Chapter Seventy-Six: Early Sunday

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: Brightki and CoquetteKitten.

 

For a moment Hermione stood savoring the shift in her younger husband’s demeanor, her lips curled into a small smile. Draco’s unexpected burst of dark authority was in such contrast to the blushing, earnest wizard to whom she’d first engaged herself two weeks ago! She found it both arousing and slightly comical; not that she’d ever admit that last part out loud, since it would undoubtedly crush the confidence right out of him. At least temporarily.

 

One day soon Draco would permanently cast off that cloak of boyish uncertainty and trade it for his birthright as a Malfoy wizard: the robes of smug self assurance which already fit his older brother so well.   Until then, the curly-haired Wife vowed, she would protect his sensitive soul; nurturing it with every bit of love and respect she possessed. But Merlin help him, because when that day comes I will knock him down a peg or two. Regularly.

 

Her smile turned to a smirk at that thought, and her clever brain replayed his last words. Her smirk faltered slightly. House bed. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.   House bed. Her helpful imagination began churning out images of this new dominant Draco and an even more dominant Lucius sprawled across that enormous bed, beckoning imperiously to her. Again she experienced a dichotomy of emotion, this one comprised of both desire and nerves.

 

I don’t know that I’m ready for this. Was there a way to prepare for such an experience? And what exactly would happen there? Hermione had been around Harry and his girls enough to be aware of the myriad possibilities for intimacy between a man and two women, but she wasn’t sure how that translated to her own situation. I should have read more of Yolande’s diary, she thought wryly. Then I would have known what to expect. A gauntlet had been thrown down and her competetive nature wanted to rise to the challenge. I just don’t want to think of this particular event that way.

 

She wished she could just turn off her brain for a few moments. Had they suddenly wound up in the House bed in the heat of passion, she wouldn’t have had any time to think about it! Now, though . . . this had become a thing of premeditation and planning, and Draco’s imperious order was having exactly the opposite effect on her. He’s bringing champagne, for Circe’s sake!  House b- She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the anxiety that was now welling within her.

 

The Malfoy hounds were lying on the kitchen floor by Lucius’ feet. Now one lifted its great head from its paws and regarded her with an intelligent gaze, head cocked to one side. It heaved itself to stand and exited the kitchen quietly, casting one backward glance at her as it left. The other dog looked from Hermione to Lucius and then back to her expectantly.

 

I think he means I should talk to Lucius. She nodded her comprehension to the enormous dog. And I cannot believe I now casually communicate with animals. She turned toward the wizard standing at the kitchen’s long center workspace again. He was leaning down, strong forearms resting on the counter as he talked in a soft tone to the little Kneazle. Rigel, she thought with a wry smile. Because Merlin forbid I admitted I preferred ‘Leo’ right away. I am such an idiot. She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the way her new familiar responded to the attention.

 

The little puff of orange fur sat directly under Lucius’ face, staring up at him with unblinking orange eyes. Its head was tipped to the side as if listening intently, its tiny paw resting on Lucius’ outstretched forefinger, and at one point it mewled back loudly.

 

It occurred to the curly-haired Wife that Lucius was as good with animals as he was plants, and that notion had the covenant perking up its metaphorical ears at the edges of her awareness. In her mind’s eye the Kneazle morphed into the same little girl with curly blond hair she’d envisioned previously, this time sitting on the counter of the kitchens and listening raptly to the elder Malfoy wizard while holding his hand. The mental image was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a feeling of yearning that was at least half her own.

 

Hermione watched the scene before her with renewed interest, chewing her lip thoughtfully. He’d look good holding a baby. She was surprised by the emotion that accompanied the idea. Our baby. In time, she added firmly, half to the covenant and half to herself. There’s a lot I want to do before I’m too big and too tired to do it. And babies change everything. The covenant’s amusement felt like the gentle flick of a tail against her consciousness. Well, I’m glad you think that’s funny. You do realize I intend to continue using contraception charms, don’t you? And she did; something told her, however, that the covenant was far more powerful than a minor spell. The first Malfoy baby would come when the time was right. She huffed, unconsciously drawing Lucius’ attention.

 

“What is it, pet?” He bid her come closer with a crook of one long finger.

 

Hermione went to him at once, walking right into his broad, warm chest. She took a hit of his inherent fragrance and hummed contentedly, eyes drawn upward to the bite-shaped bruise on his shoulder. “You’re very good with my kitty,” she murmured, hiding her smile as she waited for him to accept her offered double entendre.

 

His chuckle resonated through her body. “I have always had an affinity for living things, but your pussy is by far my favorite.”

 

Lucius!” she snorted indelicately, strangely delighted with the exchange. She lifted a finger and traced the mark. My mark. I did that. And Lucius likes it. The thought made her shiver.

 

Lucius stroked a hand downward over her lower abdomen, laughing again when she batted his hand away. He returned his attention to the Kneazle. “He’s a very intelligent kit. What did you say his name was?” He glanced over at her with a smirk on his handsome face.

 

Just then there was an energetic crack of Apparition and Trinket appeared, a small jingling cat toy in her hand. “Good evening, Master and Mistress! Look, Trinket has made a toy for little Leo!” She shook the thing, catching the Kneazle’s attention. “The elves would like a turn watching him, if you please.”

 

Lucius nodded, avoiding Hermione’s narrowed gaze, and set the orange puffball on the floor. ‘Leo’ scampered to the housekeeper, and the two Disapparated from the kitchen.

 

Hermione rounded on her elder husband, hands on hips. “You named my Kneazle, Lucius.” When his lips twitched she was tempted to swallow the admission on the tip of her tongue. Then honesty – the blight of Gryffindor – compelled her to grind out, “And as much as it pains me to say it, I like the name you chose.”

 

She’d expected her painful admission to set off a series of triumphant remarks, and so she was surprised to see the look of genuine remorse on her husband’s face. “It was never my intention to take something of value from you, pet.”

 

Hermione regarded him with a decent amount of irritation. Curse Slytherins and their unpredictable reactions. She jumped ahead in the conversation several moves, weighed the outcome of a few different strategies, and decided to beat him at his own game. “It was valuable. Naming something makes it yours, Lucius.”

 

His expression deepened to one of contrition. “Forgive me, Hermione.”

 

He had taken her bait almost too readily, and she reeled him in carefully. “It’s only fair you give me something in return.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Something of a similar nature.” She lifted the hem of her makeshift nightdress and wound in around her hand in a pretense of bashful nerves. Surely Godric Gryffindor was rolling in his grave, and Salazar Slytherin was belatedly reconsidering his stance on Muggleborns!

 

“Of course, my heart. Name your desire and it shall be yours.” Lucius reached for her hands and unwound the fabric from them, drawing her into his arms.

 

Hermione took a deep breath, hiding her face against his chest. I really would have looked good in silver and green robes, she thought with a small amount of maroon and gold guilt. Still, she trained an innocent gaze up at him and said, “Our firstborn son will be named Rigel instead.”

 

The elder Malfoy wizard’s mouth parted in shock and dismay. “Rigel?”

 

Hermione bit back the smirk that threatened to take over her face. That was too much fun! The right to name a firstborn son, she guessed, was an honor heavy with responsibility and not something to be given away lightly. She watched as Lucius tried to process the fact that he was now bound by honor to name the first son of Malfoy House after the left foot of a hunter.

 

Finally he nodded slowly. “I gave my word, and it shall be so.” He ran a hand over her hair, the action heavy with regret.

 

The initial triumph she’d felt at her successful coup fell a bit flat. Either she was more suited to Gryffindor than her ego had previously thought, or she really didn’t like the name ‘Rigel’. Oh, bother. She looked up at her elder husband as she chewed on her lip in a contemplative manner. “Actually, I’d like to change the terms of our agreement.” When a subtle wave of hope washed over his aristocratic features, she allowed her smile to break through. “I reserve the right to choose our first son’s name from a list the three of us make together. Oh, wipe that superior look off your face!”

 

Lucius did indeed look self-satisfied. His demeanor had shifted from one of humble acceptance to the complete opposite, and now he smirked down at her in a maddening way. “Oh, well played, kitten.” He lowered his gaze to the necklace that proclaimed her Wife of his House, lifting a finger to trace its edges. “Never have I had so much fun being bested at my own game.”

 

His words sent a thrill along her nerves as she realized once again the power she had over him. And I do like power, it seems. “Really, Lucius! Now you just look arrogant.”

 

The smirk broadened until his eyes were twinkling as well. “It has been said the Malfoy features are particularly suited to that expression.”

 

 

Their game had restored a sense of control to Hermione; that, and the calming fragrance of her war stake, which assailed her nostrils with every breath whenever she was this close to one of her wizards. She sighed and looked up at Lucius for a few silent moments. “I don’t know if I’m quite ready for this,” she admitted in a small, firm voice. “I’ve been given too much forewarning, and now my brain won’t shut off.”

 

Lucius gazed down at her with a piercing thoroughness that softened quickly. “This should have been a decision made by the three of us. However . . .” The corner of his mouth quirked in an expression of fond amusement and he looked toward the kitchen doors through which Draco had exited. “The passage into manhood is rife with growing pains, and I would spare my brother’s tender soul whenever possible. Even so, I do not foresee the need to worry just yet.”

 

She was comforted yet unsurprised that her elder husband felt the same way about protecting Draco’s budding confidence. If nothing else, Lucius understood her quandary. His words sparked hope within her, and she asked, “What do you mean?”

 

He twinkled at her, handsome brow drawn in thought. “Knowing Draco, he is even now regretting his impulsive words and seeking a way out of them.”

 

That did sound like her younger husband. He’s probably over-thinking it as much as I am. Hermione wrapped her arms around Lucius’ middle and went up on tiptoe to kiss his chin, gladly trading that goal for his mouth when he leaned down to her level. The pleasurable push-pull of his lips against hers helped calm her frenzied thoughts.

 

Their kiss was playful and full of contentment, broken only by the sound of the kitchen door opening. Hermione broke away from her elder husband to see Draco standing in the doorway, champagne bottle in hand and hound at his side, a look of uncertainty on his handsome face. He’s trying not to assume we’re going to exclude him, she thought with a pang. She left Lucius’ arms and crossed the room to the younger Malfoy wizard, twining her arms round his neck and pulling him down for a kiss of his own.

 

When they pulled apart, Draco treated her to an almost-smile. “Hello.”

 

“Hi yourself.” Hermione regarded him carefully even as she gave him a dazzling smile. It was obvious he felt the shift in mood and was unsure how to proceed. She herself wasn’t certain what to say or do at this point; should she admit her nerves and suggest they do something else? Would that bruise his ego? Such dancing around a subject would never happen between two Gryffindors!

 

There was an awkward silence until Draco indicated the dusty bottle cradled in one of his arms. “You’re in for a treat; I chose the summer of ‘twenty-eight. Vinted and bottled at the family seat in Aude.”

 

It seemed that small talk was in order, at least for the moment. “Was that a very good year?” She looked between the bottle and her younger husband helplessly, her heart rate picking up in speed and her mind fading to an unhelpful blank state. Think of something to say. Think of something to say.

 

Draco nodded, and Hermione mirrored the action frantically. They probably would have stood there all night, heads bobbing like maniacs, had not Lucius rescued them both. He came up to them and in his lazy, silky drawl murmured, “Such a fine bottle should be savored. Shall we open it in my study?” He looked between them with thinly veiled amusement.

 

“Good idea, Lu.” The younger Malfoy turned to Hermione and held out his hand tentatively. “Sweetheart?”

 

The curly-haired Wife took Draco’s hand at the same time she accepted Lucius’ proffered arm, and the three exited the kitchen in their usual tangle of upper limbs.

 

As they left, two pairs of doggy eyes locked with expressions that could only be described as entertained. The two enormous hounds moved closer to the roaring kitchen hearth, throwing themselves down to sprawl side by side with heavy canine sighs of bliss.

 

Meanwhile, Hermione and her husbands had traversed the ground floor to Lucius’ study and made themselves comfortable within. Hermione plopped down unceremoniously on the couch nearest the cozy fire, Lucius sank gracefully into the opposing wingback chair, and Draco went to the elaborate sideboard to uncork the bottle. He returned and settled beside Hermione, handing her and Lucius each a delicate flute of effervescent, pale gold champagne.

 

“Mmmmmm,” Hermione moaned around her first sip. “Merciful Merlin, but this is divine!” Another small mouthful caused her to turn her head toward her younger husband. “This is same stuff you served at the Slytherin party.”

 

“You served the ’twenty-eight to a gathering of students?” Lucius raised one aristocratic brow at his brother. “That seems rather wasteful.”

 

Draco smiled over his flute, his expression much more confident than it had been a few minutes ago. “No, I served the ’twenty-eight to Hermione. I kept one bottle at school in the hope she’d share it with me someday.”

 

There it was again, that word ‘hope’. From the first time Draco had explained the life of celibacy Pureblood wizards led in the hope of finding their bespoken one that word had sprung up in more conversations than she could count. Surely her young husband was the very embodiment of that virtue, he who’d kept a bottle of the finest champagne at school in the hope they would drink it together. She smiled tremulously at him, an unexpected film of happy tears filtering her vision. “Oh, Draco,” she breathed.

 

He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I hope to share everything with you from now on.”

 

Hermione shivered at his gentle touch. She murmured his name again and sought out his mouth for a short kiss laced with the same sentiment.

 

Draco pulled away slowly. “I was rash and presumptuous earlier, and I deeply regret that fact.” His voice was pitched low, meant only for her. “According to the laws of a Pureblood marriage, once we left my room my time alone with you was forfeited,” he went on. “I know Lucius would have bowed out graciously had I asked, but I would never expect him to bend the rules to make up for my own stupidity. My only thought was of how much I wanted you in that moment, and of how that could be achieved easiest.”

 

“That’s why you wanted to go to the House bed,” she whispered in his ear. His frank admission sent warmth and shivers through her body.

 

He nodded against her cheek. “As soon as I’d gone and the lust cleared from my head somewhat, I realized it wasn’t my decision to make alone. Can you forgive me?”

 

Hermione set down her half-empty glass and brought her hands up around Draco’s neck. She smiled and tugged at his hair. “I really don’t think there’s anything to forgive, you idiot. Now kiss me again, and make it a nice long one.”

 

He complied with a groan, applying soft hungry lips and warm, wet tongue to her mouth. It was a kiss as reverent as it was sinful, and when at last it ended they were both breathless. Hermione picked up her flute and took several thirsty swallows, licking the sweet taste from her lips. Draco watched the action with heavy-lidded eyes and a slightly dark expression. “Easy, little witch. This stuff goes straight to the head.” He took the glass from her and set it down. “That’s enough for you tonight.”

 

There it was again; that lightning shift in Draco’s bearing. One moment his posture and manner were colored by hesitation and insecurity, and the very next he was smoldering at her while making decisions that should really be hers. It could have been the champagne, but it was more likely confident Draco that made Hermione’s eyes cross the teensiest bit and her mouth fall open.

 

He noticed. His mouth curled in a smug smirk and he addressed the elder Malfoy wizard. “Have you noticed our feisty witch secretly enjoys being bossed about, Lu?”

 

Lucius returned the look and then glanced at Hermione with appraising eyes. “Indeed. She is a delightful study in contradictions.” He leaned his head back, holding her in his gaze, and beckoned imperiously. “Come, pretty kitten.”

 

Her eyes wandered over his handsome face and down his bare torso. The firelight added a golden glow to his otherwise pale skin, casting warmth and highlighting each firm swell of muscle. She looked back up at him and smiled slowly, nibbling her lower lip in the process. Yes, please. Hermione went to him gladly, curling up in his lap as if to reinforce the aptness of his pet-name. She leaned her head against his hearth-warmed chest. “Mmmmmmm.”

 

He wrapped one large hand around the outer curve of her thigh, securing her in place, and wove his other through her hair. With his fistful of curls he tipped her head back gently but firmly until her eyes met his. “Do you like to be dominated, pet?” His thumb stroked over the skin of her leg in a familiar pattern. Rub, rub, rub.

 

I like your hands and I like our games, she thought with a smile. The champagne was definitely affecting her in the nicest of ways, slightly heightening her senses and taking the edge off any inhibitions she may still have. “It depends on what I’m told to do,” she teased.

 

“How very true. You willfully disobey nearly every command or request I make regarding your safety.” Here he grinned wolfishly. “Yet when I order you to lie across my lap for a spanking, you do so with great alacrity.” When she squirmed in his arms and gave a small mewl of desire, Lucius looked away from her to Draco. “Shall we ‘boss her about’, as you say? She seems ready and willing.”

 

Her head still tipped up and held in place by Lucius, Hermione could only watch out of the corner of her eyes as Draco made his way to their side. He sat on the arm of the chair, stretching one arm behind Lucius’ head and bending close to her. “Is that what you want, sweetheart? Do you want to play?” Each word was spoken against the skin of her neck as a soft wet kiss.

 

The dark edge to his soft, husky voice sent white-hot arousal shooting through every system of her body. It spread goosebumps over her bare skin, tightened her nipples to hard peaks, caused the soft flesh between her legs to throb, and sent a gush of fluid running down her thigh. Dear sweet Circe riding Merlin’s Firebolt in a closet, YES! Hermione moaned directly into Draco’s ear.

 

The noise caused him to pull back with a self-satisfied expression, and he glanced at Lucius. “Such a greedy girl. Shall we make her ask nicely?”

 

The return of Draco’s confidence was both a relief and a slight irritation. How was it he was able to regain that level of smugness so quickly? She wanted it for herself for the express purpose of wiping that look off his face! Thinking as quickly as she could under such lust-clouded circumstances, she breathed, “I’m so wet, Draco; just see how wet I am.”

 

Predictably his eyes glazed over and his nearest hand moved toward the hem of her jersey. Just as his fingers closed around it, though, Hermione twitched it from his grasp. “Ask nicely,” she said in a sultry tone.

 

Lucius chuckled as his younger brother flip-flopped from authoritative to shocked in the span of a heartbeat. “You said it yourself: she’s a feisty one.” Turning his attention to her, he lifted one eyebrow and scolded, “Play nicely, pet.” He reinforced his order with a firm swat to her backside, which had her squirming and moaning again. “Now kiss Draco and make up.”

 

“Yeeeessss, sir!” Hermione found her head being turned toward her younger husband by Lucius’ handful of curls. When their eyes met, she couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve been a bad girl. Want to make up with me?”

 

Draco smirked. “I want to do something with you.” He bent down and kissed her, pushing his tongue between her lips in slow, deep thrusts. With his other hand he tugged her jersey back out of his way, pushing her legs apart. Pulling away from her mouth, he glanced down to where his hand stroked maddeningly slowly up her inner thigh.

 

“Please play with me, Draco,” she whispered, enjoying the immense rush of power that came with those submissive words. “There,” she added with a gleam in her eye, “was that nice enough?” She was in control of every order, every touch given her by her husbands. The mood shifted, and suddenly the room was at least twenty degrees hotter and darker.

 

Draco looked to Lucius, and Lucius looked to her. Hermione divided her gaze between the two blond wizards and for the first time found herself participating in one of their unnerving, silent communications. Each subtle shift of expression, each twitch of an eye or curl of a mouth acquired significance, and within seconds the three of them were nodding at each other and rising to stand. Within her the covenant began a purr of contentment that spread in ripples over the surface of her consciousness.

 

Her husbands led her to the bookcase on the far side of the room, to a spot where the air seemed to shimmer. They each kissed the back of her left hand, where her beautiful dragon handmark was almost completely faded. “After you, Wife,” Lucius breathed in a reverent way.

 

She turned to her husbands in a rush of confidence and grinned. “Don’t keep me waiting long, you two.” Then, stepping backward into the bookcase she thought of the need to leave the room, and of the passageways meant only for her and her family. Less than a second later she was sucked into that cool dark void, where she conjured the image of her destination: the House bed.

 

(page break thingie)

 

At her entrance every candelabrum and wall sconce flamed to life and the hearth lit with a rush of heat and light. The room seemed to reach toward her, drawing her into an intimate embrace. Hermione breathed in the dark, heady magic of the Malfoy covenant and savored its caress. It was the same as she remembered it: the sensation of a lover’s tongue licking along her skin, coupled with the fragrance of her Amortentia. Her first exposure to this feeling had been when she’d unwittingly accepted her war stake, and the next had been at her binding ceremony. Then she’d entered this room for her odalisque; her friends had felt uncomfortably out of place, but to Hermione it was as though this room had been waiting just for her. It was becoming increasingly familiar and welcome in its sensual sensory input. Her body responded immediately and without reservation.

 

She was pulled by a seductive thrum of magic across the candle-lit room toward the enormous bed and had just clambered up onto it when there was a quiet whoosh announcing the arrival of one of her wizards. Continuing her crawl toward the head of the bed she glanced over her shoulder.

 

Draco stood by the fireside, eyes pinned on her backside. He smoldered at her in a way that made her tug down her jersey with a self-conscious smile and crawl that much faster toward the wide double row of pillows against the headboard. Her progress was stopped abruptly when a large hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her back down the length of the bed. Hermione gave a happy yelp of surprise and kicked at his hold to no avail. Laughing, he moved his grip to her waist and added another hand, manhandling her until she was bent over the side of the bed.

 

The atmosphere thickened yet more and that thread of magic sought her out, lacing through her runes and twining around her gut. Hermione struggled against her husband, less in an effort to get away than in an attempt to find friction for her aching nipples and core.

 

Draco leaned down over her until his warm chest was pressed to her back. “Trying to escape again?” With one hand he pushed her curls off her neck and applied his mouth to the sensitive juncture of shoulder and neck. When she wriggled beneath him and moaned at the sensation he chuckled. “I assure you there’s nowhere for you to hide, sweetheart.” He began moving against her, his pajama-covered hardened length trapped between them.

 

The oversized jersey she was wearing had ridden up to her armpits when she’d been yanked across the bed, and now nearly every inch of skin on the front of her body was stimulated by bedding of the softest, coolest silk imaginable. Hermione writhed against it and gave a small gasp of pleasure when Draco nipped at her neck with his teeth. Through the rapidly gathering lust-haze she managed to ask, “Where’s Lucius?”

 

Draco growled against her shoulder. “He’ll be here shortly; an owl arrived as we were leaving his study.” He slid a hand between the bed and Hermione’s stomach and moved it down until his fingers reached the soaked curls covering her lower lips. “Shall we see what we can get up to in the meantime?” Extending the fingers of the hand between her legs, he nudged until she was spread wide beneath him. “I need to be inside you now.”

 

Hermione tried to push into his teasing touch. “Sh-shouldn’t we- Oh! Wait? Mmmm. For Lucius?” She groaned and reached behind her back to divest Draco of his flannel pajamas, ending up with a handful of hard shaft.

 

Draco removed her hand with a muffled curse, a rustle of movement indicating he was lowering his trousers. Less than a second later he pushed into her wet channel with a groan. “We agreed to no release before he arrives.”

 

How’s that going to work, she groused internally. Sex might be a relatively new thing to her, but even she knew the whole point of it was orgasm. “Whose stupid idea was that?” She arched her back and pushed her bum into him in an attempt to fit them together more closely. “O-o-o-h . . .” He was seated within her fully now, pinning her hips to the bed in a satisfying way.

 

“I thought you wanted to play, Hermione.” He leaned so the front of his large torso lay along her back and ran his lips over her cheek. “Surely release can wait.” He withdrew almost completely and thrust in again slowly. Too slowly. “Nevertheless I look forward to hearing you beg for yours.” He lifted her off the bed by a hand to her shoulder and tugged at her nipples with the other. “Come on, Princess; ask me to let you come.” Just then another whoosh signaled Lucius’ entrance. Draco all but snarled, “It’s about time. What took you so long?” Draco stroked in and out again, eliciting from her a needy sound.

 

The sound of Lucius chuckling coincided with the bed sinking down to her left. Hermione turned her head toward her elder husband. She closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure at the feel of his hand moving along her side.

 

“Such impatience, brother. It has been less than five minutes since you left my study.” Now he was gently removing her bunched-up jersey. “The Ministry requires my personal testimony regarding our recent . . . break-ins. Kingsley has offered to take it himself, and would like to meet in the morning.” He traced the edge of her necklace with tender fingers. “Now tell me how our Wife feels around your cock. Does her pretty cunt grip you tightly?” At the casually asked question, made even filthier and more arousing by Lucius’ aristocratic drawl, Hermione moaned his name and reached a hand toward him. He raised it to his mouth and pressed a formal kiss to it.

 

“Unbelievably so.” Draco gave another slow thrust, eliciting a keen of frustrated pleasure from the witch in question. “She’s wet and wanting; see for yourself.” He withdrew from her body but remained behind her, one large hand pushing her back down against the bed.

 

The ghost of a twinkle in his eyes, Lucius bent at the waist and caught Hermione’s lips in a brief kiss that provoked more than it satisfied. He broke from her mouth and traded places with his brother. Leaning down as Draco had done only seconds before, he murmured into the skin of her neck, “If it pleases you, I would share in this act.” As he spoke, he rubbed his erection along the split of her seam, coating it in her fluid.

 

He seemed to be waiting for permission, and Hermione hummed her response. Any and all previous hesitancy was gone on her part, replaced by that thread of magic that now thrummed throughout her body. She reached up to tangle her hands in his long hair, jerking on it unintentionally when his cock filled her channel. As before, the action pressed her lower half firmly against the bed. She spread her legs wider and hung onto his thick hair. When he made no further move, she growled, “For Merlin’s sake move, Lucius!

 

 

Either he hadn’t heard her order or he chose to ignore it. He stilled within her and addressed his brother, his arms wrapping around her in a tender embrace. “I had an idea for a game, Draco. I don’t suppose you would be interested in hearing it.” He’d slipped a hand down to her mound mid-sentence and was now playing idly with her sensitized nub. When Hermione tried to move against his talented fingers, he tutted in her ear and thrust forcefully into her. “Now, now, pet. Patience.” He removed his hand and chuckled when she growled again. “Well, Draco?”

 

The younger Malfoy wizard leaned down on one toned forearm so that his face was close to Hermione’s own. “What do you, think, sweetheart; would you like to hear Lucius’ game?” He pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries when Lucius began moving at a slow, steady pace.

 

Lucius, when he finally spoke, sounded oddly calm and collected for a wizard with his wand up his witch. “I suggest a game of stakes, the winner to claim our Wife in this bed first. If she agrees, of course.”

 

Hermione broke her kiss with Draco, curiosity only adding to her aroused state. “What game? What are the rules? It isn’t fair to exclude me from the competi- Mmmmmph!”

 

Draco cut her off by leaning forward and kissing her again, his tongue pushing between her lips to mate with hers as their lips crushed together. When breathing became necessary, he pulled away with a smirk. “You heard our Wife, Lu: state the game and its rules.” He pushed up off the bed. “And I believe it’s my turn.”

 

No sooner had Lucius acquiesced than Draco took his place. Hermione looked over her shoulder with a grin. She wiggled her bottom invitingly at Draco and moaned in delight when he thrust into her without warning. If the wantonness of their play thus far was arousing, the physical pleasure was doubly so. Play indeed, she thought through her fog of lust.

 

Lucius was tugging gently on a handful of her hair. “Pay attention, pet.” He used his other hand to trace a path down her neck, over her collarbones, to her breasts. He cupped one lush orb and squeezed it gently, catching her rune-marked nipple in the join of two fingers. Then, pinching and rolling it between those digits in a maddening rhythm, he continued, “A game in this place must be attractive to all involved, and above all else sanctioned by you, Wife. If you are willing, I suggest this challenge involve your pleasure at our hands.” He released his grip on her hair and resumed his attention to the soft, wet skin of her seam even as Draco continued to stroke in and out of her core.

 

Hermione grunted in pleasure. “Yesssss.” When Lucius suddenly paused and Draco withdrew from her body, she hissed in frustration, “Stop teasing me, you two!

 

Lucius chuckled and gave her backside a firm swat. “Such an impertinent minx,” he murmured appreciatively. “What say you, Draco?”

 

Hermione sighed and climbed up onto the bed, sitting beside Draco to run one foot up and down Lucius’ inner thighs. He caught it with a twinkle and leaned to nibble playfully at her arch before releasing it.

 

One glance up and sideways showed Draco smirking darkly at her. “I say we tie her to the bed and see how many times we can make her come. You’d like that; wouldn’t you, Princess?”

 

Hermione could only whimper at the level of smugness he exuded in that moment. In a last-minute attempt to turn the tables on him, she bent low to place a kiss on the tip of his cock; that backfired, though, when he held her there with one strong hand. A gush of arousal fluid dripped down her thigh at the dominant move, and her tongue darted out to taste him almost reflexively.

 

Draco combed his free hand through her curls and commanded in a raspy tone, “Please open your pretty mouth, Princess. Suck me while we decide what we’re going to do with you.”

 

She grinned to herself. He said ‘please’. She complied, listening to the debauched conversation going on above her head as she licked and sucked at the hard flesh and made her younger husband moan.

 

Lucius ran a hand over Hermione’s arse, startling her momentarily. His fingers trailed down between her legs, swiping through the wetness gathering there. “Someone is pleased with the idea.” He returned his hand to her dripping seam and slapped her there gently, the force of the small blow landing on her clitoris. “There shall be no penetration of any kind once she is bound.”

 

Hermione wailed with the pleasure of the unexpected touch, causing Draco to buck into her mouth. She pulled back, gagging, to find him looking at her with a grin that was at once guilty and triumphant. “I apologize, sweetheart.” He released his hold of her hair and turned to Lucius. “No repetitions of method in giving her an orgasm.”

 

Lucius gave her several more sensual slaps that had her spreading her legs even wider and pushing into his touch. “She shall not be made to work for her release.”

 

Draco’s expression in that moment was the culmination of youth and confidence. “Winner takes her first on this bed. You’ll wait your turn and watch, old man.”

 

Lucius, who had been sucking his fingers clean, gave a happy-sounding laugh and turned his attention back to Hermione. He motioned for her to sit up, and when she was kneeling on the bed before him drew her into his arms for a kiss. His mouth tasted of her own arousal, which was oddly gratifying.

 

Lucius likes the taste of me. She pushed her tongue into his mouth curiously, exploring the combination of their flavors. I certainly like the taste of him. The kiss was long and leisurely, a pleasure with no other goal other than itself.

 

Lucius allowed her to control the kiss for a few heady seconds before he took over completely. Finally he broke away and turned to Draco. “I think you will find that in these kinds of games there are only winners, so long as in the end our Wife is sated and dripping with our seed.” He looked back at her with a tender expression and cupped her cheek. “After all, this room was made for the worship of her.”

 

What was it about being discussed as if she weren’t even there? About the thought of being tied up and touched by two men with such feral expressions on their handsome faces? What was it about having such decisions made for her? Hermione shuddered, making her way to the headboard. There she sprawled in almost an exact representation of her odalisque, willing her husbands to turn and notice.

 

It took less than fifteen seconds for them to conclude their hosing down of the bed with testosterone, and then their faces darkened. The air thickened and pulsed around them. Draco raised his wand-hand, mouth open, and Hermione braced for some version of a restraining Charm. Lucius stopped him with an arm around his shoulders. “I would prefer her kneeling, if you please.” He lifted an imperious brow at her, an amused smirk gracing his well-shaped mouth. “Up you go, pet, and spread your lovely legs.” He turned to his young brother. “Be sure your restraints are sufficient, Draco. She should be able to do nothing but scream our names.”

 

Moments later Hermione found herself relatively immobilized in the center of that enormous bed. Her wrists were wrapped in cords of soft silk, which drew her arms away from her sides and were seemingly fastened to the thrumming air itself. Cords encircled her legs just above her knees as well, keeping them spread to Lucius’ specifications. She tested her fetters in various ways, pleased to find they were tight. Gone was the self-conscious witch in Draco’s bed, and in her place was one who welcomed the admiring gazes and touches of her wizards. It could have been the magic in the room; its steady pulse had become almost a throb, beating against her skin and through her body in a primal rhythm. It could have been her husbands, whose large, warm hands traced over her flesh and whose masculine tones vibrated deep in her gut. The room was steeped in magic of the covenant and the heady promise of sex, and the combination was going to kill Hermione with pure anticipation. “For the love of all that’s magic; come on, you two!” She snapped impatiently. “You’re killing me!”

 

Lucius and Draco, both stripped of their pajama bottoms and kneeling on the bed in all their naked glory, only smiled wickedly at her and engaged in one of their silent conversations. Her elder husband knelt in front of her, towering over her diminutive frame, while her younger husband did the same behind her. Finally Lucius leaned low to murmur against the corner of her mouth, “I would far prefer sweet noises to come from that mouth, pet.”

 

Hermione yanked against her restraints, mouth open and ready to deliver a smart reply, when she thought better of it. Dropping her eyes she said meekly, “Yes, sir.” Oh, if you two think you’re the only ones playing this game . . . She peeked up at him through her lashes.

 

His eyes flashed, and a hungry expression passed over his aristocratic features. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only a rapidly flexing jaw muscle. He turned his gaze to Draco. “Would you care to go first?”

 

The younger Malfoy pressed his warm chest and stomach to her back. He hummed against her temple, hands going to her breasts. “Thank you, I would.” He moved his mouth over her cheek, down to her mouth. “I’d like to kiss you.”

 

Those words, an allusion to their first study date in the Hogwarts library, had a devastating effect on Hermione. She craned her neck to the side, arching eagerly to press her lips to his. Then his hands began playing her body, and everything else was forgotten for a while. Draco used his advantage in height and weight to keep her pinned in that position: mouth engaged in his kiss, body arched into his touch. Clever fingers slid through her wet folds, sliding and circling in a persistent pattern; they spread over her chest to rub both tight peaks with gloriously calloused fingertips.

 

Hermione moved against his touch as much as her restraints would allow, breaking their kiss finally to drop her head back to his chest and pant breathlessly. She’d been aroused before they’d even entered this room, and then teased nearly to the point of madness. Now she broke into a light sweat as a lovely coil began winding tight deep within her gut. “Please,” she begged shamelessly. “Draco, please.”

 

Mouth now free, Draco added filthy words to his pursuit of her climax. “Merlin, but I like the sound of that: Gryffindor’s Princess, stripped and tied to my bed and begging me to touch her.” He rutted against her lower back. “You like it just as much; don’t you, Princess? Go on, tell me you do.”

 

Yes,” she nearly sobbed. “Don’t stop!” So close! The angle of his fingers changed, causing them to rub against the opening of her channel. She rode his hand, desperate for more . . . more. “There! Touch me there,” she ordered with a groan.

 

“I can’t, sweetheart. It’s against the rules, remember?” Draco echoed the tortured sound. “Fuck, you’re so pure; you can’t even say the word, can you? Say it Princess.” He ground the words through gritted teeth. “Tell me how badly your pussy wants to suck my fingers in and be fucked by them.” He picked up his pace between her legs, fingers still teasing that tempting spot.

 

Hermione nodded desperately. “I’m so close, Draco. Oh, Circe . . . ” It was beginning. Her toes curled and her body arched tightly in preparation for the free-fall.

 

“Fuck, Hermione – you’re running all over my hand, and I can feel you throbbing. Come, sweetheart; come for me. Please.” It was Draco’s turn to beg shamelessly.

 

One last artful movement of his hand between her legs and Hermione was struck head-on by her climax. It jolted through her body, leaving shockwaves in its wake. She sank in Draco’s arms, boneless and gasping for breath. “One . . . mmmmmm. One point to Draco,” she managed after a while.

 

“One solid point for me. Your turn, Lu.” The tone of the younger Malfoy was incredibly smug.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes but could summon little irritation on her current wave of supreme bliss. She smiled lazily up at her elder husband.

 

He looked down at her with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Are you ready, sweetling?”

 

Am I ready for more gratuitous pleasure? Hmmmmm, let me think . . . Her smile widened to a grin, and she nodded.

 

He appeared to be contemplating something, brow furrowed, and then he raised one large hand to the breast marked with his rune. Lightly stroking the pebbled nipple with a fingertip, he said firmly, “You will listen to my instructions and obey them. Do you understand, pet?”

 

Breathless now for a completely different reason, she gasped, “Yes, sir.”

 

That seemed to please Lucius, who scraped the very tip of her peak with his blunt nail. “I find that particular form of address most pleasing; pray continue answering me in such a way. Close your eyes.”

 

Pushing into his touch she obeyed promptly. She jumped when a firm swat was delivered between her spread legs, mewling at the pleasurable sensation.

 

“What do you say, pet?” Lucius’ voice was right by her ear.

 

“Yes, sir,” she replied quickly. She was rewarded with another light touch to her runed nipple and a simultaneous slap to her bundle of nerves. Both sent a pulse surging deep through her gut.

 

“Good girl.” His silky drawl seemed to be connected to the parts of her body he was stimulating. “There is much pleasure to be had in games such as this one.”

 

The brightest witch of the age was a quick study and had a prodigious memory as well. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice! “Yes, sir.”

 

Another pleasing set of slap and light touch had her writhing slightly. His voice was in her other ear now, and he gave a small dark laugh. “I wonder, pet, what you would have thought had someone told you just two weeks ago that such a thing would bring you pleasure.” Another slap accompanied by the faintest of twists and tugs on her nipple. “Would you have thought such a thing possible?”

 

“Nngh.” She opened her eyes in dismay when Lucius’ hands left her body abruptly. “What-“

 

He frowned down at her, the effect completely ruined by his twinkling eyes and a teasing kiss. “Perhaps you would like me to stop?”

 

“No! Absolutely not!” Her outraged whisper caused him to chuckle. “Don’t stop, Lucius.”

 

“Then you should continue in the task I set for you, pet.” He kissed her again. “Perhaps more instructions will keep your lovely mind engaged.” Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You may begin counting. Do not forget to thank me.”

 

The order had her gut clenching in the most pleasing manner possible. “Yeeesssssss, sir.” She closed her eyes again and waited.

 

Slap, twist, tug. “Release is not defined by the speed of its delivery, but by its anticipation.” His voice was strained.

 

She groaned. “One. Thank you, sir.” There’s something to be said for immediate gratification, though.

 

Two successive sets of sensual slap and tortuous twist and tug. “The sight of you bound in this bed makes my cock twitch, pet. I’m going to fill your sweet cunt with it shortly.”

 

“Oh, for- TWO! THREE! THANK YOU, SIR!” Was there such a thing as death by filth and pleasure? It seemed more likely all the time!

 

Their rhythm of touch and reply went on and on, increasing in intensity until sweat ran down Hermione’s face and she was babbling her answers. There was a heavy throbbing between her legs that bordered on an ache, and it was directly tied to his attention to her rune. When Lucius suddenly stopped, it was all Hermione could do to remember her instructions and keep her eyes (and mouth) closed. She whimpered and squirmed desperately, seeking out the friction of his hands.

 

Finally he stroked trembling fingers from her neck down to her mound. “Open your eyes and watch, Hermione.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She obeyed just in time to see him bend down and latch on to the breast that bore his rune. Her head dropped back against Draco’s chest as the sensation struck her like a lightning bolt of pure pleasure. “Luciussss,” she breathed, pushing the lush flesh of her breast against his mouth.

 

He broke his suckle with a loud, wet sound and met her gaze. “I wonder . . . ” He leaned to press a lingering kiss to the tight bud, watching as she nearly came undone from the simple act. He looked over her shoulder. “Draco, I propose a change to our game.”

 

Hermione was still savoring the memory his latest touch. Then she processed his words. “What?!” Her shriek of frustration was met with a sternly raised eyebrow from Lucius.

 

From behind her Draco ran a soothing hand down her arm as he replied to Lucius, “To what end?”

 

The elder Malfoy looked from his brother to the curly-haired Wife. “You won her release with skill, and she is ready to fall apart at my hand as well.”

 

“True,” Draco agreed. “We’ve both proven we know how to please her.”

 

If Hermione had been set alight by her husbands’ hands, then her fuse was quickly burning up. “Oh, yes; let’s all stop and compliment each other’s cleverness while the witch on the bed dies of spontaneous combustion!” She glared at her husbands through narrowed eyes, noting their amused expressions. “If someone doesn’t touch me now, I’m going to start hexing indiscriminately!”

 

Lucius gave a happy laugh, his previously dark expression lighting up with boyish delight. Holding her gaze he responded to the younger wizard, “Let us tend to our Wife’s runes together and see what happens.”

 

“Oh! Research,” Hermione responded brightly. She was instantly mollified, her curiosity and current state of arousal taking control of her temper. Well, if you must.

 

Draco shifted around to kneel beside Lucius, a smile on his face as well. “Excellent idea, Lu.” He glanced at Hermione, his smile shifting to one of wickedness. “Are you ready, Princess?”

 

There was no time to reply as they sank down to sit on their calves in front of her, blond heads leaning low toward her breasts. Four hands wrapped around her hips and thighs while two well-shaped mouths closed around the tips of her breasts. Then there were blinding flashes of light and the sensation of electrocution running through every fibre of her body. And there was pleasure – pleasure that was both unequalled and unimaginable. She cried their names, counting each release as it hit her and thanking them for it as Lucius had commanded her to do. Even in the midst of orgasmic chaos, it seemed, Hermione could multitask. Time seemed to slow – or did it speed up? – in that refuge of the Malfoy covenant. The very air pulsed, the fragrance of Hermione’s war stake intensified, and a thread of magic joined the three occupants in a twisted riot of golden loops and knots.

 

Her magical restraints kept her upright, as did her husbands’ hands as she sagged against them in complete loss of consciousness. Two blond heads lifted in concern, two well-shaped mouths formed words of love and released her from her bindings, and four hands laid her down upon the Malfoy House bed. But Hermione watched all this from across the large room, where she stood beside the family covenant.

 

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She met its intense gaze, somehow unsurprised that in this special place it had an even more solid form than it had at her full moon ceremony. Then it had been enormous, its power obvious and slightly terrifying; now, it was if the covenant was more relaxed, more . . . at home. That’s because it is, she thought with a small grin. This is its home outside of our bodies. She felt a wave of its amusement wash over her, and then it spoke in that wonderfully familiar, completely Other voice. “Greetings, little Bespoken One. Do I have your attention now?”

 

Hermione raised one incredulous eyebrow, glancing over to where her wizards were tending to her unconscious body. “You could have just spoken to me, you know. I would have listened.”

 

“In my defense, little one, I sent a dream to you earlier today.” It laughed outright. “You have been preoccupied.”

 

“Errrrrr.” She smirked, blushing. So that was what I was trying to remember after my nap. “You could be right. What is it you need my attention for?”

 

The family magic was a mesmerizing thing to watch. Its nearly solid form shifted constantly and took on every color of the spectrum. “I have a message from the Fallen Four, preserved by the Remaining Twenty-Four in the hope of this day.”

 

Goosebumps broke out all over this alternate form of her body. She looked up at the covenant warily. “Do I want to know what it is?” Her own voice suddenly sounded faint to her ears. “Speak up, please. I can barely hear you!”

 

“My wizards are trying to pull you from this state. They will succeed shortly.” The covenant’s form began shifting more rapidly, as did its hues. “Listen well, Hermione Malfoy, bearer of the matriarch’s runes. The fate of my kind rests on your small shoulders, but I will guide you always.”

 

“That’s a bit melodramatic, even for you,” she scoffed. “Just tell me the message!”

 

It was already fading before her eyes, and the Hermione on the bed was beginning to regain consciousness. As the two versions of herself merged back together, the covenant whispered in her mind, “The message is this: ‘You are our only hope, Bespoken One. Restore us to our glory’.”

 

************************************

 

Large, gentle hands were stroking her hair and hands as Hermione opened her eyes. She smiled up at her husbands, committing the covenant’s message to the most sacred vault of her extraordinary memory. “Mmmmmmm. Ten. Thank you both.”

 

Draco blinked several times, a shocked expression on his handsome face. Lucius, however, wore his typical look of smug amusement. “Perhaps the challenge should have revolved around quantity.”

 

She sighed contentedly. Whatever had just happened, it had left her completely rejuvenated. “Since it didn’t, it ended in a tie. That means equal bragging rights to you both.” She looked between the two wizards, who were both staring at her in a hungry, calculating sort of way. “I seem to remember something about ‘to be wanted without patience and taken with even less’. Now who’s going to ravish me first?”

 

Two well-shaped mouths curled into predatory smiles, four strong hands tightened their grip on her. The air thickened yet again, and the fragrance of the war-stake settled over them like a veil. Around the edge of Hermione’s awareness the covenant settled down with a wave of satisfaction. It began purring in a decidedly self-satisfied way.

 

“I’m not begging this time,” Hermione growled. “So stop teasing!”

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