Disclaimer: I own nothing! The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB.
The rain poured down from the steel grey sky. The blackened thunderheads rumbled threateningly, but so far had failed to produce anything but desultory mutterings. Hermione Weasley didn't doubt that things would change, for the worse, before too long. The sky was angry and had only gotten angrier as the day had worn on.
She kept a tight grip on her emotions as she raised her hand once more, preparing again to hammer on the large oaken door before her. Her own anger was demanding that she batter the doors down, but her head was in control once more; it had only been a few moments since she had last knocked, she needed to give someone time to get to the door. Nothing would be gained from…
She battered the door with a clenched fist, the wind flicking her wild, bushy hair around her face and into her mouth, annoying her even more as she spat and sputtered. She could hear the echo of her knocking and the faint sounds of someone walking closer, clearly not in any hurry to greet her.
Her breath huffed into the frosty air in clouds of steam and she chewed the inside of her cheek, desperately striving for calm as the latch inside was thrown and the door pulled open. She was momentarily taken aback, about to launch into her speech, when she realised that the person opening the door was not the small house-elf she was expecting. Her gaze rapidly climbed up the finely tailored trousers, over the expensive looking belt buckle and fine shirt, up towards the finely groomed face of Lucius Malfoy.
An eyebrow quirked as Hermione's brown eyes finally met his pale grey ones and the witch grunted in annoyance at the sardonic smile on his lips. "Opening your own door now, Malfoy?" she snapped sarcastically, fighting down a strange flutter at the vaguely suggestive look in the older man's eyes.
Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the door open and shoved past the tall man, Lucius moving deftly to avoid the rain that followed the dishevelled witch in.
"And a pleasant evening to you too, my dear," he drawled. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company on this frightful December evening?"
"Where is he?" she said, her voice filled with barely restrained anger. The witch barely heard Lucius's querying response, her eyes drawn to the main hall of the Manor. The walls had been drab and grey, little more than bare stonework, broken up by the occasional portrait, the last time she had been here, with her husband. Now they were decked for the season; strings of glittering lights spanned the open space; bright and colourful tinsel was hung across the usually dour pictures; a huge, bushy tree was being decorated by a pair of house-elves.
The giant tree was at least 12 foot tall and Hermione had to admit to herself that it did look beautiful. Then she noticed the man overseeing the work, a glass of creamy eggnog in his left hand. His smart but casual clothes looked finely fitted and tailored; a black suit that hugged his form in all the right places. Draco heard her heavy, stomping footsteps as she moved rapidly across the open floor and turned to greet her, a wide grin on his face and a holiday greeting on his lips.
He didn't get a chance to say more than her name, however, as the furious woman drew back her fist and then powered it forward, catching the young man on the cheek, just below the left eye, and knocking him flat onto his back. His glass went flying from his hand, shattering on the stone floor and spilling the creamy liquid everywhere. The house-elves stopped what they were doing and stared in shocked surprise, hands still, decorations poised.
Groaning in pain, Draco sat up. "Wha… What the hell was that for?" Draco yelled, hand clapped to his face.
"You fucking knew about it, you little weasel-faced bastard!" Hermione screeched at him, spittle flecking her lips, her hair crackling with the heat of her anger. "You knew all along and you said nothing! He was cheating on me for three bloody weeks… and you knew!"
Three weeks earlier…
"Viktor! Over here!"
Draco's voice finally caught the international Quidditch player's attention and the dark-haired man turned to look in his direction. Malfoy waved again and Viktor Krum returned the greeting with a curt nod, leaning down to his female companion's ear and whispering for a brief moment, before turning and moving towards the younger man.
"Dobre doshal, Viktor," Draco said, holding out his hand, "ne sam te vizhdal mnogo vreme. Kak si?"
"Az sam dobre, Draco," the taller man said with a smile, his accent as strong as his handshake. "Vour Bulgarian is improving, my friend, it has indeed been a long time. How are preparations for next month's match?"
"Well," Draco said with a smile, "very well. The venue is all set up and ready to go. Only a few last minute details to iron out, you know how these things go."
Krum nodded, his eyes lifting over the young Malfoy's shoulder. "Excuse me, please. I see someone I must speak vith."
Barely waiting for a response, the older man nodded politely and stepped around Draco, walking swiftly across the room towards a knot of people, most of whom the blond man recognised. It was the England Quidditch team, almost in their entirety. The two teams were meeting at this little get-together, in advance of the match that Draco had been organising. The international friendly was due to take place the day before Christmas Eve and he was flying solo, for the first time, taking on all the responsibility, with his father's blessing.
He watched as Krum greeted the players with hugs and handshakes. Even Weasleby got a hearty greeting; truly there was no accounting for taste, Draco thought with a grin.
He still disliked Ron, even though it had been years since their Hogwarts days. The fact that he had gone on to play for England and become good friends with not only with his own Quidditch hero, but with many players that Draco himself still idolised, did not sit well with the young man. "Lucky git," he muttered to himself, and then realised with a start that he was not alone.
A young woman had walked up to him whilst he had been distracted and Draco fixed a polite smile on his face as he turned, taking her hand and planting a gentle kiss on the back of it, all while searching his memory for her name. "Enchanté… Or, I should say, priatno mi beshe! Sofija Dragonova, yes?"
"Indeed, Mister Malfoy, a pleasure to meet you too," the young lady said with a slight bend of her knees, her accent as strong as Viktor's. "I understand that you are arranging the living quarters?"
"Indeed, amongst most other things." Draco admired the pale-skinned beauty before him. Truly, he mused, some men are just lucky bastards. Viktor Krum's long-term girlfriend, a Chaser on the Bulgarian national team, was beautiful indeed; smooth, unblemished skin, long dark hair that tumbled in lustrous curls, toned and firm legs, perfectly large, full... He stifled a sigh of pleasure at the girl's cleavage, glad that he was the taller and that she was looking around at the moment, affording a perfect aerial view. Definitely a lucky bastard.
"Dobar. Then I have a request that requires your utmost discretion, Mister Malfoy."
"Anything within my power, Sofija." His eyes lifted to her face, just before she looked back at him and he mentally congratulated himself on his surreptitious letch.
As Sofija began to speak, Draco struggled to keep his eyebrows down and his eyes on the woman, rather than looking over at Krum. Well, this is a turn up for the books, and no mistake!
Ron Weasley awoke, startled out of his sleep suddenly, his mouth dry and feeling full of cotton. For a moment he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling and the room around him; the fine wall coverings and beautiful pictures of far off lands; the fireplace with its flames dancing merrily within the grate.
The momentary confusion passed as he felt the bed shift underneath him and he remembered that he was not alone. He smiled as he glanced over at his companion, taking in the smooth back, the pale, creamy skin and the sleep tousled, dark hair. He reflected on the preceding night of passion and the pleasant ache in his limbs.
Turning to press himself against his bed mate's back and buttocks, he lifted his right hand and stroked it gently over their shoulder; their soft sigh caused warmth to spread through his lower body.
Ron reflected on the last couple of weeks, since the Bulgarian team had arrived, as his lover started to awaken. He had never thought of himself as an unfaithful man. He loved his wife, had done for years. This affair though… it was so different and exciting. And they had so much more in common too! They were both international Quidditch players, for starters. Ron and Hermione were, as had been pointed out by several people, intellectually uneven, to say the least. He knew this, couldn't deny it with any degree of reality; the clever witch was so far above him in terms of academic ability it was laughable that she had agreed to be his in the first place!
As the warm body snuggled closer into his side, Ron smiled at the sleepy "Morning." He still found the Bulgarian accent funny, but it warmed his heart and he tucked himself closer, wrinkling his nose slightly, as sleep mussed hair tickled his nostrils.
He was just glad that Draco hadn't asked too many questions when Sofija had asked for a room, separate from Viktor.
Severus Snape had never believed in emotive outbursts. He had never, or at least not since his youth at least, indulged in any demonstrative displays of emotion. Severus Snape was a closed book to most people.
Which was why he was finding his current visitor a distinctly unpleasant intrusion into his peaceful existence.
Snape's sitting room, where he played host to his few guests, had undergone a dramatic change from its neglected appearance in his Hogwart's years. Where before the furniture had been threadbare and dilapidated, it was now fresh and clean; the table was new and no longer rickety, the armchair renewed and plump, the sofa opposite had been reupholstered in black leather that gleamed in the lamp light. It was a comfortable room now, the walls still lined with his vast collection of leather bound books. Extra lamps had been added, increasing the light in the room to a comfortable and cheery glow, rather than the dim, flickering light of a single candle that had once hung from the ceiling.
Severus usually enjoyed—though it was an unspoken enjoyment—Hermione Weasley's visits; she had taken over as the new Potions teacher at Hogwarts, after he had retired to recover from the injuries he sustained at the Battle of Hogwarts. She was a quick study, a sharp teacher, and at least as strict as he had been though tempered with a little kindness. Her students learned quickly and they enjoyed their lessons, something that Snape had never worried too much about; they were not supposed to be there to have fun after all.
Usually they chatted about obscure flora and old methods of teaching and mixing potions and ingredients; interesting subjects.
Today though… Merlin save him! She had arrived at his door, babbling and crying into what, at some point in the past, must have been a handkerchief of some kind. Now, it would better pass as a used dishcloth!
"He was… he was just doing…" Hermione couldn't continue, looking up at her mentor's impassive face, tears and mucus running down her cheeks and over her mouth. "Oh Severus, he's been having an affair! All this time, he's been cheating on me… and with…" Her words devolved into shuddering sobs, bubbling and sniffing disgustingly, her face falling to her hands once more.
With an audible and put-upon sigh, the dark-haired man gestured with his wand, sliding a box of tissues towards the distraught woman. She pulled a handful out, dropping the sopping wet tissues that had been pressed against her face. As she blew her nose noisily, wiping her eyes and continuing the hiccough and whine incomprehensibly, Severus looked down his nose at the crumpled ball of tissue on his nice, oak coffee table. His mouth twisted in distaste and levitated the wad with a swish and flick of his wand, moving it over to a nearby bin. It dropped into the brass depths and burst into flames, burning up instantly. Snape moved his wand above the surface of the table, clearing the residue of Hermione's outpouring, even as the witch continued to mumble and cough at him.
"I don't understand… maybe I didn't do enough for him? I know I'm no Molly, but I'm a fairly decent cook! Why was he… How could he do this?"
Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling, praying to all the gods he could remember for strength. If he had to take another minute of her bubbling, dribbling emotional nonsense, he didn't think he could be held responsible for his actions. "Mrs Weasley," he said, making his voice as dry and as bored as he could, "is there a reason why you are inflicting your blubbering upon me, rather than one of your friends? Clearly you have mistaken me for someone who takes an interest in matters of the heart… especially those of emotional girls." His tone was designed to antagonise and he wasn't disappointed at the fire that lit in the dishevelled witch's eyes as she glared up at him.
"What?" Her voice was quiet, seething with emotion, but the overall effect was ruined by her blotchy complexion, tear streaked cheeks and runny nose.
Snape merely raised an eyebrow at her and sniffed delicately. "You have never given me reason to doubt your hearing capability, Hermione, and so I can only assume that your question is rhetorical."
"I… I thought you cared, Severus!" Hermione's bottom lip began to tremble and Snape, his face remaining impassive, realised that the woman was so close to the edge of despair that it would take a serious shove to save her; otherwise she would topple and fall forever.
Feigning indifference, though his heart clenched for the pain the poor young chit was going through, he forced himself to shrug. "I can't imagine why you would think that." Snape brushed some imaginary dust off of his sleeve. "I am certain, however, that should you wish to investigate the matter of your husband's indiscretion further, the younger Mister Malfoy would be a good place to start."
Hermione blinked, staring at the former Potions professor in distress and confusion. "Draco? But why…"
"I believe it is he that has organised the accommodation for the visiting Quidditch players. Any change to the arrangements would have had to be sanctioned by him." Snape shrugged again, leaning back in his large armchair and lifting his cup of tea to his lips once more. "One as clever as you are purported to be should be aware of this, surely."
Over the rim he watched the cogs turn in the young witch's head, smiling to himself as her face slowly shifted from distress to anger and onwards towards fury. It always intrigued him how her hair seemed to become bushier and wilder when she was incensed.
"He would have known that Krum and his girlfriend had separate rooms…" she muttered. "The request would have had to have been made when they first arrived." Hermione stared at the table as she thought, hands clenched into fists. "Draco is bound to have been told a vague reason… and a long term couple asking for separate rooms would have intrigued him. Let's face it, he's too much of a sneak to have not looked into things." She glared up at Severus and the older man simply smiled blithely as she continued. "He must have known about the affair. Even if he didn't at first, he would have found out pretty quickly!"
The furious witch surged to her feet. "That little fucker's known for days, weeks even! And he never said a thing!"
"Celebrity status, it appears, buys a lot of averted eyes," the black-robed man murmured. "Fortunately for Mister Weasley, he is not the one masterminding his affair, or you might have found out sooner. Oh, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from Disapparating whilst in my lounge, Mrs Weasley. Please use the designated Apparition point in the alley opposite."
His dry tone stopped Hermione dead. She stared at him in shock for a moment and then gave a snort of laughter. "You're trying to get rid of me, aren't you, Severus?"
"I cannot possibly imagine what gave you that idea. I simply understand that you have something important to do, so I'll not detain you."
Shaking her head with a slight laugh, Hermione turned and walked towards the door.
"But," Snape said, barely raising his voice, forcing the witch to stop and look over her shoulder at the dark, shadowed man. "When you have finished with your business, please come again soon. I do so enjoy our little visits."
Hermione smiled, genuinely happy with the comment, and she felt a flush of pleasure wash over her. Not anything romantic, of course—she could never think of Severus as anything but a friend—but the thought that he actually enjoyed her company… "Thank you, Severus."
He tipped his cup to her as she stepped through the door, hurrying off to her destination. Malfoy Manor.
As Hermione lunged forward, planning on punching Draco in the face again, she found her wrist caught in a tight grip, held firmly. She whipped around, hair crackling with her rage, to see Lucius. He had moved up to her side and had caught her wrist, preventing her from punching out.
"Get off me, Lucius! I'm going to smack him again!"
As Draco scrambled backwards, regaining his feet as swiftly as he could, Lucius clucked his tongue and shook his head at the angry witch, as he would a wayward child. "Now, now, my dear. Try to keep a grip on your hormones, please."
With a scandalised growl, Hermione twisted round and swung for him with her left, finding her wrist easily caught in Lucius' other hand. The pair found themselves face to face, centimetres apart, arms crossed in front of each other. She was breathing fast, staring into the aristocratic man's steel grey eyes, the intensity in them was breath-taking. She felt her heart hammering, and wasn't certain just how much of it was down to her anger and how much was due to… something else. Hermione swerved away from that thought, refusing to follow it to its conclusion.
Lucius quirked an eyebrow at her and the slight smirk on his mouth made the woman's stomach lurch slightly. "What now, petal?" the tall man said, with a predatory smile.
The smile was wiped off his face when she kicked him on the shin.
The shock in his eyes, as he released her hands and hopped back, clutching his bashed shin, was most satisfying and Hermione rounded on the younger man. "Stay where you are, Malfoy!" she hissed, grabbing his collar and stopping the man in his tracks as he made to run.
"Look," he stammered, "I had no idea…" He grimaced, unable to finish the sentence and Hermione growled. "Okay, okay! Look, I knew somethingwas going on, alright?"
"Can we perhaps change venue?" Lucius asked, pulling attention back to him for a moment. "We can leave the elves to finish the tree in peace and retire to my study. I'm sure it will be a much more comfortable venue than stood in the hall."
Without waiting for an answer, the finely dressed man turned and led the way through the Manor, with only a slight limp to his step. Draco watched the angry woman cautiously for a moment before standing to one side and inviting her to follow his father. "After you."
"Worried, Malfoy?"
"About you attacking me as I walk? A little, yeah." Draco fingered his cheek that was already starting to show a red flare upon it.
She smiled tightly, her eyes hard and angry still. Turning on her heel, her hair flaring out around her, the witch stalked after the calm and regal figure of the elder Malfoy. She found herself calming down as the journey continued; in fact she believed that Lucius was taking a longer route than strictly necessary, to reach his study. She was sure, when she had been there before, it had been a much shorter trip. Taking the hint Hermione began to focus on her breathing and struggled to get her anger under control. She still wanted to lash out but now she was willing to wait and hear Draco's side of the story before she did so; he may have had genuine reasons for holding the information back from her. It didn't stop her feelings of betrayal though.
She decided to focus her thoughts elsewhere for the time being. After a moment, she flushed with embarrassment when she realised that she had focused her attention upon Lucius Malfoy's perfect looking arse. The way he moved, graceful, almost cat-like; his body was clearly toned and firm, it was intoxicating. It's not like she hadn't admired him before, of course. He was a finely put together gentleman, older certainly, but nothing too scandalous. Hermione blinked rapidly, realising where her thoughts were going. She was married for Merlin's sake! She couldn't be thinking about another man like that!
That thought reminded her of why she was here, what she had seen, and the anger began to return.
The corridor in the hotel was clean and tidy, well lit and the carpet was in good condition. Its light green colouration was accented with silver stitching and symbols, clearly indicating a Slytherin influence in this wing of the hotel. Hermione followed the corridor, the device she had borrowed from George, clutched in her hand.
He had assured her that it would follow Ron; that he had keyed it to his scent thanks to the item of clothing she had allowed it to 'sniff'. It was a toy at the moment but, George confided, he had hopes of marketing it to the Ministry, for use by the Auror department to help catch criminals. As long as it proved to have practical merit, that is.
So far, she thought, it did not. It was supposed to be following Ron, and he had told her he was going to the training ground, with the rest of the England team, gearing up for the match in a couple of weeks. At least, he was supposed to be. So far the device had led her past the training ground and on to the hotel where the visiting Quidditch team had been put up.
Hermione followed the strange, sniffing box, as it led her into the opulently furnished foyer, into the lift, and upwards, stopping at each floor for a sniff. It pulled at her on the third floor, indicating that he had come this way and she had followed it down the corridor.
Now she stood at a door, hearing noises from beyond the door that made her heart pound and her stomach tie itself in knots. Her breath came in short bursts as she quietly unlocked the door with her wand and pushed it open.
Her world shattered at the sight before her.
"Now," said Lucius, settling the—much calmer—witch into a plush armchair in his comfortable study. "Drink?" he offered solicitously. At her nod he moved to the side, pouring three drinks from a fine crystal decanter. Hermione caught the distinct tang of firewhiskey as the blond man brought the glass across to her, settling himself in the chair nearest hers.
Draco stayed standing, holding his own glass and staring into the amber liquid, as if it held all the answers. After a minute, realising that there was only the sound of the fire, crackling merrily in its grate, the young man looked up to find Hermione staring at him. Her glass was empty, a tight look on her face as she struggled to contain the shudder that wanted to course through her body. Lucius, glanced at his son, respect in his eyes for this display and a subtle look of surprise on his face.
Hermione gave a cough, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly. "Well, Malfoy?" she said, her voice a little hoarse. "Care to explain what's been going on with my husband?"
"Look," he began, taking a small sip of his own drink, "at first I had no idea, honestly! Sofija, Krum's girlfriend, asked for the separate room when they first arrived. She asked for my discretion, so I said nothing."
The room's bed was set horizontal to the door, both occupants visible from the doorway. Ron was standing on the bed, his arms wrapped around the legs of his partner, who was laid down, arms above their head, bound with silk scarves to the headboard. Their body bent upwards, legs and bottom facing the ceiling, ankles hooked over Ron's shoulders, as he thrust frantically, his pale skin flushed and slicked with sweat.
"When she didn't elaborate, naturally, I was curious and… kind of… staked it out."
"And when did you realise it was my husband that was going to that room and fucking someone else? When were you planning on telling me about this?" Hermione surged to her feet, glaring daggers at the young man, who visibly blanched at the anger in her eyes.
"Easy now," murmured Lucius, laying a placating hand on hers, urging her to sit, actually pulling her down to sit with him. She was sat before she realised that she was now perched on the older man's knee! She started to stand, but Lucius had a gentle but insistent grip on her arm. "It's okay. Let's just let Draco explain things and tell what he found before you take another swing at him. There will be plenty of time for recriminations later."
Hermione felt herself quiver slightly at the gentle stroke across her skin as Lucius held her, his thumb moving across the back of her hand. Back and forth, back and forth, gentle and calming, and yet intoxicating at the same time. She couldn't process her feelings right now; she was angry, intrigued, disposed towards violence—towards Draco at least—and a little turned on at the older man's touch. She needed time to separate her emotions and deal with things properly. Ron first!
Their grunts of pleasure filled the air in the room, the scent of their sex hanging like a miasma in the air. Hermione could only stare. She found herself unable to make a sound as she took in the sight before her. She wanted to scream in denial. She wanted to pick up a chair and beat the shit out of the pair of them. She wanted to cry, to run, to hide. She wanted to die.
"It was a few days before the curiosity got the better of me and I decided to start observing this extra room of theirs. And it was a couple of days after that that I first saw Ron go in there." Draco swallowed the rest of his drink with a sour twist to his mouth, clearly battling with his emotions at this point. "I was angry, confused… and a little jealous, if I'm honest."
Hermione's eyebrows climbed into her hairline and her eyes opened wider than Draco had ever seen before. "You… you were jealous?" Her voice was almost a shriek and Lucius turned a sardonic eye towards his son.
"Was this perhaps your reason for concealing our guest's husband's dalliance from her?" the older man drawled, knowingly. "Perhaps wishing to find a way of spying on the two for a bit longer? Maybe we are seeing a voyeuristic side to you, my boy." An edge of annoyance crept into his voice at this and Draco sputtered a little, trying to protest.
"No, father! And," he admitted with a wry, sheepish grin, "I didn't see anyone else enter that room. They must have been there already."
The witch stood, stepping away from the pair before turning and looking at them both in disbelief, her hair starting to crackle with supressed anger. "I can't believe what I'm hearing!"
As she stared into the room, Hermione heard her blood pounding in her ears. Her skin prickled with shame and hate and sorrow. The pair on the bed suddenly became aware of her, that the door was open, and after a moment of confusion, the air was filled with Bulgarian swear words and Ron's stammering voice.
He staggered back, sliding out of his partner, his cock rapidly shrinking as the act of getting caught robbed him of his erection. "Hermione! I… oh Merlin, I… I'm sorry, I never…" He continued babbling, the words washing over the witch as she stood, hands clenched into fists.
"Well, my dear," Lucius said, "I've seen Viktor's current squeeze. I am not surprised that Draco was quite enamoured of young Sofija…"
"WHAT!?"
She couldn't speak. She wanted to destroy him, but she couldn't move. She could only stare.
"Hermione," Ron stammered, taking a hesitant step towards her. "I'm sorry…"
Before he could speak again she closed the door quietly and leant against it for a moment, just breathing, trying not to be sick. With her heart falling in pieces, she turned and left the hotel.
Father and son stared at each other in confusion, unable to understand Hermione's reaction. They didn't remain confused for long.
"He wasn't in there with Sofija, you pair of idiots!" Hermione spat, magic starting to spark from her hair and fingers as her anger raged. "He was fucking Viktor!"