Chapter Seventeen: Wednesday Evening

The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Beta credit: bunnyhops had first crack at this nonsense.  Since then CoquetteKitten has sharpened her claws on it.

 

Hermione napped until dinner, and woke with a foggy head. At least it’s better than vertigo. She ate her meal with her head propped on Ginny’s shoulder and tried to pay attention to the conversation around her. Several times she caught Draco looking with concern at her from the Slytherin table, and each time she smiled reassuringly. The shock has finally caught up with me, I think.

 

Afterward he managed to walk alongside her, Harry and the girls through the entrance hall under the auspices of talking about the upcoming Quidditch match.

 

She felt his fingers brush against hers briefly and smiled.

 

“That’s a very secret smile you have on your face, Miss Granger. Care to share what you’re thinking about?” He asked innocently.

 

She smirked and began to reply, but suddenly Ron was insinuating himself into the group. “Oi! How come no one ever waits for me anymore? What’re we talking about? Oh, hello, Malfoy.”

 

Draco managed to reply in a civil tone, “Weasley. We were just talking about a post-game celebration in the village on Saturday.”

 

Ron’s tone was sneering. “And what exactly would we be celebrating? Gryffindor smearing the pitch with Slytherin one last time?”

 

Harry cut in, “Enough, Ron. It’s our last game at school, and I’d like to spend one last afternoon with all the people we’ve played with over the years. I think it’d be nice.”

 

Ron started to say something in a nasty tone, but Harry continued, “Speaking of Quidditch, why weren’t you at practice today? I would’ve asked you earlier, but you were in such a hurry.”

 

The redhead replied sullenly, “No point. It’s not like I’ll be playing on Saturday – I’ve been called home. My dad called one of his stupid family meetings.”

 

Harry sounded puzzled. “But Gin was at practice.” He directed his attention to his girlfriend. “Are you going home, too?”

 

Ginny flashed Hermione a warning look, but her answer to Harry sounded genuine enough. “And miss playing with the team one last time? Besides, I didn’t get that note. I’ll be here for sure.”

 

Draco had taken advantage of the talk around them to brush his hand against hers again, and her smile returned. It was almost enough to distract her thoughts, which were centered on something Ginny had said to her last night: ‘I’ll bet things get ugly this weekend. He’s being called home.’ What would happen to Ron?

 

They’d reached the base of Gryffindor tower, and Draco had no excuse to linger. As he passed her to continue on, he murmured, “You look peaked. I want you in bed.”

 

She flushed vermillion. Did he mean that as a double entendre? Mother of all magic, I think I hope he did . . . Draco didn’t slow down or look back, but Hermione watched as a deep red shade suffused his retreating neck.

 

She followed her friends to the fireside couches in the commons, relieved when Ron slipped away with a flimsy excuse. For the rest of the evening, her mind was everywhere and nowhere, and Hermione was insensate to the sights and sounds around her.

 

The mental haze persisted until a series of odd sounds returned her to her surroundings. Harry and Luna were in the middle of . . . something . . . although Luna was the one who first noticed Hermione’s return to awareness. The witch incorporated Hermione into her quiet conversation with Harry.

 

“Aah! Oh! please don’t tease, Harry! There you are, ‘Mione! Yeeessss! I wondered where you’d – mmmmmm – gone. Ooh, yes, like that! So clooooose!

 

“I have a lot to think about, Lu.”

 

“Yes! Ooh! I suppose you – aah! – do. Unnngh, faster, Harry! You must be overwhelmed at – mmmmmm, so close! – times! Ooooh, pleasepleaseplease! Oh! Harry! Harry! Harry!” Here, Luna’s breathy voice trailed off.

 

Harry was now inserting his glistening fingers into Ginny’s mouth, watching as she sucked them clean. This is how much I’ve changed in the past year. I’m having a conversation with one of my best friends while the boy who’s like a brother to me fingers her to orgasm in a public place. And my most significant thought is how impressed I am that she remained coherent. Also that Lucius wants to do that to me. I think.

 

Harry entered the conversation at this point. “Anything in particular you’re thinking about right now?”

 

He was lying back against the couch with his girls on either side of him. Luna’s eyes were half-closed as she reached out to hold Hermione’s hand. Ginny looked restless and Hermione realized that the show was only half over.

 

“I need to tell Ron, but I know it isn’t the right time, and . . .”

 

“And Draco wants you to tell him immediately?’ Luna supplied.

 

“Yes. And I want to do that for him, but I can’t ignore this feeling that I should wait a bit longer.”

 

“Draco will wait, but he might not be patient,” chuckled Harry, “I’m sure he wants everyone, especially Ron, to know that you’re off the market – that you’re his.”

 

“About that – I’ve had some conversations with Astoria Greengrass, because of-”

 

“Ginny interrupted, “Her binding to the House of Nott?”

 

“Yes. She’s been explaining all sorts of things to me. She says it’s natural that I respond to Draco the way I do, because I belong to him, and that I’ll respond to Lucius the same way soon. I’m still trying to work through that belonging to someone part.”

 

Luna looked at Hermione sleepily. “From what my father’s told me of the Malfoys, they’re possessive of what they consider to be theirs. Perhaps you’d better resign yourself to belonging to someone sooner rather than later.”

 

“I just really don’t want either of them to go all prehistoric. Draco won’t do that, will he?”

 

“He might, eventually, if you don’t tell Ron,” Ginny argued. “Still, would you rather have him take you for granted and ignore you like my idiot brother?”

 

Harry had begun tracing Ginny’s nipple through her shirt. He was speaking to her, but loud enough for Hermione to hear. “I know how to get you to respond naturally, witch. Shall I tease you? Make you beg for more?”

 

When Ginny began to moan, Hermione had had enough. “Right! Off to bed for me, then. Thanks for the company.”

 

In the privacy of her room, Hermione let her thoughts run free. In them, Lucius was teasing her again, voice laced with innuendo, as they talked about his hands. Draco was kissing her hungrily on the picnic blanket, only this time their bodies were lying side by side. She walked to her mirror and looked at herself with scrutiny. What do they see in me?

 

The young witch removed her robes, remembering as she hung them up the flower from Lucius. Carefully she took it out of the pocket and set it in a glass of water by her bed. She stroked its petals gently.   Such an unusual color.

 

Hermione walked to her mirror and began slowly removing the rest of her clothing, never taking her eyes from her reflection. Do they think my face is pretty? They both want to kiss me . . . here she brushed her fingertips across her lips, imagining being kissed by each of them. Her hand traveled to her cheek, remembering how Lucius had held it tenderly just this afternoon. Does he think my skin is soft? The hand traveled down to her shoulders, feeling the delicate bones under her skin. When Draco wrapped his hand here after I fainted, did he like the way it felt?

 

She held her hands up before her, looking intently at the handmark on her left one. What do they think when they see their mark on me? She clasped her hands, remembering the feeling of Lucius’ large hand holding both of hers together. Does he like being so much bigger and stronger than me? Her thoughts turned to Draco, and when they held hands. His hand dwarfed hers, too. Is that attractive – to be little?

 

Hermione lifted her other hand and brought them to her breasts. They were small and round. Do they like my breasts? Draco likes it when my dragon pendant sits right here. I see him looking at it. She traced that spot with a finger, then let her fingers trail down the shallow valley below it. She cupped her breasts with both hands, bringing her thumbs to stroke back and forth across her rose-colored nipples until they tightened into peaks. My wizards will touch me just like this soon, teasing my flesh until it responds to their fingers.

 

Her eyes were closed now as she felt a pleasant thrum of arousal pulse through her. She let one hand drift down her abdomen and ran her fingers softly over the trimmed hair of her mound before gently pressing into her seam. What will it be like to be touched like this? What will it be like to touch them this way? Her body responded with a jolt as her fingers stroked back and forth, and she spread the sudden heavy wetness to her clit. Hermione’s head fell back as she enjoyed the sensations and the images her mind was creating. She sank to the floor on her knees. My pleasure will be theirs. The hand still at her breasts plucked at her nipples as the fingers of her other hand rubbed more insistently.

 

She had touched herself experimentally before, to thoroughly catalogue her parts, but never felt a desire to go further. Now Hermione found herself pleading to some unknown entity for more . . . something, anything. She worked to learn her body’s appetite as quickly as she could, but it took time to find the something more she wanted.

 

In her mind’s eye she saw Draco sliding a dress from her shoulders and pulling her under the hot spray of a shower. He leaned down to lick the water droplets from her collarbones as she did the same to his chest. The idea morphed into that of Lucius in the water with her, pulling her back against his broad chest, and Hermione could almost feel the shape of his hands around her waist as he ran his mouth along the side of her neck. He’d be aroused, and I’d feel his . . . I’d feel him pressing against me.

 

She envisioned herself stripped bare and laid back on a couch, and held from behind in Lucius’ arms, his hand moving between her legs. She summoned the image of Draco now, mouth latched to one of her breasts as he tugged at the other with his hand. I won’t be able to be quiet – I’ll beg and plead and moan and cry out, just like Luna. Only I’ll be crying out MY wizards’ names.   Her body broke out in to a light sweat as she imagined her wizards’ hands in place of her own. Her imagination moved Lucius’ mouth to her shoulder, nipping the skin, murmuring titillating promises; Draco’s mouth came to hers, pushing his tongue past her lips in a way they hadn’t yet done in reality. Hermione felt the beginning of a curling sensation deep inside of her, and she fought her way toward it, until it was replaced by a sharp electrical shock.

 

“No! No, no, nonononoonooooooooo!” She cried, realizing immediately what had happened. It’s that damn oath I took! Her body screamed for relief, and she could do nothing but cry in frustration. The words of Molly came back to her: by the time of the ceremony you will be a needful, writhing mess. She collapsed in defeat and stayed there until the chill of the castle floor drove her pull on her pyjamas and climb into bed.

 

Mercifully, sleep came quickly. Her last coherent thought was I imagined the three of us together. Merlin and Circe, I liked it. I want to do it on a couch . . .

 

Her dreams that night were vivid. In them, Draco’s beautiful mouth covered her entire body with kisses while Lucius watched from the wingback chair. She awoke almost painfully aroused and without the ability to bring herself relief, which led her to being in a foul mood for most of the morning. One thought ran through her head constantly: I wonder if my wizards are under these same restrictions.

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