The Only Constant

Chapter Two

When Hermione came home from her work at Thello’s potions laboratory, she was a total mess. Her hair was slick with grease from the potion fumes, and for the first time in her life, she felt sympathy for Severus Snape (besides for the espionage business, of course). If she had to deal with potions every day, she would lose all hope for personal hygiene as well.

Hermione hated coming home like this, looking a fright, but she didn’t really have a choice. She could shower at the flat Thello and Michael shared above the shop, but they were usually so relieved to get to be together at the end of a long day that she didn’t want to intrude. She understood the feeling.

She worked with Draco almost every day in close quarters, but it was Lucius she never got to see. He usually left before Hermione and Draco got up for work—unless one of them had a meeting like she had that morning. He was also considerate of their need for sleep, unlike some blond brats who insisted on waking her up to pick fights. Lucius was soundless as he left each morning, though he did say that he kissed them both good-bye—Draco on the forehead, he’d insisted last time she’d asked.

As if she’d mind if the kiss landed elsewhere.

She’d known for longer than she’d cared to admit that Draco and Lucius were meant to be together. She didn’t like thinking that their lives were dictated by fate or some other outside circumstances, but there had to be a reason for Draco’s dreams, his restlessness, and Lucius’ sidelong glances and the way he always seemed on the cusp of saying something.

When Draco had confessed to her that day about the kiss he’d given his father, Hermione had thought it was a step in the inescapable direction. Still, Draco’s reaction had been less than encouraging.

“Hello?” she called into the house, hearing her voice travel over the walls and high ceiling. She hated that echo. The Manor was too big for just the three of them, which was something that she knew bothered Lucius, especially.

No one responded to her call. Hermione figured that was probably for the best, as a shower was desperately needed.

Once in the bedroom—her old bedroom, which she used only to get ready or shower in—Hermione left the clothes she wanted laying on the bed and hopped into the shower, her thoughts on her husbands.

Hermione didn’t like feeling torn. Once a decision was needed, she liked to make it, present her thoughts and findings, and be done with it. However, she’d never been married before and certainly not to two people. It was difficult. The argument with Draco that morning was nothing compared to the ongoing one with Lucius.

It couldn’t even really be called an argument. There were no raised voices and no long discussions. It was just… dissent, and it made her uncomfortable. She wanted to give him everything he needed. It bothered her that she couldn’t, and yet she wasn’t ready.

She knew it in her heart that she just wasn’t in a place to be a good mum at the moment. Soon, she knew. She could feel, almost daily, herself growing more and more ready. She wanted children—she loved children. And she wanted Draco to be a father, and Lucius, too. She wanted to be a mother.

But even Draco wasn’t ready, and since his child was to be first in order to inherit, the triad found themselves in a complicated position where it wasn’t really Lucius’ decision, even though they’d discussed that any life-altering events would be decided by all three. So all he could really do was make his opinion known and wait for Hermione and Draco to catch up. It wasn’t fair, and Hermione didn’t like unfairness any more than she liked indecision.

She stepped out of the shower and eyed the potion Draco had made for her hair. It took down the frizz and made her hair almost unrecognisable in its flowing softness. She sneered at it. It smelled like orchids and she hated orchids but Draco loved orchids so he wouldn’t change it.

Not today. She bypassed the potion and re-entered her room.

“Holy—!” she cried, startled by Lucius sitting on her bed. “You scared the life out of me!”

“I apologise,” he said, lips twitching in a way that showed how much he liked catching her unaware. “I thought I’d talk to you about your husband.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How comes he’s always my husband when he does something bad?” she teased.

“Come here,” Lucius said, patting the bed beside him.

“I’m all wet.”

Lucius’ eyes went dark and she laughed. “I have to get dressed.”

“But you haven’t moisturised. How will you keep your skin so soft and supple without the proper care? Don’t you want to look your best for your husbands?”

Knowing Lucius was after something, she just smiled. “Oh, so the three hours that you and Draco spend in the loo every morning is for my sake? In that case, don’t bother. I’d love you no matter what, scaly skin and all.”

Lucius made as close a noise to harrumphing as his upbringing would allow and reached up to pull Hermione onto the bed. After he’d arranged her onto her back, he disappeared into the bathroom for a moment.

Hermione knew he’d have a hell of a time choosing a moisturizer from the obscene variety he and his son had gifted to her during their time together. She would use each only once or twice before it was replaced with something newer, better, shinier (more expensive).

Lucius came back out with a smoky grey bottle that glittered. She’d been avoiding using that one, as the packaging was a little intimidating. She wondered what it said about her that she was afraid of a little wrapping—had Narcissa Malfoy ever shied away in the face of a bottle?

“What are you thinking about?” Lucius asked, spreading her legs without preamble and kneeling between them.

Hermione gulped and hurried to cover her parts with the too-short towel, still a little shy about herself at times, but Lucius just laughed at her.

“Every time you ask that, it seems like you already know the answer. Don’t you ever want to ask when you don’t already know?”

Warming the lotion up in his hands, Lucius quirked an eyebrow at her. “I always know.”

“Oh, of course.” Hermione rolled her eyes, but she forgot to snipe when Lucius’ hands smoothed up her leg from ankle to thigh, spreading the sweet-smelling moisturiser.

“Draco and I almost had an interesting conversation earlier.” Lucius’ voice was casual, but there was a pensive undercurrent, making Hermione take note.

“Regarding what?”

“His dreams. His feelings.” Lucius’ fingers worked the lotion in methodically.

“And did you come to any sort of… conclusion?” Hermione was almost positive Lucius had had the same thoughts as she had—possibly before she’d had them herself.

Draco’s dreams about a man—dreams he’d had even before the triad had gotten together—seemed to be a way of pushing him into making the triad equal. When he’d told her about the dreams, he’d tried to play it off as though they were merely aberrations, but Hermione knew there was no such thing when it came to complicated magic such as theirs.

Hermione’d had dreams of her own… For her, it was just a little more difficult to differentiate between fantasy and prophecy.

“That he isn’t telling me something,” Lucius said, bringing her back to the issues at hand. His fingers were working nimbly on her arms, and she shivered, clutching the towel in an effort not to grab him.

“Lucius…” Hermione hesitated before putting into words something that had been bothering her for quite some time. “Celeste and Thello and Michael… They were together for some time, weren’t they?”

“Years,” Lucius confirmed, swatting her hand away from the towel and lowering it so her breasts were only barely covered.

“And their triad was never completed—Thello and Celeste were never together.”

“That’s right.”

“And they broke up. What happened to their triad is supposed to be impossible.” Her voice was flat as she thought about the parallels between their relationships. The only thing that was consoling her was the fact that they’d lost their magic when Lucius had left them the year before—Thello, Michael, and Celeste hadn’t when they’d split. So for some reason, Hermione’s triad was stronger, but not as strong as it could be.

That was just common sense.

“It isn’t like you to skirt the subject,” said Lucius. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

Hermione was torn. As much as she wanted to tell Lucius her suspicions, it felt like a betrayal to Draco, who should be able to do things in his own time. On the other hand, if she left it to Draco it might never get addressed—he was quite practised at self-denial.

“Well, it’s just that I think the triad would be stronger if all points were connected, so to speak,” Hermione said in a rush, sitting up and pulling her towel tighter as if the scant cloth could protect her from whatever she was afraid of.

“Yes, that’s quite obvious, I would think.” Lucius didn’t even pause in smoothing the cream over her shoulders.

“Obvious?” she squeaked. A year of treading lightly around the subject and it was obvious?

“Well, yes.” He was beginning to sound irritated or confused, which were the same thing with him, one leading to the other. “The very definition of the word suggests equality. As it stands, our ground is becoming shaky because of Draco’s reticence.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Just… Draco’s?”

With only a murmured word, Lucius cleaned his hands from excess lotion. “I’m not unaware of Draco’s… charms.” Lucius winced, and Hermione knew he was trying to be nonchalant when truly the matter was complicated and it probably unnerved him. Lucius just wouldn’t let her know that.

“This is about more than recognising the fact that Draco is pretty,” Hermione said softly, moving to sit back against the headboard and patting the space beside her until Lucius occupied it.

“I realise that,” Lucius said, sounding tired. “I know what our magic wants, what the triad needs to be complete. I’ve known… well, since the beginning, if I’m to be honest. I just didn’t want to think it would come to that—I thought it would be satisfied with the marriage.”

“But it’s not, is it?”

Lucius was silent for a long time, making Hermione open her mouth several times to try to encourage him to continue, but she managed to contain herself.

“It’s not,” he confirmed finally. “And besides that, my feelings for Draco have long since gone beyond paternal. Before our marriage, I thought of him as my son and friend. It was thinking of him as a friend that made sharing intimacy easier. If I didn’t think of it as my son fucking my wife, I was able to bear it. Not that I was jealous, but the father part of me isn’t something I can turn off. At least, I didn’t think it was. I still don’t, not really. I’m his father. But I want him.”

Hermione was thrilled at Lucius’ confession—the transition would be so much easier now that she wouldn’t have to convince them both. She wasn’t sure what made her feel around inside her own mind for the connection she shared with Lucius and Draco, but sure enough, the silvery feeling that she recognised as Draco was very, very close. Only a few mental steps away from the golden flicker that was Lucius. If she was judging the distance correctly, he was right outside the door.

“So how do we get Draco to accept this new situation?” If her voice was louder so Draco could hear, Lucius didn’t comment. “I don’t want to end up like Celeste’s triad.” If she knew Lucius—and she did—his response would catapult Draco into action.

“My son is not a coward,” Lucius said, his voice strong and brooking no dissent. “He just doesn’t fully comprehend what is needed of him. If he did, I am certain he would not hesitate. I won’t force him into anything, Hermione. I love him too much and I won’t risk that by pressuring him. If it isn’t what he wants—if I’m not what he wants…”

Hermione didn’t prompt Lucius to finish speaking. She didn’t get to hear him voice his concerns so freely very often, and she didn’t want to lose that. His vulnerability made him human, something that was easy to forget when he held himself away from her, which he would do if she pressed him.

“He wants you,” Hermione whispered, pressing herself against Lucius’ side and kissing his neck. He must have showered as soon as he’d gotten home, because he smelled amazing, like cedar or something equally earthy. “I want you. And like it took me a while to see the light, it will probably take Draco some time, as well.”

“I won’t force him.”

“Of course not.” But a nudge in the right direction from a well-meaning wife couldn’t hurt, could it? Especially not when the husband in question is eavesdropping outside the bedroom door, Hermione mentally reasoned.

They rested in silence, both thinking about the direction their life was going to take if Draco could just be convinced. After a few minutes, Draco’s silver feeling inside her mind moved away, and she stopped focusing on it. It was strange how she’d become so used to being able to sense them that it was almost second nature now. She didn’t know what people did without that ability—she never had to worry about her husbands’ safety. She wondered for the first time whether it annoyed them—not that there was anything she could do about it, really.

Lucius’ fingers drew designs up and down her arm. Hermione thought about whether she would share that connection with her children. Whether she’d be able to sense where they were and if they were in danger. She hoped so. But maybe she wouldn’t tell them. Maybe she’d just let them think she wasn’t watching over them all the time.

If she did have that ability, she wouldn’t tell Draco, either. He’d probably make her turn it off to give their children freedom. Or maybe he wouldn’t. It was hard to predict what sort of father Draco would be, but there was no doubt in her mind he’d be a good one.

“How should we address this with Draco?” Lucius asked, breaking the long silence.

“I have no idea. I can’t even imagine how I would handle it if I were him. Maybe… do you want me to talk to him first, make him listen?”

“Can you do it without making him feel cornered? I just don’t want him to do this because he’s afraid to lose us if he doesn’t.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but she knew that was exactly what was at stake. Lucius might not want to pressure Draco, but if things continued the way they were, she was afraid they’d end up like Celeste, Thello, and Michael after only a few years. And if she had children, what sort of home would that give them? She wanted her children to have all their parents happy and together.

“I promise not to make it seem like everything is riding on his decision.”

“Excellent. Now that we have that sorted out…” Lucius tugged at a corner of her towel, expertly disrobing her—all her tucking and tightening had been for naught under the skilful fingers of her husband.

“We’ll be late for dinner,” she protested, but it was weak and they both knew it. She wondered about Draco and what he was feeling, but his silvery light didn’t seem agitated or cold. If she focused really hard—which was quite difficult with Lucius’ mouth on her nipple—she could almost sense what he was doing. Something about animals. Dogs. No, werewolves.

Draco was working on their petition to the Ministry to pay for Wolfsbane.

“Holy crap,” she whispered, amazed. She’d never been able to delve so deeply into the bond. She opened her mouth to tell Lucius, but he covered it with his own, and she forgot what she’d meant to say.

Allowing Lucius to move her, as she usually did, Hermione settled onto her knees as Lucius lay on his back, his face between her open thighs.

“Oh, Merlin…” she moaned when his hands on her hips lowered her onto his face, his mouth immediately seeking her centre. “You don’t play very nice,” she chastised, her mind fragmented.

“I play too nicely,” he corrected her, flicking her throbbing clit with his tongue.

Hermione enjoyed the lazy sensations for a few moments until she realised she’d been staring at Lucius’ bulging trousers without blinking. Trying not to lose contact with Lucius’ sinful mouth, Hermione leaned over and unbuttoned his trousers, pulling his thick cock out.

She stroked him to full hardness, trying not to grind her pussy onto Lucius’ face, and that took more presence of mind than she could really claim at the moment. Luckily for him, Lucius had a grip on her hips and arse and wouldn’t let her suffocate him.

“Suck me,” he ordered huskily, his prick throbbing in agreement against her palm.

Hermione had tried—really tried—not to let Lucius and Draco know how much she liked it when they gave her orders like that. Their bossy and dominating personalities, instead of overwhelming her, made her feel safe and cherished. It was impossible to hide her reaction to his demand, and she decided maybe she should just go with it—it wasn’t like they would take advantage of their power over her. She had her own power, anyway, which she demonstrated by taking Lucius into her mouth with one long suck.

His responding moan had her quivering. His fingers were inside her now, filling her steadily. She wanted it to be his cock, but she also didn’t want to give up the taste of him in her mouth.

As always when Draco wasn’t with them, just as when she and Draco were together without Lucius, a part of her was missing. It was hard not to notice, but she tried to focus on the amazing things Lucius was doing with his tongue.

It was always harder to reach climax without all three, but finally Lucius filled her mouth with come that she swallowed quickly, eager to come herself.

Using his fingers on her now, Lucius manipulated her body liked he’d been playing with it for decades. She pressed hot, wet kisses to Lucius’ golden thigh before her teeth clamped down and she came, crying out as her body trembled.

“And you say I’m the biter,” Lucius said moments later, voice sounding distinctively dazed.

“We’re all biters,” she reassured him, her thumb caressing the spot on her hip that still sported a bruise from Draco’s passion a few days before.

---

When Hermione dressed and went to find Draco, she told Lucius to give them some time to have the talk. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to say.

But as it turned out, she didn’t have to worry.

Not about that, anyway.

When she got to the dining room table where she and Draco usually spread out the work for Outreach, he wasn’t there.

Biting her lip, she reached into their bond to see if she could find him, but he wasn’t there. Not in the way she was used to. His silvery light was sort of spread out, enough that she couldn’t narrow down on his presence. Normally, that wouldn’t have stopped her from searching the Manor for him, or asking a house-elf, but she had a feeling that it was Draco blocking her from finding him. It made sense that he’d be able to control it, though she’d never considered it before. She’d respect what he wanted—for a reasonable amount of time, anyway.

Hermione sat at the table and opened the file Draco had obviously been working on last. There was a note inside in his small, finicky handwriting.

I know. I just need time.