Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: snegurochka_lee
From: ldymusyc

Title: And Never Brought To Mind
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Hermione/Harry
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Included: Double penetration
Word Count: 1300
Summary/Description: No logic or thought, no scars or marks, no past to forget or future to predict. Hermione closes her eyes and lets go.
Author's Notes: This was the third attempt I made at this story, and it gave me hell the whole time. Finally I just did what Hermione did. Shut my eyes and went for it. I hope you enjoy, mystery prompter. :)



It's New Year's Eve at Hogwarts and the party is in full swing. She's got her eyes closed and she's swaying to the thumping beat of the music. It pounds like her heart beneath her ribs, drumming and drumming and trying to escape. Her hair is free, her barrette and combs lost somewhere on the dance floor beneath the clomping boots and clacking heels of all the others who have packed together to howl and spin and celebrate. She's not sure if she's celebrating or mourning. The war is long over, her marriage is just over, her purpose in life - the rational, logical, thoughtful one - is over.

She's Hermione Granger and she doesn't know who she is anymore.

She's lost in maybes and might have beens, and she knows she won't find answers here, under a ceiling charmed to shimmer with stars, drawing the eyes away from the burns and scars that can't be cleaned from the castle stones. She won't find answers and she won't find absolution but she thinks that she might find some peace if she can just keep her heart thrumming. She dances, her eyes closed against the scars and marks on the stones and the people, and if she dances long enough, she might remember how to forget.

She raises her arms, palms up in invitation, supplication, and the answer comes from two sides at once. A lean body presses to her back, another to her front, and she sways in a dual embrace. She doesn't open her eyes to see who is dancing with her. It doesn't matter. Hard chests and narrow hips push against her breasts, against her arse. Calloused hands glide down her arms and across her shoulders. One slips beneath her shirt and up her sternum; one slides down her thigh and beneath her skirt. She leans her head back onto one shoulder, tips her head forward onto the other. Dancing and swaying, their bodies warm her, send her breath rushing, send her heart racing. She presses one hand to the man in front of her, her palm against his chest. She slips one hand around the man behind her, her fingers on the nape of his neck. One of them makes a noise, then the next, then the third. It's a noise of want and desire and need that all of them make, and Hermione opens her eyes.

The messy black hair in front of her eyes hides a pale scar; the pale forearm around her waist bears a black mark. They both go still, pressed against her, clutching her, holding her. She's so warm, so full of need, and in the circle of their arms, she can't remember why she's dancing. Hermione grips Harry's shirt, fists Draco's hair, and she moans in lust and demand. They push closer to her. Lips and lips are sucking her neck, hips and hips are rubbing her body. Hermione bites her lip and whimpers and then they're moving. Out of the hall, out of the castle, out past the wards to the shore of the lake. They find a spot in the lee of a tall boulder, sheltered from the chill wind that reddens their cheeks and stings their breath in their lungs.

Harry charms his tie into a blanket to warm the cold ground; Hermione charms the stone of the boulder to shine soft and golden; Draco charms the space around them to enclose and hide them. They stand in a bubble of warmth and solitude, silent and waiting. Harry's eyes are the brilliant green of summer grass. Draco's eyes are the stormy grey of winter skies. Hermione trembles, cupping their cheeks. She licks her lips and closes her eyes and offers herself to them.

They move as one and draw her down. They're on the ground and her clothes are gone and one slim body is warming her left side, one slim body is warming her right. She doesn't know which is which, who is where.

She doesn't care.

It.

Doesn't.

Matter.

There's a mouth on her ribs and a mouth on her thighs. She arches her back and splays her legs. One hot tongue circles her nipples, one hot tongue slides over her clit. Hermione stretches her arms over her head, setting loose the moans trapped in her throat. She's forgotten anything except the feel of the men surrounding her, their firm hands stroking her hips and kneading her breasts, their warm mouths exploring the hollow of her elbow and the curve of her waist. She's hot and wet and she wants him, wants them. She opens her eyes and looks up into their shining, heated gazes. Now, she murmurs, reaching for them both.

Draco moves first. He rolls onto his back and pulls her atop him. She straddles his narrow hips and grinds down, his cock long and solid against her. Draco groans, head tipped to the side, throat tight as he swallows, fingers tensing on her thighs. Hermione lifts up and reaches down and she wraps her hand around his cock. She holds it upright, strokes and pulls, and guides him into her cunt. The sound she makes as Draco fills her isn't rational or logical. It's a keen of want, a wail of desire. She digs her nails into his chest and rides his cock. Draco's eyes are round and silver as the moon over them, his lips and nipples and scars all pink. Hermione tightens around his length when he drives inside her, and Draco's growl is as dark as the brand in his arm.

He pushes up and pulls her down, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. He kisses her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in rhythm with his cock in her cunt. Beside them, on his knees and stroking his cock, Harry watches as Draco fucks her. Hermione lifts her head and meets Harry's eyes. More, she tells him. Now. She drops her head and sucks on Draco's throat as Harry moves behind her. She feels Draco's legs widen to give him room, feels Harry's hand on her arse and spreading her cheeks. She lifts up and Harry pushes two fingers into her cunt, slips in beside Draco's cock. The stretch makes her writhe and whimper.

Hermione leans forward, rubbing her breasts on Draco's chest, her nipples hard and aching. Draco palms her breasts as they kiss. Harry slicks his fingers and draws out of her, then spreads the juices on her arsehole. Hermione keens and pleads, thrusting her arse at him, and Harry edges forward. The thick, blunt head of his cock prods at her and he swears under his breath. Hermione relaxes, mutters a charm, pushes back. Draco's cock is thick inside her cunt and Harry slides into her arse and Hermione screams as she's filled by both men at once.

They both go still. Harry kisses between her shoulder blades, Draco kisses between her collar bones. Hermione knows they're holding on, waiting for her to give them the okay, and she does with a desperate toss of her hair. More, now, more, please, do it, give it to me, Draco, Harry, fuck me and her voice slides into a groan as they move. It takes a little experimentation to get into a good rhythm, but once they find it, Hermione moans. She moans and wails and begs, one hand digging into Harry's thigh, one hand clawing at Draco's shoulder.

The moon is bright, the lake is dark, and there beside that boulder, entwined on that blanket, they are there. No logic or thought, no scars or marks, no past to forget or future to predict. No maybes and might have beens. Nothing but them, nothing but now. Hermione clings to the men and she dances in their arms.