees, resting on her right elbow and gripping McLaggen’s length above Zabini’s fingers. Running her tongue over the tip, she wondered if what he said was possible – she had read that it could technically happen, but she doubted that it was anything common. She knew all the places to press and rub her tongue against from her own research, and she could feel McLaggen twitching and pulsing under her hand. Zabini moved faster, pounding hard and using McLaggen’s legs as leverage.

The noises they were making were enough to make her throb, even in her oversensitive post-orgasm state. They didn’t bother to be quiet about anything.

Hermione’s fingers shifted to massage McLaggen’s balls and she could feel it coming, pulsating. He was really close. She swirled her tongue around the head of McLaggen’s cock, flicking it roughly over that spot just below. All of his muscles were tensing beneath her, his stomach tightening, his hands gripping at her thighs. One long stroke of her hand up his shaft and a wide lick across the tip of his cock made him come undone, spilling over, spurting in long bouts and collecting between her fingers as she stroked slowly.

She could taste it on her tongue; thick, tangy, and salty.

Picking up his pace, Zabini plunged himself into McLaggen’s arse even harder, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted. His back arched and his body lengthened as languorously stroked himself in and out of McLaggen’s arse to completion. Pulling out, he collapsed forward onto his arms. McLaggen’s legs relaxed, resting over the edge of the desk and Hermione crawled to the side, perching next to them with her knees pressed against her chest, staring at the two. Her hand was sticky with come and their harsh, panting breaths echoed off the walls.

It was surreal and she pinched herself again to make sure she really wasn’t dreaming – well, it sure didn’t feel like a dream. Usually she woke up before she got any sort of release, leaving her frustrated and hurriedly reaching under the covers to get herself off.

No, it couldn’t have been a dream.

“Better than you thought it was going to be, wasn’t it?” Zabini addressed McLaggen with a smirk once he recovered.

The Gryffindor boy nodded, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “Not to sound insulting, Zabini, but her tongue is way more talented than yours.”

“Hm. I’ll have to try it sometime then,” Zabini drawled, his dark eyes grazing over her naked form. “After the next Slug Club dinner, perhaps?”

She’d be denying herself if she said she wasn’t interested.

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