Three's Revenge

Draco’s Detour: Three’s Revenge

By Newshound

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling. This fiction is entirely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from it.

A/N: I wrote this as a response to the Draco’s Detour Challenge of Per Solum Lacuna. It is a companion piece to that fic and was written around chapter 13. Since this is an AU of PSL it will be contradicted by several events in that piece. All I can ask is that you suspend reality for a bit more. If you haven’t read PSL or Page of Peril, I fully encourage you to do so, it is a fantastic read and understanding Three’s Revenge will be much easier.

Intro: Charlie spends the evening (alone) at the Leaky Cauldron feeling guilty about the fight he imagines he’s caused. Severus is reading in his suite at Hogwarts, blissfully unaware of the 180-degree turn his life is about to take. Featured in this chapter are our favorite Keeper, Oliver Wood, who continues to play for Puddlemere, albeit poorly, and a Miss Ashcroft, who is entirely on the up and up and will become Draco’s most important ally.

Chapter 3 Beaters and Bludgers

Draco had always born a striking resemblance to his father and never was it more apparent than when he was angry, as he was right now.

He charged down the stairs, a burning rage in his belly clouding his mind and overcoming all reason. What he wanted more than anything was to point his wand at Harry Potter and hex him into oblivion.

When he finally reached the street the cool night air hit him like a splash of cold water, sobering him. He needed to think, to sort this out and figure out exactly what had happened to his once happy home.

He strode into the 3 Broomsticks, winked at Madam Rosmerta and headed directly for the Floo. He stepped in, flung the powder and disappeared in a startlingly green flame.
Fortunately the Floo trip to Diagon Alley was without mishap and Draco made his way down a narrow alley. He was looking for a club Ron and Hermione had recommended to Harry, one they’d never managed to find the time to visit.

Draco could think of much better things to do with Harry during the evenings than sitting in a noisy, crowded club with strangers gawking at him and fawning all over “the boy who lived.”

He wasn’t ashamed of their relationship, but he was a very private person and was wary of exposing Harry (and himself for that matter) to a lot of nosy questions and judgmental comments.

The club, ‘Incendio!’ indeed looked like the sort Draco despised. There was a group of witches and wizards gathered by the door, waiting to go in. A huge, bearded wizard, a half-giant Draco suspected, stood at the door guarding it. He reminded Draco of goblins watching over their gold.

The wizard glanced briefly at Draco, and then quickly looked back, glaring. His beady eyes narrowed and he scowled.

“Just keep on walking, Malfoy,” he snarled. “We don’t allow Death Eaters in here!”
At this most of the witches and wizards in the group turned to gape at Draco. One or two hissed loudly, but most began whispering, ugly looks crossing their faces. Several even stepped back, cringing, clearly afraid.

“You didn’t want to go in there anyway,” a soft, feminine voice remarked. “Not unless you like watered down drinks.” She threw a hateful glance at the half-giant and he gave her an evil look in return. “Birds of a feather,” he muttered thickly.

Draco was surprised to feel an arm link through his and looking beside him, he saw that the arm belonged to one of the most beautiful witches he’d ever seen.

She was tiny, no more than five feet tall, with short, dark curly hair. Her eyes were large and pale; they were widely spaced with a slight downward tilt. Thick heavy lashes and finely arched brows offset the eyes perfectly. Her lips were a little large for her face, but delicately shaped. She had a look of utter sweetness and gentility and Draco felt drawn to her immediately.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” she advised, patting his arm gently. “He’s nothing but a great ape. But if you’re looking for a nice place to hang out, maybe listen to some music, I know a good club, just up the way here,” she offered, pointing. “I work there.”

“And you are…?”

“Oh dear, how rude of me,” she said, smacking her forehead lightly. “I’m Therese, Therese Ashcroft.”

She turned, directly facing Draco and offered her hand.

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said politely, shaking it.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Draco Malfoy,” she said smiling. “The club’s right up there. Interested?”

Draco was still waiting for some response to his name and when none was forthcoming, he decided her club was worth a try.

This club, fortunately, did not have a throng of patrons mobbed in front, but it did have a wizard standing at the door.

Therese waved to the wizard, saying, “It’s okay, Tiger, he’s with me.”

“Here, let’s have a seat,” she said, guiding him toward some stairs which led to a floor slightly above the main area. “This is one of my tables.”

“I’m going to put my things up before work, be right back,” she said and hurried off.

Draco took his time assessing the club. The music was tolerable, at least it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t hold a conversation and the atmosphere was incredible. The name of the club was “Beaters and Bludgers” and a Quidditch theme was evident everywhere. The walls were decorated with posters of Quidditch teams and famous players as well as with antique broomsticks and beaters. Miniature golden snitches flew overhead casting a gentle glow and occasionally, a bludger would fly by and crash against the wall, disappearing in a burst of flame.

It seemed like a place where people came mostly to socialize and enjoy music. “Very pleasant,” Draco thought.

It wasn’t limited to wizard folk, either. Draco recognized several people wearing muggle style clothing. He briefly wondered about Therese, about her background. He felt a stab of guilt; he’d stopped judging witches by their blood status a long time ago. He had to admit though, he was curious.

The touch of a soft hand on his shoulder roused him from his musings and he turned to see Therese leaning over him.

“Get you something to drink?” she asked. “I don’t start work for another 30 minutes or so.” The smile she bestowed on him was breathtaking and Draco remembered with a shudder the last woman he’d spoken to in a club. Hopefully, this outcome would not mirror the last.

“Firewhiskey will be fine,” Draco answered, watching her walk to the bar. She had on a short skirt, a clingy silk material and a crisp white shirt knotted in front. Draco had no idea how she walked in the shoes she wore, he estimated the heel to be at least six inches. Her legs were muscular and firm, tightly encased in black stockings and when she came back carrying the drinks, he noticed a piercing on her navel, as well as on her nose. No less than five earrings adorned each of her ears.

She set his drink down in front of him gracefully and placed hers directly across from his.
She sat down and held up her drink, a gillywater.

“Cheers,” she toasted. Draco answered her toast, not really sure of what to say next.

“I know who you are,” she said and gave him a piercing look. “You’re Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

“Yes,” Draco answered cautiously.

“You’re not even the least bit curious as to how I know that?” she asked.

“Somewhat,” Draco replied vaguely.

“You play your cards very close to the vest, don’t you?” She speculated.

“Always,” Draco stated.

“My parents were Death Eaters, Draco,” she revealed. “They spoke your father’s name in hushed and reverent tones.”

“What were their names?” Draco couldn’t believe his rudeness.

“I’d prefer not to say. Ashcroft was my grandmother’s name,” she said. “My sister and I were sent to live with my father’s parents when we were young, to protect us until Voldemort returned.”

Both of my parents were killed in the war,” she continued. “All their money, their lands, and our homes were taken away to pay the war debt. My sister attends university and this is how I pay her tuition and living expenses.”

“How do you support yourself?” Draco asked, intrigued.

“My grandmother’s family owned a small apothecary shop in Diagon Alley,” she related. “After they died I inherited it; it pays the bills and provides me a place to live, all free from the greedy hands of the ministry.”

She paused, “now that I have that particular skeleton out of the closet, on to some pleasant small talk.”

She took a sip of her drink, placing it back on the table.

“So tell me, why is a handsome, well-dressed man like yourself all alone on a beautiful night?” she asked gently.

She seemed sincere and straightforward to Draco; there was little artifice in her manner or speech. He didn’t like to open up to people, but she was a stranger and really, what did he have to lose?

“We had a fight,” he said simply.

“That would explain the sullen, dejected look,” she said nodding. “Nothing serious I hope?”

Draco hesitated.

“I’m a good listener and you look like you could use a sympathetic ear,” she offered.
Draco told her what had happened earlier. How he’d arrived home to find Harry with his former lover and how he’d overheard the comment that had so incensed him. He told her about Harry’s denial and the accusations they’d thrown at each other. How he’d felt abandoned and then excluded and finally, invalidated.

“You’re very much in love,” she said, nodding sympathetically. “When there’s that much passion, you’re bound to fight. It’s perfectly normal.”

“I can’t believe how jealous I was!” Draco said.

“No one is that secure, Draco,” she responded. “Besides, I don’t see your jealousy as the real problem. It’s your partner’s insecurity.”

“Why do you say that? Draco asked.

“Because of the way he joked about how serious your relationship is,” she said.

“He doesn’t trust me?” Draco asked, confused.

“Oh, he trusts you, it’s love he doesn’t trust,” she said. “Seems to me, he doesn’t believe that love will last, at least for him.”

Draco’s attention was suddenly drawn to the entrance near the bar. A tall, handsome wizard had made his grand entrance, surrounded by several, buxom witches who were jostling each other trying to get close to him. He could hear their high-pitched squeals and giggles from the other side of the club where he sat. Two foppish-looking men followed behind.

Oliver Wood, the quintessential Quidditch celebrity, had arrived. He looked every inch the Quidditch star, almost like wizarding royalty and Draco was forcibly reminded of Gilderoy Lockehart, his second-year Defense professor. Wood had a regal air, like a king surveying his lands. Draco had never seen anything so obnoxious and offensive in his life. With a casual flick, Wood removed his robes, tossing them to one of the witches.
Immediately, a wizard who appeared to be the proprietor rushed up, escorting the party to a large table on the floor below Draco’s.

“Get Mr. Wood whatever he wants,” he snapped loudly at a waitress. “And be quick about it!”

That’s Oliver Wood!”

“Yeah, he comes in here a lot.”

“That his usual group?”

“Those are the flavor of the week, just props really.”

“You mean he’s not into women?”

“I don’t think he can handle six of them!”

“Who’s that standing behind him?”

“That’s Dominic Devereaux, one of Puddlemere’s managers. They come in here once in a while together – I don’t mean ‘together’ together, just with the team.”

“Ever see him alone with anybody?”
.
“No way. He’s much too careful, especially lately.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, rumor has it Wood was into some really kinky stuff.”

“What, like threesomes?”

“For starters, maybe. When I say kinky, I mean way too much money, way too much time kinky. Anyway, when the managers heard about it, they told Wood to slow down, you know, lay low for a while - be seen with some women, your typical Quidditch star behavior. But he’s still got it going on the side.”

“How do you know?”

“Who do you think delivers all his drinks and notes? He’s got a place he keeps around the corner for that very purpose. That’s in addition to the ‘little woman’ at home. Oh well, I’d better get to work. See you later, Draco!”

At the table, Wood was the center of attention and seemed to be basking in it, Draco noticed. The conversation and laughter did seem somewhat forced, though; everyone watching Oliver to see how to respond. He was obviously enjoying himself, holding court with his circle of admirers.

Draco watched as Therese arrived to deliver their drinks. Oliver slipped his arm around her waist, sliding his hand under her breast. He pulled her down close to him and whispered in her ear and she laughed obligingly. He twirled a galleon between his fingers in front of her and then passed it to her. She took it and slipped it in the pocket of the black apron she wore. He moved his hand down and caressed her bum for a minute, finishing up with a gentle pat before he let her go.

Draco was surprised to see her walking over to his table.

“A drink from the gentleman – and I use the term loosely – over there.”

“Wood?”

“Mmm-hmm. There’s a note in the napkin, and if you really want it to look convincing you’re welcome to pat my bum, too.”

“Women’s bums don’t interest me.”

“Figures. Really, be very careful with him, Draco.”

Draco opened the neatly folded parchment hidden in the creases of the napkin. Written in a strong, masculine script were the words:

If you’re interested in having the most incredible sex of your life, meet me at my place down the street. Take a right out the front door, then take your first right and watch for the tarnished copper lantern. Up the stairs and to the right, door’s open. I’m leaving in a few minutes.
O. W.

Draco looked over at Oliver’s table waiting to catch his eye. For several minutes, Oliver avoided looking at him. Finally, he shot a quick look around, his eyes landing on Draco, who gently nodded in reply. Opportunities this good didn’t come along very often and he wasn’t about to let this one go to waste.

He sat patiently sipping his firewhiskey, still enjoying his favorite pastime of observing people. He watched as Wood slowly made his way toward the back of the club, double- checking to make sure he wasn’t seen. His entourage, however, stayed put. Obviously they expected him to return and knowing the scheming Lothario, Draco suspected sneaking away for 30-minute liaisons was common practice.

“You’re in for quite a surprise,” thought Draco.

He waited the obligatory few minutes and waved to Therese as he made his way to the front door. He stepped outside, the nervous excitement heightening his senses and making his heart race. He turned the corner at the next street and sure enough, there it was, a doorway marked by a tarnished copper carriage light. He followed Wood’s directions and walked up the stairs, turning to the right.

Witch Weekly’s hottest Quidditch bachelor awaited him behind the door. He opened it carefully, stepping gingerly inside. He hadn’t taken more than five steps when he felt powerfully muscled arms encircle him. One hand slipped between his legs, cupping his balls and pulling him hard against Wood’s straining erection. The other hand crept up Draco’s chest, slowly beginning to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. Oliver bent his head and kissed the tender spot on Draco’s neck where it met his shoulder, just above the collarbone.

“God, I could eat you alive,” Oliver whispered in a low, sexy voice. “Turn around; I’ve been dying to kiss you.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Draco warned, firmly pushing himself away and turning to face Oliver. “I never kiss on the first date - everything else maybe - but no kissing!”

Laughing, he continued, “Fancy something a little adventurous Wood - a walk on the wild side, perhaps?” He paused for a moment, gauging Oliver’s reaction.
“I can get the standard fare right at home, anytime I want,” Draco said smoothly. “I’ve developed some, shall we say less than savory tendencies. Think you can satisfy them, Wood?”

“What exactly are we talking about?” Oliver asked curious.

“Oh, you tied up to the bed, me doing unspeakably erotic things to that divinely athletic body of yours – up for it, Oliver?” Draco answered, his voice softly caressing the name. He put on his best passionate face, complete with bedroom eyes and gently bitten lip, a look he had perfected many years ago; it never failed him.

“What can it hurt?” Oliver said, a hungry look coming over his face.

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” Draco said, smiling happily.

“Bedroom’s just in here,” Oliver said, pushing Draco through the doorway into the room adjacent to the narrow foyer.

The room was completely empty save a four-poster bed and a small nightstand next to it. Draco walked over to the bed, pressing down on the covers, testing it. He looked over at Oliver who was standing in the doorway, lust apparent in his eyes.

“Take off your clothes,” Draco ordered. “I don’t want to waste any time.”

“Like to get right down to business, don’t you?” Oliver responded, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. He walked in the room and sat down on the bed, slipping off his shoes and socks. With what Draco found to be admirable dexterity, he removed his jeans in one swift movement, his boxers following right behind.

Draco stared at him, his eyes drinking in the physical perfection that was Oliver Wood. He searched and searched, but his eyes could find no imperfection, no flaw in his body. He lay on his back, legs off the bed and spread wide. He reached down and stroked himself.

“See anything you like?” he teased.

“Several things,” Draco answered calmly. “Now, move up on the bed. Where are your scarves or whatever you use?”

Oliver wiggled himself up the bed, face flushing with anticipation.

“They’re in the nightstand, by the bed,” he answered. “I thought you were going to use a spell.”

“Too easy for you to break,” Draco answered. “I want something you can’t get out of, no matter how hard you struggle. I want you totally at my mercy.”

“Prepared for anything, aren’t we?” Draco murmured as he examined the contents of the top drawer of the nightstand. It contained several beautiful maroon silk scarves and Draco’s eyebrow shot up at the sight. He was impressed, not only with the scarves, but with everything else. Somebody had excellent taste, and a great deal of experience with restraint it seemed. He drifted next to the bed taking hold of Oliver’s wrist, pulling it up to the bedpost and securely wrapped the scarf around it, tying it in a knot. He then knotted the other end firmly around the bedpost. He hurried over to the other side and completed the process.

“Try to get loose,” Draco encouraged.

“I can’t,” Oliver affirmed, struggling.

“Good,” Draco said, moving back to view his work, he checked the scarves making sure they were tight.

“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” Oliver’s voice was husky and Draco could tell he was getting anxious.

“Now where would the fun be in that?” Draco asked languidly. “I do like to maintain an air of mystery, you know.”

Draco moved back to the wall and leaned against it. He raised one knee, his foot coming to rest against the wall. He cupped his chin with his thumb and index finger, examining Oliver carefully. A look of satisfied amusement appeared.

He took a deep breath and said, “Alas Oliver, I hate to break up our little party, but I’m afraid I really must be going.”

“Wait a minute, what are you doing? Where are you going? What about me?”

“Now why would I want a cheap little strumpet like yourself when I have Harry waiting for me at home?”

“Harry as in ‘The Harry?’”

“The one and only. Although I must admit, several months ago I would have happily availed myself of the considerable pleasures your body would seem to afford, but surely you remember what it’s like in bed with Harry? Not much can compare to that, can it Wood? Unless it’s – let’s see - fucking two other men while Harry fixes a romantic little Valentine’s Day surprise?”

“So that’s what this is all about!”

“And they say keepers are thickheaded!”

Draco pushed off the wall and stood near the bed. Reaching over Oliver he gently stroked his cock with his index finger. He had to, he just couldn’t resist.

“Not bad, Wood. Nowhere near as nice as Harry’s though.”

“Yes, but I’m tighter.”

“I doubt it, not with all the brooms you’ve been on.”

“Harry’s not a bad fuck, I’ll give you that, but he’s way too clingy, pathetic really. You’ll see what I’m talking about in a couple of months. It’s going to get old accounting for your whereabouts every minute of the day. Trust me, you’ll be looking for it on the side, too. Just wait, eventually he’ll want to know your every move.”

“He already does. I don’t have a problem with that.”

“You don’t mind someone invading every aspect of your life?”

“No, unlike you, I have nothing to hide. Besides, with all he’s been through, why not indulge him?”

“Oh, I did, believe me. It just made it worse. And I’m not talking about sex, either – he really doesn’t require much indulging in that department, now does he?”

Draco remained silent, ignoring the last comment. His work here was done. He buttoned his shirt and smoothed his jeans, giving himself the final once-over.

“Wood, it’s been a wonderful evening, hopefully we’ll see each soon,” Draco drawled in mock polite tones. “Floo me, we’ll do lunch sometime.” After a quick glance around the room to admire the fruits of his labor, he headed for the door.

“I’ll get you for this, Malfoy, I swear I will!” Oliver screamed, pulling on the scarves holding him to bed with all his might.

“I’m shaking in my boots, Wood,” Draco called back, laughing. “What are you going to do to me, cheat on me?” He made sure he closed the door as loudly as he could, savoring every scream and rant coming from Oliver. He walked down the stairs and back out on to the street, the patented Malfoy smirk firmly in place.

You’re about to learn, Oliver. It never pays to fuck with a Malfoy.

Now, back to Hogsmeade to make it up with Harry.

End Chapter 3