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And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After

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Chapter Three
"Sua Cuique Voluptas" (Everyone Has His Own Pleasures)

 

****WARNING: Mild, consensual BDSM, very consensual.****

 

Disclaimer: Miss Jo (Rowling) owns everything. I own nothing in this story, except a really dirty imagination.

 

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Florean Fortescue's was the perfect idea for lunch. Hermione needed a healthy dose of chocolate to lift her spirits. Enough theobromine to put her into a state of catatonic bliss seemed to be the right dosage, if she could even eat that much without having to be turned on her side and rolled out the door afterwards.

 

Looking down into her lap, Hermione noticed she had shredded her fourth paper napkin out of sheer nervousness. Ginny was due to arrive any minute. The redheaded witch was observant and would immediately notice if her friend was jittery and distracted.

 

Hermione took one large cleansing breath, holding it before exhaling and regaining her composure.

 

Ginny flounced into the parlor, swinging a length of fringed and beaded silk charmeuse over her shoulder before sitting down in her seat across from Hermione.

 

"Drama Queen."

 

"Don't you know it," Ginny teased back.

 

Thankful Ginny's entrance gave her something to immediately comment about and ignore the tightness in her chest, Hermione asked, "So, what's new?"

 

She watched Ginny's reaction carefully while trying to remain nonchalant as ever.

 

There was a small twitch in the left corner of Ginny's mouth. Other than the small tic, Ginny's demeanor was exactly the same as it was every week when they met for lunch.

 

"Nothing much," she threw out. "Same old thing. Committee meetings, trying to talk Harry into taking some time off from work for a holiday, finishing the last of the renovations to that cursed house he refuses to sell, so on and so forth. The life of a bored housewife."

 

Hermione choked on Ginny's last sentence. Coughing, as her water had gone down the wrong windpipe, she hoped that didn't tip Ginny off in anyway.

 

"You all right, Hermione?"

 

"Yes (cough)… um… yes. Swallowed wrong." Hermione straightened her robes, which looked a bit shabby when compared to Ginny's.

 

"So, are you ready for the next family gathering?" Ginny asked with tightness and dread.

 

Closing her eyes, Hermione sighed and began to gently bang her head on the tabletop, which drew a few looks from nearby tables, but the two friends could care less.

 

Lifting her head, once her own dramatic display had conveyed her own feelings, Hermione replied, "No, but I supposed I'll have to go. Want to skive off?"

 

Ginny barked a short laugh, "We can go to the spa. Facials, a massage and a long soak in the champagne springs. My treat!"

 

Both women looked at each other with a mischievous glint in their eyes. It was too tempting, but to feign illness to get out of one of the obligatory Weasley family gathering would only drive Molly Weasley to fret about. No doubt, it would result in a surprise visit from the matron with a fresh pot of chicken noodle soup and a newly knitted scarf with which to keep warm. And it would probably do just that, in the fireplace.

 

The twins attempted to skive off once, and it resulted in Molly dishing out heaping piles of hot guilt, slathered with shame and a generous side dish of hurt feelings. Both witches vividly remembered the sight of the plump, older witch beating both fists against her ample bosom in a fashion that would have made Sarah Bernhardt proud while chanting, "Oh, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."

 

Both sighed in resignation of their doomed fate. Another lovely afternoon ruined with screaming children, squabbles between Ginny's brothers, and the other Weasley women comparing which brand of diapers absorb more while whipping out blue-veined milk engorged breasts to feed their latest spawn. And let's not forget the hen pecking from the grand dame, beating her dead horse about when they would get down to business and start making babies.

 

"Too bad the whole Ministry is shut down for Victory Day," Hermione said glumly. "At least I'd have the excuse of work to bow out."

 

"And what, leave me to the vultures? You know how it is. Harry and Ron see each other and then abandon us for the rest of the day while they go play Quidditch, then the thinly veiled innuendos from Fleur, Angelina, Penelope, Florence, and Grace about how you can tell how a man is in bed by the way he plays Quidditch. Good God, they way they compare their husband to the rest of them… it's nauseating, especially since they're my brothers. And if I have to hear about how quick Harry is to catch the snitch one more time, I'll scream."

 

That comment brought Hermione's mind back to Harry's conversation with her the day before. Was Harry as quick in bed as he was on the pitch? It certainly made her think of how Ron's style did match his bedroom prowess. Basically, a bit clumsy at first, little confidence unless encouraged and then looking for a way to finish the game as quick as possible. If Harry was quick in bed, could this have been a driving force for Ginny to seek satisfaction from another source?

 

Hermione didn’t even want to delve into those thoughts, as that would lead her down the road of her own unfulfilled sexual needs.

 

"Let's change the subject to something pleasant. I don't want to go back to work depressed," the brunette witch pleaded as she eyed the Sybaritic Mountainous Matterhorn Sundae on the menu. “Enough chocolate to raise the spirits of the dead!” read the description. It also came with a legal disclaimer that Florean Fortescue's was not responsible for broken zippers, popped buttons or ripped seams from overindulgence, regardless of one's depressed state.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After ruining a second test batch of shrinking violets, Hermione realized that she needed to go back to her office and think in private. Sitting at her desk, while pretending to read the latest Journal of Potions Quarterly, she replayed portions of her lunch with Ginny in her head.

 

The "Quidditch equals the bedroom" comment belied nothing beyond Ginny's disgust for her sister-in-laws' salacious remarks. Hermione had thought about offering to take Thursday afternoon off from work to go shopping with her, but that would only raise Ginny's suspicions much like Harry's questions about the Preservation Society. She was no more likely to skip work than cheat on a test. Neither of them wanted to bring up the subject of children, and Hermione had already heard Ginny's many reasons to wait before. No, there was nothing during their lunch that would indicate Ginny was hiding something. Not that Hermione would be able to tell anyway.

 

Though Ron was a terrible liar, almost as bad as Hermione, most of the other Weasleys had a natural knack for deception. The twins could lie with the ease that should have made them natural candidates for Slytherin. There were times Hermione wondered if lying well was a prerequisite for being sorted into Slytherin, or did they provide special classes to the first years down in their common room.

 

Ginny was also very good at hiding her emotions, a skill developed after her episode in the Chamber of Secrets. She had confided to Hermione many years later that no one in the family wanted to talk about what happened between her and Tom Riddle. So to perpetuate her mother's desire to maintain the façade of normalcy, Ginny had to work through all her emotional scars by herself. Upon this news, Hermione had offered her services as confidant and confessor without judgment.

 

Ginny had taken up the older witch's offer on more than one occasion and Hermione listened with cool detachment, for fear that tears would hinder the passive therapy she could provide. Ginny had done a formidable job of fixing her own soul, but there were still some tattered corners that needed mending.

 

Placing the journal back on her desk, Hermione headed off to the lab. The shrinking violets would not test themselves. She hoped that Ginny would not pass by the corner of Diagon Alley and Le Soleil Levant Mews at one o'clock, as Harry had described.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day at twelve thirty, Hermione mentioned to Marge as she was leaving for lunch that she had some errands to run, and would probably be out the rest of the afternoon. The aged witch raised her left hand in recognition of hearing her co-worker, her bent, white, wiry-haired head never moving from the cauldron set in front of her while her right hand continued to stir in slow methodical movements.

 

A quick swing by her office for Harry's cloak, and she was on her way. Fortunately, Diagon Alley was just a brisk five-minute walk from the Ministry building.

 

Once through The Leaky Cauldron, she stepped into the antechamber to Diagon Alley, and donned the cloak with only the worn bricks as witness to her disappearance.

 

Hermione glided between lunchtime patrons and house-witches shopping with their gaggles of children in tow. After finding a suitable spot in which to watch for Ginny without being walked into by someone passing by, she surveyed her environs. It certainly wasn't the most fashionable region of Diagon Alley, but it wasn't as unsavory as Knockturn Alley.

 

A few minutes past one, Ginny swept past her and stopped at the corner. Hermione recognized the cloak, as she helped Harry pick it out earlier that year. If it weren't for that fact, she would have missed Ginny as her hood covered her hair and face.

 

Hermione watched as Mrs. Potter stopped and performed a locating spell, just as Harry had described. No doubt she was checking to see if her husband was following her again. Once convinced he was nowhere in the vicinity, she stalked forward down the narrow alley.

 

Leaving a discreet distance between them, Hermione followed her sister-in-law and saw her duck into a nondescript building with no markings, except for a wooden sign over the door with a depiction of red ginseng root. Hermione slipped inside, thankful there was no front door to betray her presence. She watched Ginny ascend the stone steps to the third floor. Many years of practice evading Filch helped Hermione climb the stairs without making a sound. She watched from the landing as Ginny knocked on a green door with chipped and peeling paint before opening it.

 

"Hello? Anyone there?" Ginny called out to a seemingly unoccupied flat.

 

Before Hermione knew it, the door slammed shut and Ginny let out a short shrill scream.

 

The former Dumbledore's Army member bolted for the door, fumbling in her pocket for the extendable eyes Harry had leant her with his cloak. Knowing it was better to assess the situation before stumbling into a room full of dark wizards, she placed the thin thread into the keyhole and peered into the eyepiece.

 

What Hermione saw, stunned her. Ginny was stood manacled, naked in spread-eagle fashion, while a figure in a black hooded cloak circled her, his features hidden in shadow.

 

Pulling out her wand, Hermione took a deep breath and began to count to three before bursting through the door to save Ginny; however, before she could reach three, the bound witch spoke in a mildly annoyed voice.

 

"Could you loosen these a bit? They're a tad tight."

 

"I'm sorry, pet," replied the hooded figure. "I just got a bit enthusiastic over your visit."

 

Hermione's mouth hung open in disbelief as she continued to watch the spectacle playing out on the other side of the door. The Extendable Eyes gave her a full view of the room, from the expansive bed and simple armoire to a few doors that must have led to a bathroom and a kitchen.

 

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes," hissed the wizard menacingly. "What have we here? An Auror sticking her little nose where it doesn't belong?"

 

Something familiar in the voice struck Hermione, but she couldn't place it.

 

"You'll never get me to talk!" Ginny shouted defiantly while struggling against her chains, her breasts swaying with each movement. Her loose coppery hair fell forward, the ends brushing against the tops of her breasts.

 

If this is what Harry meant by Ginny asking him to do certain things in the bedroom, Hermione understood why he had refused. Yet, despite the lurid scene of Ginny's fetish being played out before her, she couldn't stop watching.

 

"Oh, but I don't want you to talk. I want you to scream." The man approached her with his wand drawn. Instead of casting a curse, he dragged the length of wood along her body, flicking the tip of it across both her nipples.

 

Ginny let out a gasp of surprise and pleasure. Writhing against her bonds, the chains clinked and jingled, which only made the unknown figure chuckle with delight as he watched her.

 

"Don't deny it. You liked that," he coolly purred.

 

"No!"

 

Hermione could see his hand slip between Ginny's legs and a single finger stroked along her folds. He brought his hand up to his face, still hidden within his hood. She heard him lick his finger.

 

"Ah, the nectar of Dionysus. Your body betrays you. You can't help it." His finger went back to stroking her slick flesh hidden under her red curls.

 

Ginny writhed as his hand stroked her some more, her hand gripping the chain above the manacles. Her face grimaced and Hermione wasn't sure if it was from pleasure or a desire to be released. The prisoner whimpered, closing her eyes while allowing a brief smile to spread across her face.

 

The man walked behind Ginny and surveyed her backside. "Such a nicely wrapped present the Order has sent me. Shall I open it now or wait till Christmas?" His hand began stroking her arse in slow circular movements with one hand while dragging the tips of his fingers of his other hand along her spine making her involuntarily shudder.

 

Growling, she struggled against her bonds once more.

 

The figure slowly shook his head as he walked back in front of her. Tipping her chin up to look at him within the hood, he growled, "Tell me, little Auror, are you prepared to give me what I want? Or shall I extract it from you?"

 

The man in black dropped to his knees in front of Ginny and dipped his head so that his face was buried in her sex, his hood still in place. From the look of exquisite pleasure on Ginny's face, Hermione could tell he was licking her as his fingers spread her lips apart for better access.

 

After several moments of Ginny moaning and spreading her legs as far as she could under her current imprisonment, the man sat back on his heels.

 

"Tell me what you know and I'll let you off easy. Refuse, and I promise a death filled with exquisite agony. You'll be begging me for release from the torture."

 

Hermione could easily read into the double entendre of his statements. Though spoken with malice, under these circumstances, he promised Ginny a sexual adventure.

 

"Torture me if you must," Ginny spat at him, "but you'll never make me betray the Order."

 

A deep cackle rose from his throat, filling the room with the sound. "Oh, but you leave me little choice."

 

He rose and he sauntered behind Ginny, his strides confident and graceful while his booted feet softly thumped on the wooden floor. Standing behind her, he parted his robes and opened the fly of his trousers.

 

Hermione could not see him pull out his cock, as part of his body of hidden behind Ginny, but she could tell when he finally entered his chained 'victim.'

 

Ginny let out a gasp, then moaned, "No."

 

"Yes, tell me," he demanded as he began to move in and out of her.

 

"No," she whimpered, her face twisted in glorious agony as he quickened his pace.

 

"Yes!" he grunted, his hands grabbing her hips tightly. Hermione wondered if there would be bruises, and if so, how would she hide them from Harry.

 

"No," she answered with less conviction.

 

"Yes!" he hissed as he reached around her hip and began stroking her clit.

 

Ginny responded by arching her back even more as he tucked his hips under to plow into her deeper.

 

"Yes!" she cried, "Yes, anything you want. I'll tell you everything."

 

He fucked her harder as his hands slid up her body and grabbed both nipples. He pulled them taut, away from her body. Ginny responded by wailing louder and bucking against him. The slap of skin against skin that echoed through the room was in syncopation to their labored pants.

 

Hermione was horrified when she realized her own bizarre, voyeuristic participation in this. Her own breath was coming fast and shallow and she noticed that her knickers were already sopping wet. Her insides were squirming like they used to when Viktor would whisper those forbidden ideas to her. She could not recall being this turned on in years, and it shamed her to think that she could react in such a way while watching Ginny cheat on Harry.

 

Ginny let out a piercing scream and shook as she came. The man continued to ride her, but at a slower pace, his hand sliding back down to her clit to prolong her orgasm.

 

Once Ginny's orgasm waned, she slumped against her bonds while keeping her back arched. The fine hairs around her face were plastered to her skin. Slow moans escaped her mouth in rhythm to the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her at a languid pace.

 

"Mercy," Ginny pleaded.

 

"But I'm just getting started," he replied in a slightly sinister tone.

 

"No seriously, my wrists are starting to chafe."

 

He stopped and pulled out of her. His cock, glistening with her juices, sprang free. As he walked around to face Ginny, his rigid member bobbing around, Hermione saw how big he was. He certainly put Ron to shame.

 

Ron contradicted the old wives tale about shoe size corresponding to one's endowments. When she and Ron finally got around to having sex after graduation, she was pleased he was not big for fear that it would hurt the first time, but soon she found that his size rarely satisfied her baser instinct to be filled and stretched. Hermione wondered how it would feel to have something that large and wide inside of her, but banished the thought quickly, ashamed at entertaining such an idea, even briefly.

 

Once she was released from her restraints, the hooded and cloaked man picked Ginny up and gently set her on the bed.

 

"Do you want me to heal those now?" he tenderly asked, as her hands disappeared into the folds of his hood. Hermione could tell from his movements that he was kissing her bruised wrists.

 

"No, later. I still need you inside of me," she replied.

 

Leaning back onto the bed, she held out her arms beckoning him to join with her again.

 

Standing up, he began to undress. First his boots came off followed by a pair of black pants and black shirt, while keeping his concealing cloak and hood on the whole time. Clothed in nothing but the sweeping garment, he moved back towards Ginny.

 

"No. Take the cloak off. No more fantasies, no more games, just you," she said.

 

He dropped his hood, and Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping out loud. For a split second, she thought it was Lucius Malfoy, but she remembered watching him receive the Dementor's Kiss. It was Draco. That platinum blond hair that reached the top of his shoulders, and his profile were unmistakable.

 

The cloak fell to the floor giving Hermione a full view of his body. She blushed furiously.

 

Malfoy’s had filled out, his manly body made Ron look as though he was still in adolescence. Draco had sinuously long and lean muscles, over a tall frame, his back flaring gently like a fan to his shoulders; his bottom had a hollow from the muscle of his hips. The shape of his back from his shoulder to his arse was like a French curve and he moved with an elegant grace. Hermione was transfixed.

 

Draco climbed onto the bed, and Hermione turned away from the door. She quietly slumped to the ground, her back to the wall.

 

She could hear murmurs of mutual pleasure through the walls before the sound cut out.

 

'Ginny must have finally remembered to put up a silencing charm.'

 

Hermione's head spun. She’d vaguely wondered where Draco had disappeared to from time to time. The answer was clear; he never left.

 

When Voldemort was finally killed almost four years prior, Draco was a member of the Order. Harry, Ron and Hermione had all been suspect of his allegiance to Dumbledore, especially since he’d joined shortly after receiving the Dark Mark, but Professor Snape and the Headmaster had vouched for him, stating, "He has seen the error of his ways." The three of them never trusted him, and Malfoy treated them with the same disdain as before.

 

Between the younger Malfoy and Snape, enough information was gleaned to plan a final attack that resulted in a swift and decisive victory.

 

It was while Hermione and Ron were on their honeymoon that Fudge decided to implement a new plan regarding all Death Eaters. Hermione only learned about it the day she returned from Italy with Ron.

 

Fudge decided the best way to reform the former followers of You-Know-Who was to offer them the option of a Dementor's Kiss or a job appointment through the Ministry. Many of those jobs were so low on the social and pay ladder that many had decided to give up their soul to the insidious ethereal beings. It was as close to suicide as was possible in the wizarding world. There were a few who took neither option. Hermione would see them hanging out near Knockturn Alley begging for food, living in alcoves. Those who did live 'al fresco,' as Ron called it, had pawned off their wand for a few bottles of Firewhisky or a hallucinogenic potion that would disguise the reality of their fate for a few months.

 

Though Hermione did not mourn the absence of Malfoy, she did frequently wonder where his mentor went. She had secretly hoped that all those years as a spy had helped Snape in slipping out of the country. Perhaps if Malfoy didn’t escape, then maybe Snape didn’t either.

 

Hermione sat there, contemplating the whole situation for well over an hour, before she heard the door click open.

 

Ginny stepped halfway into the hallway and spun to look at Draco, who was standing in the doorway. She looked impeccably clean, with not a hair out of place, as if the afternoon's activities never took place. Malfoy stared at Ginny with a look Hermione could only place as troubled longing. His silvery gray dressing robe was tied loosely at the waist, while his fine platinum blond hair fell across his face covering one eye.

 

"I'll owl you when we can meet next," Ginny whispered to Draco, as she tucked the errant hair behind one ear. "I just wish–"

 

"Shhhh. I know," he whispered back, one finger gently placed on her lips.

 

Hermione felt as if she was invading a private conversation between two lovers. In a sense she was. But she promised Harry she would find out if Ginny was cheating on him or not.

 

Ginny tipped her head up and Draco kissed her gently one last time, his hand cupping her cheek.

 

The door closed shut and Ginny heaved a soft sigh before walking away and down the steps.

 

Hermione waited until Ginny was down one flight before rising, feeling her knees protests after sitting still for so long in a not-too-comfortable location. After a few hobbled steps, the ease of her joints returned, and she swiftly descended the stairs to catch up with Ginny.

 

She saw the adulteress walking at a leisurely pace, lost in thought. Hermione moved quickly to catch up with her. Still concealed under Harry's invisibility cloak, she grabbed Ginny's arm and spun her around.

 

The look of utter horror and shock on Ginny's face, and the cowering of her body made Hermione pause for a moment. With her free hand, Hermione pushed back the hood and revealed her face. Ginny let out an audible sigh of relief before the look of panic returned.

 

"Please don't tell Harry, oh sweet Circe, please! I'll tell you everything, just don’t tell Harry," she begged, her body shrinking as if she would at any moment get on her knees in the middle of the street and ruin her robes without a second thought.

 

Noticing her head was still floating in the middle of the air, Hermione pushed her hood back up while still keeping one hand on Ginny's arm.

 

"I'll give you thirty seconds to Apparate at my flat, or I'm going to tell him everything I saw and heard," she replied with steely harshness.

 

Ginny blushed when she realized the whole of her statement and meekly nodded before disappearing with a pop.