Knickers: Mix and Match

This oneshot is part of a series of stories called Knickers. You can find all five chapters under the General Section. Thank you, everyone, for all of your reviews!

Softobsidian74, I hope you like this one!

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It was an awkward moment, to say the least. They hadn’t been together since it happened, and meeting under these circumstances called for far more than polite niceties or mumbled platitudes. Despite that, they could only stand motionless in a loose circle in the Prefects’ bathroom, each one’s hand outstretched, collectively holding two pair of knickers, a jock strap and one bra. They weren’t looking at each other; they were lost in their own recollections as their gazes fixed on the bits of silk and cotton.

Draco’s Quidditch practice had run late, and in turn, the Prefect’s meeting had been running late as well. Hermione and Ron were going over last minute instructions with the other Prefects regarding the patrolling route for December, since it had been altered with the approaching holidays. Draco was passing around copies of the list of students who had signed up to stay at the school, the compressed schedules for the final week of school and the dismissal times for the underclassmen.

When the meeting finally wrapped up, the only three students remaining were Hermione, Ron and Draco. Not for the first time was Draco aware of the changes that had occurred during this, their final year. A truce had sprung up between him and the Gryffindors, and while he wouldn’t say they were friends, they certainly weren’t the enemies they once were. For his part, he no longer had the energy for that kind of antagonism; it was enough to just get through every day wrestling with his loss - his parents’ death, his standing among the other Slytherins and his place at school, but most difficult was the destruction of all that he was brought up to believe. It was as if his spirituality was ripped from him and held up the light to reveal its many flaws.

Yet he refused to abandon it completely. The Dark Lord was a megalomaniac, not interested in furthering the goals and ambitions of those of Pureblood, and for that, he was destroyed. But yet how could Draco deny everything that he had been taught? How could he not view magic as a gift from God or ‘the gods’? Their very make-up was vastly superior to Muggles. They were graced with special gifts the likes of which Muggles could only dream. Even Muggles recognized special gifts in themselves and elevated them above other Muggles; how were his beliefs so different? In the simplest of terms, magic made him better.

But he knew that his beliefs held no value to anyone else, so he kept to himself, and on those days when he felt himself overwhelmed, he would talk to Professor Snape. His Head of House was his last link to the life he once knew, and though he understood that the Professor fought against Voldemort, Snape understood the challenges that Draco now faced. Draco often felt that his Head was his savior, just as Potter was considered one to everyone else.

Draco was lost in thought and didn’t notice the small looks Hermione and Ron were giving him. They knew, as few others did, the losses Draco had suffered. His situation had been unique among the students at Hogwarts, and Professor McGonagall as well as Professors Snape and Flitwick had cautioned them against any outward displays of antagonism towards him or any other student whose families had had ties to the Dark Lord. They had been counseled on the signs of depression and suicide, as had the other Prefects, and Hermione and Ron knew that Draco had no one save Snape to look after him. They knew Draco wouldn’t approve or appreciate their concern, so they didn’t voice their worries.

But more than that, they wanted him. For Hermione’s part, she had always been attracted to the “bad boy” he had been, and she missed it. Since the war and their return to school, he was no longer the Malfoy she loved to hate, loved to fight with. While he no longer scared her, he didn’t have the backing of the Death Eaters, he challenged her in ways that few others did. As either a partner or competitor, she wanted her Malfoy back.

Ron, on the other hand, did not have a “bad boy” complex, but that wasn’t what attracted him to Malfoy. Draco had never looked beyond the obvious lack of wealth to notice all they had in common: a natural talent for strategy, both Purebloods with pride in their heritage, and the search they were both undertaking to find their place in the Wizarding world. While Draco had been cast out to find his own way alone in the Wizarding population, Ron was lost in a sea of family. He had no individuality, no sense of himself when he was surrounded by those who loved him. He was part of a family, and yes, he appreciated them, but he wanted to be appreciated for his own merits. He and Draco were kindred spirits, and Ron was desperate for Draco to acknowledge it.

Hermione and Ron fought over Draco for months. They both wanted him and were insanely jealous of the other’s interest. Ron hated seeing Hermione talking to Draco, taking the time to place her small hand on his arm and leaning closer while trying to make some point, while Hermione saw red when she would come across Ron and Draco in an intense discussion over a game of Wizarding chess.

Draco, for his part, was infatuated with the two Gryffindors. He loved every little thing about Hermione; her intellect, her stubbornness, her wild hair and small hands. Mostly though, he loved how she smelled when she would stand close to him. It was all he could do to not grab her and pull her close. She intoxicated him, made him dizzy. She challenged him and browbeat him, but she respected him. She never tried to change who he was, she accepted him as he was, and that was a balm to Draco’s soul. For that alone, he loved her.

But then there was Ron. An unlikely rapport has sprung up, and while he enjoyed the chess games with the man, what he loved most was simply standing next to him. He was a good three inches and two stone larger than Draco, and that made feel Draco small, yet protected. Draco had always had friends who were larger than him around, mostly because when he was next to them he felt bigger, too. He had liked feeling big and strong and powerful. But now, he liked feeling small next to Ron. Ron could hold onto him and help him when he stumbled; he wouldn’t smirk or offer a snide comment. Draco didn’t have to be strong when he was with Ron; he could just be himself.

Draco also knew that Ron and Hermione were very protective of each other. And while he hoped that the three could someday be together in the same room without the animosity, he knew he was the reason why Hermione never sat down and watched him and Ron play chess, or why Ron avoided the Library when he and Hermione were studying. It was painful to know he was coming between these two, but he was selfish enough to admit to some little dark part of himself that he needed them more than they needed each other.

The three were leaving the Prefects’ Conference Room on the fifth floor when Peeves began his attack. Before they could react, the poltergeist began throwing vials of yellow liquid, the liquid splashing onto their robes as the glass broke against the stone floor. The students looked down and saw their robes beginning to smolder where the potion had landed. For a split second, the three stared wildly at each other then took off down the hall towards the Prefects’ bathroom.

Immediately upon entering, they flung off the burning robes, then began investigating their clothes for smoke or fire. Hermione let out a whimper. She was furiously trying to reach a spot on her shoulder when Draco strode to her side and began ripping her blouse, not taking the time to unbutton the pearl-sized beads.

“Granger … Hermione… we need to get this off you immediately” he growled impatiently as his hands rent the cloth. As soon as the words left his mouth, he caught Ron reaching for his wand out of the corner of his eye. Expecting to be hexed for daring to touch her, he immediately grabbed his wand. But the hex never came; instead, he heard Ron cast the spell that removed Hermione’s clothes. However, due to his exaggerated wand movements, not only were Hermione’s clothes removed, but Draco’s were removed as well, lying in a heap on the floor next to where they stood. Not wasting a moment, Draco ran with Hermione towards the showers in the hopes of washing away the last remnants of the yellow potion. Ron let out a hiss as a lick of fire shot from his trouser leg. With the water beginning to pour down onto Draco and Hermione, Draco, still clutching his wand, immediately cast the same spell Ron’s way while Ron sprinted towards them.

The three stood under the running water, hands running over each other’s body, trying to wash away any remaining potion before anyone was burned further. It was several moments before Hermione, Ron and Draco knew they were no longer in danger, and only one little second longer to realize the three of them were naked and sharing a shower stall. Draco’s back was against the wall. He had dropped his wand after casting the spell to remove Ron’s clothes. He was defenseless, and he knew it. He stiffened and closed his eyes, ready for the inevitable confrontation.

Hermione recognized the look on his face, the look of defeat and helplessness. She glanced over her shoulder to Ron. In spite of their jealously, what she and Ron shared went far beyond friendship. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, they complemented each other. Her book smarts to his street smarts, her softness to his hardness; they completed each other in ways no one understood. They were bound to each other in ways that went far beyond normal relationships, even though they weren’t a couple.

They talked about Draco as they lay together in Ron’s four-poster. Draco was slowly burying himself alive, not talking to anyone or taking advantage of the counselors available since the end of the war, and no one seemed to recognize it. Not even Professor Snape knew how bad Draco’s depression was. But they saw - they spent the most time with him, they shared classes, meals, and Prefect duties. They knew it was up to them somehow to draw Draco back to life, his life. He had lost much, they knew. They decided that Draco would not make any type of gesture towards either of them, either to seek their friendship or something more, and they each valued the other to tempt Draco individually. They came to the conclusion that if they were to seduce Draco, they would do it together.

Standing under the hot spray of water and with a slight nod from Ron, Hermione pressed her warm, wet body into Draco. As her hands found his broad shoulders, she lifted her lips and softly kissed his lips, his cheek and jaw, then traveled lower to his neck, her soft, pink tongue darting out to lick where she kissed, trailing up his throat to his ear. He felt her hot breath as her teeth sank slowly into his fleshy lobe, and he expelled a ragged breath.

Behind her, Ron’s hard cock was tight against the small of her back, his balls caressing her ass. His hands smoothed their way up her sides and reached around to find the creamy globes of her tits, toying with her nipples as he buried his mouth against her neck before his hot wet tongue made its way to her ear.

‘Get down on your knees and suck him,” Ron suggested in a low harsh voice. Hermione slowly sunk to her knees, her hands skimmed Draco’s chest and abdomen and settled on his hips as the water ran over her face, dripping off her nose. Draco opened his eyes and watched Hermione slowly take him in her mouth.

“Fuck!” he ground out.

He reached up to adjust the spray of the water when Ron leaned over Hermione, and grabbing Draco’s other hand, he brought the two together over Draco’s head. Holding Draco’s hands in his as they grasped the showerhead, Ron took Draco’s mouth. Draco felt all his air leave his lungs in a great ‘whoosh’. He had never experienced anything so intense in his life. He opened his mouth and drew Ron’s persistent tongue in, dueling with the redhead’s. Tongues found teeth and gums and the soft inner flesh of cheeks.

Hermione looked up, saw the men kissing and very nearly had an orgasm. Breaking her gaze from the incredible sight, she turned her focus instead on Ron’s cock that rested against her cheek. She drew Draco from her mouth and began stroking his long and thick, pale pink cock, slick from her spit, in one hand, while she took Ron in the other and brought him to her mouth, licking the head. She alternated between the two men, occasionally pressing the dicks together to lick them in unison and drew them both into her mouth at once. Their cries and whimpers weren’t heard over the intense pulse of the water from the shower, splashing uselessly against the far wall of the stall.

It was Draco who pulled away from Ron, yanking his hands away to reach down and pull Hermione up. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned down to kiss her, taking his time to delve into her sweetness.

“Shall we continue this somewhere dryer?” Ron asked, his voice husky and slightly shaken.

He backed away and, with his outstretched hands, took Hermione in one and Draco in the other and led them to where towels were stacked on a low shelf. Lifting a fluffy blue bath sheet off the shelf and throwing it high into the air, he transformed the material in mid-air into a large blue mattress that settled beside the swimming pool-sized tub. Grinning, Ron sank down, tugging both Draco and Hermione down beside him so that all three were snuggled together, with Draco stuffed in the middle.

Draco had been in a daze since he felt Hermione’s soft breasts crushed to his chest. For the first time in several long minutes, his head cleared enough to wonder just what the hell was going on.

Hermione felt his withdrawal. She rolled to her side, and leaning close to his ear, she said in a sultry voice, “Please let us be with you; don’t push us away. We want this. You need this. Just let it happen.”

Hermione leaned across him to kiss Ron, and it occurred to Draco that they were more than boyfriend and girlfriend. Yet, he wasn’t sure they were a couple; he’d never seen them share kisses or hold hands or display any other outward signs, for that matter, that told the world these two people were a couple. Yet the kiss they shared must have been one of thousands, for they seemed to know just the angle and pressure to draw out the soft moans of pleasure, and for all the lazy exploration, there was still a hunger, a fire burning just below the surface. They wanted to share this with him?

Before he could question their motives, Ron ended the kiss with a quick lick of Hermione’s swollen bottom lip and turned to Draco, leaning down to claim the blond’s mouth once again. He nibbled and licked, not giving Draco the chance to lay claim on Ron’s mouth; Draco could only accept the ministrations from the man next to him.

“Taste Hermione, Draco,” growled Ron into Draco’s mouth, “take her sweet little cunt in your mouth. Look, she’s offering herself to you.” Draco moaned, as much from Ron’s suggestion as from the kiss. Ron drew back and gently turned Draco towards Hermione, who had inverted herself so her pretty pink pussy was so close to his face that he could smell her arousal. Needing no further encouragement, Draco flattened his tongue and licked her from her clit to her hole. He’d never licked pussy upside down before, and the thought made his cock jump. He spread her soft lips with his fingers and began lightly sucking her clit. Hermione's breathing became labored, and she worked her hips in time with Draco. Ron repositioned himself on the mattress so that he was lying across the bottom, his mouth hovering above Draco’s weeping cock while Hermione was within easy reach of his. Soon everyone’s mouth and tongue were busy; the sounds of sucking and slurping and moaning and gasping echoed in the cavernous room.

Ron had Draco’s cock in his hand, was licking it like an ice cream cone, swirling the head in his mouth before running his tongue along the underneath, making Draco groan into Hermione’s pussy and renew his ministrations. She tasted so sweet, just as Ron has promised. He couldn’t get enough of her; he had to explore every square inch, not just the pouty lips or the hard nub of her clit. He pushed his fingers into her sopping wet hole, then withdrew to make their way to her ass. He wanted to explore that dirty little hole. Hermione whimpered as he began rubbing the tight entrance, and the harder he sucked on her clit, the more insistent his finger became, until Hermione was overcome. Draco’s middle finger entered her ass fully as his thumb plunged into her cunt. He moved his hand slowly at first, no longer sucking, but gently lapping at her engorged nub, creating a new rhythm to which she could thrust her hips.

Hermione, so caught up in the overwhelming sensations that Draco was creating, could only slobber and drool over Ron’s perfect piece. He was long and thick, purple when engorged, and weeping with pre-cum. Long ago he began using a hair removing charm, so now his cock and balls and ass were bare, smooth and soft. She took his sac in her hand and massaged them as she gently sucked on him. Soon she would bury her nose at the base of his cock. She fucked him with her mouth as she began buggering him with her fingers, rubbing that little nub deep inside his hot channel that made him screech and thrust back against her busy digits.

Ron wanted Draco with an intensity that shook his very core. He was intent on showing Draco what could be between them. His wrapped his fingers tight around the base of Draco’s cock and balls to prevent him from coming; he wanted this to last. He couldn’t believe how Draco felt in his hand and in his mouth. He was perfection, and as he bobbed his head on Draco’s dick, he wished this moment could last forever. Draco’s gasps and grunts spurred Ron to greater enthusiasm, and with a shout, hot creamy come spurted from Draco’s hole. He was thrusting madly, his hips lifting off the mattress, making Ron grasp his hips to pin him down. Draco jerked and spasmed, but somehow kept his face buried in Hermione’s pussy until she, too, screamed and shook violently. It was Hermione’s shaking that made Ron come, thick white ropes of come that splashed her face and neck. She gave up trying to capture the cream with her tongue and let her head fall to the mattress. For long, long moments the only sounds were choked gasps and labored breathing.

Just as their breathing slowed to normal, a new sound violated the Prefect’s bathroom. The sounds of pounding footsteps that came closer and closer, louder and louder. The three stood on unsteady legs and quickly charmed their shirts and jeans back on, and with a quick wand wave, the mattress disappeared. Their underwear and robes lay uselessly nearby, and the three made quick work of stuffing the undergarments into the pockets of their robes as the Prefect’s bathroom door burst open and Professors Snape and McGonagall entered the room.

“I went to the Prefect’s Conference Room for the progress notes from the meeting,” explained Professor McGonagall breathlessly. When I saw the broken vials and spilt potion, I sent my Patronus to Professor Snape.”

“Did any of you come into contact with the potion?” inquired Professor Snape tersely.

Ron spoke first. “Only briefly, Professor. Peeves launched the vials at us, but only our robes were victimized. We ran in here to wash off any residuals. We are all safe,” he finished, “as you can see.”

No one commented on the wet hair or flushed skin, beaded with sweat from only moments ago.

Professors Snape and McGonagall shared a quick look then ushered the three out the door and escorted them to the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey proclaimed them none the worse for wear.

Hermione had sent her Patronus to each requesting a meeting in the Prefects’ bathroom. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about what happened, so now here they were, back again, two weeks later, but no one knew where to begin.

Finally, they each in turn lift their gazes from the out-stretched hands to the others’ eyes, and while their eyes darted from one to the other, small smiles formed on their faces, until laughter burst forth, dissolving the tension, letting a new awareness take hold. They dropped the bits of cloth uselessly to the floor and stepped into each other’s loose embrace.

They spoke tender words and whispered hot promises. It was not to last beyond the school walls, they knew, but it would be enough. When they left the Prefect’s bathroom some time later, they were still holding the odd bits of cotton and satin; little souvenirs to remind them of who they were and what they meant to each other.

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Draco’s jock strap remained in Hermione’s drawer until the day she moved in with Severus. He dangled it in front of Hermione’s nose and quirked his right eyebrow. She just smiled, grabbed it and wrapped her arms around her beloved. Severus buried his head in her neck, amazed and thankful once again that he had this witch, his witch. It seemed she had saved more than one life.

Ron’s underwear remained in Draco’s desk drawer in his study, hidden from his love. While Harry knew there had been someone before him, Draco would never share with him his time with Ron and Hermione. It was his, and his alone; that part of his life that had been dark and desperate, but had been transformed into something wondrous because of his two lovers. He didn’t think Harry would mind that he’d had an affair with his two best friends; after all, Harry hadn’t come back to Hogwarts after the end of the war. But Harry only looked forward these days, most especially to the future that included Draco. And that was perfect for Draco.

Ron was never without Hermione’s panties and Draco’s bra. They remained in his backpack as he traveled with the Chudley Cannons playing keeper. When he felt lonely and homesick, he would drape his face with Draco’s bra while his hand was wrapped in Hermione’s panties and would travel back to those days of secret meetings in the Prefects’ bathroom. He would stroke himself until he came, shouting their names with wonder and joy, and the loneliness would be pushed back. He was doing what he was meant to do, finding his place before retuning home to begin again.

That the bra belonged to Draco had been quite a surprise. Draco had admitted to owning it that day so long ago in the Prefect’s bathroom. As the Aurors were beating down his door at the Manor the day his parents were killed, Draco raced through his parents’ rooms, looking desperately for something of theirs to keep as a remembrance. The purple lace bra had been the only possession of his mother’s that Draco could find and keep hidden. Draco had taken to wearing it on those days he needed a link to his past. After the affair began, the bra created new and erotic possibilities, but it was Hermione that had bought Draco the bra that Ron now carried with him. While not opposed to the kinky fantasies, Draco hadn’t wanted to use his cherished possession to carry them out and instead put the bra away until the end of term. After graduation, he buried it along with an old pipe that had been his father’s as a memorial to his parents in the back garden of the Manor.

All three lived and loved. And remembered.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my wonderfully awesome beta, Dynonugget. RAWR!!!!