Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 4: The Healing

Hermione opened her eyes to blackness. Well it wasn’t complete blackness;she corrected herself. She could feel the soft linen of a blindfold, lying over her eyes but not tied. She could feel the warmth of the fire and the crackle of wood as it was banked a few feet from her. She took a whiff of the air; full of exotic spices and a dark musk.

Bill.

She had first gotten a whiff of the scent the night Harry turned 21. There had been a huge party at Grimmauld Place, celebrating both the end of the war and the Boy Who Lived Still. Hermione had escaped to the upstairs loo, the one place no one ever went to because it was haunted. She had snuck in and locked the door, mindless that it was already occupied. When she turned around, she gasped.

Bill was sitting in the empty bathtub and a bottle of firewhiskey, grinning as though he had just won the lottery. He leaned his top half out of the bathtub to kiss her, a sloppy kiss that revealed that he was well on his way to becoming drunk. She had been drinking as well, and in moments he had coaxed her out of her sensible white knickers and into sharing his bathtub. She had lost her virginity to Harry sometime in 7th year, but she hadn’t had many lovers. Certainly, she had never had a lover tainted with werewolf blood three days before the full moon. By the time she crawled out of the bathtub two hours later, she had several love bites on her neck, and a new appreciation for what power can do for a man. For a week afterward, she winced when she sat.

Bill and Fleur’s relationship was volatile, and usually in the “off” stage when the full moon rolled around. Bill and Hermione had accidentally run into each other in a coffee shop in Muggle London. Ten minutes later, they were shagging in an unlocked car belonging to a stranger mindless of the passersby and their curious looks.

It had always been just sex for them; Bill’s mercurial mood too much to handle long term. Yet, since their first tryst six years ago, they had been together more times than she could count; including one time under the full moon that was so intense, Charlie had to hold onto her to keep her from collapsing under his thrusts.

Hermione had been walking home late one evening after twelve mind-numbing hours at work, when she heard arguing. Like a fool, she had turned to investigate the sound in a small park, threatening to call the police. Moments later, she had been pinned to the ground by Bill, his predatory eyes nearly amber and focused completely on her. Charlie had been ineffectual at stopping Bill from dragging her into the shadows and doing exactly what Charlie had been trying to prevent. When he realized it wouldn’t be their first time together, he had clutched her to him while Bill abused her cunt in nearly a half hour of frenzied thrusts. Unsatisfied, he then turned to her virginal ass, Charlie swallowing her screams as he took what he needed, trying to provide comfort to the girl torn between loving and hating the roughness. Since he had accepted the Charm’s position at Hogwarts a year ago, they had only met twice.

A rustle of material caught her attention and she felt the puff of air as it fell to the floor. Her nose caught a whiff of a familiar scent; leather and tobacco mixed with musk and a dark spice she couldn’t name. The smell of charisma and confidence-Lucius.

He had been a surprise to her-an intriguing puzzle. He exuded such arrogance and confidence in public, yet privately he submitted to her whims without question. They would argue about the posture cord, for example, and while he would refuse to remove it initially, he always gave in and then spent an hour afterward massaging her body until the ache melted away.

It was his pride that made her angry, his damned pureblood arrogance that made him difficult to live with. They had been together in this arrangement for nearly a week; all things considered they were doing pretty well. Yet, he was never satisfied; demanding to select her robes in the morning so as to “not embarrass herself” in front of Madame Metcalf. Or even like he did a few mornings ago, dragging her down the staircase when she was walking too slowly trying to stand up straight and not hold the rail as she descended. By the time he had dragged her to the bottom, she had twisted her ankle and had to fight tears the entire day every time she walked.

He had known when he chose her that she was muggleborn and stubborn. The first night she had spent in his bed, he confided to her that it was her mind and her independence that had drawn him to her, long before he had found her beautiful. He loved some of her Muggle habits (particularly in comparison to the more natural and earthy pureblooded beliefs), running his fingers up her hairless and silky soft legs and stroking her neatly groomed patch of hair between her legs. Muggle lingerie was becoming an obsession to him and her high heels had almost sent him over the edge. Yet, he insisted she wear “proper robes” and not her muggle dresses, or Merlin forbid, trousers.

She couldn’t live with his constant need to be perfect, and by extension his belief she would need to be as well. She understood she would be with people who would criticise her and make her uncomfortable. Yet she needed to be herself, not an automaton that stood and smiled vacantly at social functions.

They needed to work this out and fast. When he sent her to Pegram’s office, he had to have known it wouldn’t end well. Pegram had too much invested to just let her walk away. Despite knowing that, Malfoy had sent her to the bastard. At first, Pegram had been shocked to see her. Then, his face was mottled and he became furious, raining punches and kicks down on her as she attempted to struggle to her feet. When he tired, he had tried to imperio her. She had fought it, and he seemed to remember finally who he was dealing with. She was no docile secretary-she had faced down Voldemort and a battlefield of Death Eaters and lived to tell about it. That was when Pegram cast crucio.

Her body felt like it was on fire. She had twisted and turned trying to fight the effects of the curse. For a moment, she feared Pegram would try to rape her; indeed he had reached for his trousers, before changing his mind and ordering security to throw her in the dumpster in the alley. The curse had worn off, and she had barely enough energy to hoist herself halfway out of the dumpster. She had fallen the rest of the way, landing on the cobbles with a thud. The last thing she could remember was a familiar silky, hypnotic voice telling her to hold on as Bill scooped her up and hurried to the portkey calling for the Hogwarts infirmary.

Tentative fingers slid up her calf, as though unsure of their welcome. The hands were rough from years of brewing caustic potions and dueling both in battle and as a instructor in his role as Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. Severus Snape had saved her life, again. This time, it was indirectly from the rage of his best friend, the blonde man now pressing kisses into her aching neck.

Severus had been a part of her childhood fantasies at Hogwarts; taming the “Demon of the Dungeons” a popular yet little mentioned fantasy of most of Hogwarts female population. He had tormented her whilst she was a student, but it had helped her develop a thick skin, able to think and act under pressure. It had been a key battle skill, she would never have survived her “attentions” from crazy Bellatrix or McNair without it.

Following the war, they had become tentative friends, greeting each other at potions conferences and even sitting together on occasion at their favorite coffeehouse in London: the Bean&Grinder, est. 1575, and still proudly wizard-run. Their conversation was always stilted and professional, but if they saw each other there they made the time to sit down.

Hermione was aware of Lucius’ close friendship with the Potions Master/Deputy Headmaster and vivdly remembered his domination fantasy that Severus featured prominently in. While she had figured out by now she was in Bill’s chambers at Hogwarts, if Severus was there, it was with Lucius’ consent. She suspected they were getting ready for a healing ritual, and began to shake at the thought of more pain.

Bill knelt by her ear, his voice rough and growly. The full moon must be coming up, she thought absently.

“Hermione, you have to give us consent. You don’t have to speak, just nod.”

She nodded, then turned slightly to expose her neck and spread her legs slowly. A groan was heard from around her, and the last thing she could think of before giving herself over to them and the magic was that nothing was going to be the same after this.
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It was hours later when Lucius looked up from his position at her breast, releasing her nipple from his mouth with a smile. The scent of her arousal filled the room, and the three men privately wondered if they would ever be able to use their jaws again. They had lost count of her orgasms, but the effect was undeniable. Most of her internal injuries appeared to be healed, the dark bruises fading quickly. Sex magic was not part of most wizard’s knowledge, but he and Severus had long known of it’s powers, a rather perverted form of it was often used to heal Death Eaters after battle. He had been surprised when Bill mentioned the possibility in the infirmary, certainly Gryffindors weren’t knowledgeable of the art. Of course, most sex magic hailed from the Middle East, and Bill had spent years in Egypt.

He and Bill could probably have accomplished the ritual by themselves, but he had insisted on including Severus. Snape was a master of controlling difficult magic, and sex magic was notoriously volatile.

He met Severus’ eyes over his queen’s body, Severus working at Hermione’s clit with slow focused strokes. They were all sweaty, using hours of intense concentration and magic to heal her injuries. Her body was beginning to move now, the stiffness from her injuries disappearing, and he watched her reach for the piece of cloth covering her eyes. He leaned over and spoke softly in her ear.

“Come for us, my love. Fall apart to our touch.” Bill and Severus began muttering in Arabic and the magic crackled around them. Lucius exchanged places with his friend, the potions master placing his rough hands on either side of her abdomen where most of the frenzied kicks had been directed. The Malfoy patriarch nodded, and with a few well timed strokes pushed her over the edge.

Her cries were gutteral and loud. The ancient magic coursed through them, through her and they echoed her cries of completion. Time seemed to stand still, and the three men collapsed on top of her as an odd lightning strike could be heard throughout the castle.

From her seat at the High Table, Headmistress McGonagall had been complaining to the perpetual tardiness of various faculty members when she felt the lightning strike. Looking down the high table at Madame Pomfrey who looked around equally startled. The two elderly women leapt to their feet and began to calm the students, whilst attempting to make their way down the Great Hall.
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Meanwhile, Bill looked up at the clock in his bedroom and groaned.

“Severus, wake up; it’s dinnertime.” Cursing could be heard from the other side of Hermione as she awoke, drowsily reaching out to calm the angry man on her side. He captured her hand and kissed the knuckles.

“I apologize for waking you, Miss Granger” Snape whispered. Then, reaching over her to smack the blonde man shaking with laughter. “ You can clean up the mess, Malfoy. The harpies will be headed down here very soon, and I can’t think of a good explanation to the mess of candles, broken glass and bodily fluids lying around this room. Bill, get dressed. We need to make an appearance before the entire school believes we are having a torrid affair with each other.” Standing, the deputy headmaster swept out of the room, which would have been quite impressive had he been wearing any clothes at all.

Bill pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple, and reached out to shake Malfoy’s hand, a grip that tightened until he was sure Lucius’ hand was numb.

“Malfoy, if I ever have to invoke an arcane ritual to heal her again, I’ll be paying you a visit on the next full moon. Are we clear?” Lucius nodded, pulling Hermione close to him. Bill studied him, then grinned.

“Of course, if the two of you come up with a plan involving the same kind of explosive ending as this one, Hermione has my floo num…ouch!”

“Weasley, we are leaving now!” Severus dragged the partially clad redhead out of the room by his ponytail, and rolled his eyes at his old friend as they passed. Lucius could hear Snape scolding the Charms master, “besides, I’m sure they would choose me anyway, I’ve known them longer…”

Standing, Malfoy evanesco’ed the room, scooped up Hermione in his arms and stepped into the fireplace.
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The Great Hall was in pandemonium when the two professors opened the door. The Headmistress’ shrill “You’ve missed all of today’s classes, and now you’re late to dinner. Where have you been?” made most of the room’s occupants wince.

The room fell silent. Bill muttered, “For a moment there, I actually thought I was in the Burrow.” Snape’s rich laugh caused mouths to hang open around the room, including several at the high table. Their potions master looked relaxed. “Probably got shagged”, a seventh year Slytherin whispered to his girlfriend , before Bill’s silencing spell shut him up.

“I’ve asked you a question!”

Casting a Muffliato on the students ears, Snape addressed the headmistress in his usual sardonic and bored voice.

“Well Minerva, whilst watching Miss Granger sleep in the infirmary following a nearly deadly assault, we came to a decision. We did a minor imperio on Pomfrey then obliviated her, and swept the injured woman to Professor Weasley’s chambers. Once there, we invoked an arcane healing spell utilizing a form of sex magic Lucius and I became familiar with as Death Eaters to heal Miss Granger.”

“Severus there’s no call to be crude…”

“Professor, go on. Tell her why we were late.” Bill prompted, gleeful.

“Ah yes, of course. The completion of this ritual involved simultaneous orgasms that were literally earth- moving, causing us to be so exhausted we collapsed on top of a nude, healed and very content Miss Granger and fell asleep. We must apologize for our tardiness, however we needed to allow Lucius to depart with Miss Granger before we were inspired to go for a second round.” He glared at the headmistress, before looking past her at the student’s plates. Oh look Professor Weasley, we’re having steak tonight. Always best to rebuild your strength after such strenuous exercise.” With that the deputy headmaster and Charms master stepped up on the dais, took their seats at the table, dissolved the spell on the students and began to eat.

Silently, Professor Snape reveled in the idea that for the first time in the nearly forty years he had known the headmistress, it was the first time he had ever managed to leave her speechless.
Silently, Professor Weasley once again was struck with the thought that Professor Snape was a bloody genius.
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In a quiet manor house in Wiltshire, Lucius Malfoy watched his goddess sleep from a hard wooden chair. He was exhausted, and more than anything wanted to hold her as she slept. For the first time in years, he would deny himself something he wanted badly. For the first time in ages, he thought about someone besides himself; putting their needs and desires above his own.

Once arrived from Hogwarts, he had carried her through the house to the massive master bath. Once there, he had bathed her in amber scented oil meant to relax muscles and stimulate good dreams. She had roused long enough for him to wash her hair, then fell back asleep as he dried her and dressed her in a silk gown. Carrying her to the guest bedroom, he had slipped her under fluffy duvets and warm cotton sheets to rest, her magic continuing to restore itself as she slept.

His thoughtlessness, his tantrum had nearly cost an innocent woman her life. She had come to his office intending to make peace, for something that wasn’t her fault to begin with. Yet, he had responded badly, saying horrible things to her and casting her out, sending her against her will to the one place she would be treated worse than at his office. All because he had woken up, frustrated and alone. Again.

He had wanted Hermione as a possession, as something he could use and then lay aside. In that way he was no different from Pegram, Neither had appreciated her intellectual brilliance, her ingenuity and ability to adapt into a world she hadn’t been raised in and her humility as time after time she kept doing her job, even when idiots like Potter and Pegram took advantage of her good nature.

For him, it had all changed in an instant.

When he first lay eyes on her at the infirmary, he had been terrified. Terrified of going to Azkaban, terrified of the wrath he would suffer in the eyes of the public. In other words, fear for himself. Then it had happened.

Bill and Severus were discussing the ritual at the end of her bed in hushed tones, and he had approached the head of the bed. He had just meant to brush her curls out of her face; he knew what lengths she went to normally to keep them out of her eyes. She had whispered something, and he moved closer to hear her, kneeling so his ear was right in front of her mouth. The words came out like a breath.

“I forgive you.”

He looked at her beaten and battered body and at that moment felt a shame he hadn’t ever felt before in his entire life. It wasn’t the embarrassment he felt when Draco had initiated a farting contest at the symphony when he was five. It wasn’t the mortification of going to Azkaban, or even the shame of arguing with his mother as she lay on her deathbed, wanting something as she struggled to take her last breath. No this was far deeper than that. This was the kind of shame that wouldn’t allow you to look at yourself in the mirror, the kind that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. It was the kind of shame that could destroy a man.

Yet, she forgave him.

When the ritual was completed, it was HIS scent she had turned to and wrapped her arms around. When she opened her eyes briefly, it was from HIS gentle kisses and whispers of devotion. It was as though she knew, deep down in her core that he was worth the effort.

As he watched her stir in her sleep, he silently swore that he would spend the rest of his life being the imperfect man that loved her beyond words and showed her that every day. Her eyes snapped open, almost as though he had spoken aloud. Maybe he had.

“Lucius, come here. I sleep better with you than by myself.”

He was out of the chair in an instant, stripping off his dressing gown and crawling in next to her. He pulled her close to his body, and she rested her head on his chest , feeling the pounding of his heart. He kissed her throat, her neck, her nose, finally ending with her lips, now quirked in a smile below twinkling eyes.

“Hold me, Lucius.”

“Always, my love.”
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Coming up next: Muggle London and the Daily Prophet