Need and Valour
Title: Need and Valour
Team Name: Spy for the Death Eaters
Word Count: 6x100
Rating: M
Challenge: Murphy’s Law
Characters: Hermione/Severus/Lucius
Disclaimer: I am making no profit. Any characters or settings recognizable from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. The rest is mine.
~*~*~*~*~
It was the morning after, and the sun shone brightly through the French windows of the breakfast room. The orientation of the Manor had been calculated so as to glorify the Malfoy hair at every hour. Except for the bedroom, obviously - that’s what judicious candlelight is for.
Lucius and Severus were silent with boneless contentment. They had already polished off the sumptuous breakfast prepared by Winky. Yes, the same old Winky. Lucius could recognize good servant material when he saw it; Dobby had been the only unfortunate error.
Severus was interestingly pale. Lucius was basking in his own golden halo.
~*~
Hermione was lounging on the powder-blue silk cushions of the Récamier, browsing through a copy of the “Daily Prophet”.
Suddenly, she huffed and brandished the paper.
“‘…rumoured to have just emerged from a three-day orgy at Malfoy Manor.’ That woman still writes tripe!”
“I’m afraid that information is accurate, dear,” said Lucius, “however imperfect the style.”
“She couldn’t learn about it this fast, so I think it was just shameless guesswork and she got lucky. Anyway, the proper term is threesome.”
“I do not know about ‘fast’,” answered Lucius mildly. “And I beg to differ as to the proper term.”
~*~
‘Threesome’ refers to the configuration, orgy to the action undertaken. Therefore ‘orgy’ is the adequate word. I dare hope you wouldn’t wish to emerge from our configuration?”
Severus saw the hard glint of science light in Hermione’s eyes and tried frantically to contact Lucius’ mind; the only signal he got in return was a kind of fuzzy, lazy, smug purr, so instead he concentrated on scowling pointedly, trying to attract his friend’s attention. The wretched man was too far away to pinch.
Hermione’s last sentence jolted him from his efforts.
“…this calls for further experimentation. Gentlemen, let your talents shine.”
~*~
With the perfect a propos bequeathed by generations of Malfoys, Lucius slid on his knees and, discarding Hermione’s satin slipper, kissed the slight dimple where the upper curve of her foot met the ankle. Hermione’s eyes closed reflexively and she let her head fall back on the pillows.
Even before the first moan had left her lips, Severus was out of the door. Down the marble staircase and through the maze of corridors he ran until he reached, breathless, the dirty door of a broomstick closet: his and Lucius’ secret Potions storeroom, the one they hoped Hermione didn’t know about.
~*~
He searched the shelves frantically. Just as he had suspected, all the Golden Rod Potion phials were empty. Lucius had got him into trouble. Again.
He stood panting, sharp mind racing against the imminent disaster. There was only one solution, but… Mortified in spirit, and more than a little afraid for his flesh, he shut his eyes tightly, trying in vain to squeeze into nothingness a haunting memory: he had surprised Winky, in her dark cupboard behind the wine cellars, cackling over a stinking cauldron. Though her method of brewing was most unorthodox, the nature of the potion was obvious.
~*~
Severus had complained. “Lucius, she has purloined ingredients.”
Lucius had swelled with satisfaction. Pilfering was a noble tradition of Malfoy servants, and Winky was adapting just fine. “I’m happy to learn that she’s recovering from that awful Crouch righteousness. Besides, she’s only trading for Butterbeer, which of course can’t be found in our cellars. Poor creature.”
Severus let his head fall against the door, throat dry. Once again, he would have to bend to fate. Just his luck.
“Winky!” he rasped.
“Yes, Second Master?”
Snape winced. He’d need to speak with Lucius about the “Second” thing.
“Winky, bring your moonshine.”
Team Name: Spy for the Death Eaters
Word Count: 6x100
Rating: M
Challenge: Murphy’s Law
Characters: Hermione/Severus/Lucius
Disclaimer: I am making no profit. Any characters or settings recognizable from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. The rest is mine.
~*~*~*~*~
It was the morning after, and the sun shone brightly through the French windows of the breakfast room. The orientation of the Manor had been calculated so as to glorify the Malfoy hair at every hour. Except for the bedroom, obviously - that’s what judicious candlelight is for.
Lucius and Severus were silent with boneless contentment. They had already polished off the sumptuous breakfast prepared by Winky. Yes, the same old Winky. Lucius could recognize good servant material when he saw it; Dobby had been the only unfortunate error.
Severus was interestingly pale. Lucius was basking in his own golden halo.
~*~
Hermione was lounging on the powder-blue silk cushions of the Récamier, browsing through a copy of the “Daily Prophet”.
Suddenly, she huffed and brandished the paper.
“‘…rumoured to have just emerged from a three-day orgy at Malfoy Manor.’ That woman still writes tripe!”
“I’m afraid that information is accurate, dear,” said Lucius, “however imperfect the style.”
“She couldn’t learn about it this fast, so I think it was just shameless guesswork and she got lucky. Anyway, the proper term is threesome.”
“I do not know about ‘fast’,” answered Lucius mildly. “And I beg to differ as to the proper term.”
~*~
‘Threesome’ refers to the configuration, orgy to the action undertaken. Therefore ‘orgy’ is the adequate word. I dare hope you wouldn’t wish to emerge from our configuration?”
Severus saw the hard glint of science light in Hermione’s eyes and tried frantically to contact Lucius’ mind; the only signal he got in return was a kind of fuzzy, lazy, smug purr, so instead he concentrated on scowling pointedly, trying to attract his friend’s attention. The wretched man was too far away to pinch.
Hermione’s last sentence jolted him from his efforts.
“…this calls for further experimentation. Gentlemen, let your talents shine.”
~*~
With the perfect a propos bequeathed by generations of Malfoys, Lucius slid on his knees and, discarding Hermione’s satin slipper, kissed the slight dimple where the upper curve of her foot met the ankle. Hermione’s eyes closed reflexively and she let her head fall back on the pillows.
Even before the first moan had left her lips, Severus was out of the door. Down the marble staircase and through the maze of corridors he ran until he reached, breathless, the dirty door of a broomstick closet: his and Lucius’ secret Potions storeroom, the one they hoped Hermione didn’t know about.
~*~
He searched the shelves frantically. Just as he had suspected, all the Golden Rod Potion phials were empty. Lucius had got him into trouble. Again.
He stood panting, sharp mind racing against the imminent disaster. There was only one solution, but… Mortified in spirit, and more than a little afraid for his flesh, he shut his eyes tightly, trying in vain to squeeze into nothingness a haunting memory: he had surprised Winky, in her dark cupboard behind the wine cellars, cackling over a stinking cauldron. Though her method of brewing was most unorthodox, the nature of the potion was obvious.
~*~
Severus had complained. “Lucius, she has purloined ingredients.”
Lucius had swelled with satisfaction. Pilfering was a noble tradition of Malfoy servants, and Winky was adapting just fine. “I’m happy to learn that she’s recovering from that awful Crouch righteousness. Besides, she’s only trading for Butterbeer, which of course can’t be found in our cellars. Poor creature.”
Severus let his head fall against the door, throat dry. Once again, he would have to bend to fate. Just his luck.
“Winky!” he rasped.
“Yes, Second Master?”
Snape winced. He’d need to speak with Lucius about the “Second” thing.
“Winky, bring your moonshine.”