A/N: Fellow readers, this one-shot blossomed out of control and completely demanded all of my attention while I agonized over single lines in Faith in Broken Halos. So, like a child, I gave it some tender loving care and voila- a story that has become rather dear to me. And it's mostly thanks to Colubrina and her flawless depiction of threesomes in her own stories that drove this story to paper in the first place.

A Slice of Peace

This year they conjured fairy lights. On the cusp of dusk, just as the hazy purple of twilight cast the surrounding world in obscurity, the organizers of the annual Battle of Hogwarts Memorial hoisted their wands and casted bloody. Fairy. Lights.

Hermione stood on the edge of the Black Lake and watched with a heavy dose of cynicism while the uninterrupted waters soon reflected back the soft glow of the magically called-upon lights. Despite the rather flawless piece of magic at work, she couldn't help but be mentally counting down the minutes when she could leave the horrid grounds of her past and get on with her rather disastrous present.

Three years post-war and it was as if nothing had changed. The same people showed up to the Memorial to grieve the loss of the same deaths that, if Hermione was feeling really uncharitable and she was considering the bug that kept flying in her eye, resulted in the same Wizarding World. Oh sure, now most people were open with their opinions on the overreach of government and the disadvantage of muggle-borns but magical society merely pulsed pity instead of paranoia about these controversial topics. Nothing really changed.

The fairy lights swirled into a dizzying arrangement and then slowly dissipated; the gathered crowd of Hogwarts staff, survivors, family, and friends sighed collectively before moving up towards the school's courtyard where proper mingling could take place.

As well as sufficiently awkward reunions.

Hermione's fingers drifted subconsciously to her bare, left ring finger.

Awkward, indeed.

Suspended balls of warm, orange flame came to life on the grounds and created a circuitous trail back up the slope. Hermione watched the mass of people move in eerie synchronicity, hesitating. Although she knew she had no choice but to join the group- she was a War Heroine after all- Hermione felt a moment in the darkening twilight alone would serve her lagging bravery.

She doubted 1 million moments could help her recently-acquired cynicism. Unfortunately no one warned that the war took more than just lives. It crushed carefully woven alliances. It stole sleep from even the most peaceful of nights. It sowed doubt into the threads of life-long friendships. And the fact you lived through it didn't matter because at the end of the day, everything you agreed to do because you thought you were about to die was an illusion, as fictional as Lovegood's invisible creatures.

So yes, cynicism was Hermione's bedfellow now. She could take it or feel bereft between the sheets.

Well. Now that I've depressed myself further… Hermione turned away from the lake knowing that she could no longer delay the inevitable when a shadowy movement arrested her. Past the circle of light thrown by the nearest flame, Hermione could just make out two silhouettes, lurking. The lazy steps they took first brought exquisite leather, Italian dress shoes into sight.

Then a pair of superfine trouser-clad legs… and one pair of charcoal trousered one. Hermione's eyes skipped up past fitted waistcoats- one sky blue and one eggplant purple- and froze on faces she hadn't expected to ever see again, let alone at a Battle Memorial.

"Granger." The greeting came on a wave of amused pretension and for a moment, Hermione could only gape.

Then, "Malfoy?" she asked a bit too loudly, far too incredulously, as if the pale blond tresses weren't confirmation enough.

He merely smirked.

The flabbergasted brunette shifted focus and studied the attractive, dark male standing just behind Malfoy like some sort of statuesque sentinel. His skin seemed to absorb the little light in their space and shimmer beneath the surface with every swallow of his throat or tick in his jaw. The slanted eyes, however, kept Hermione mesmerized as not only did she vaguely recognize them from her school-girl days, they were studying her. Intensely.

"Zabini, I take it," canting her voice just so as an odd-placed nonchalance loosened her posture. Crossing her arms over her admittedly overlarge dress robes, she smirked right back at the boys… men… before directing her next question to Malfoy.

"What level of desperation have you reached to decide to come here, Malfoy? I can't begin to imagine your purpose."

Hermione couldn't be sure in the near dark if she saw him stiffen but surprisingly, Zabini answered her question. And with a bite.

"He came to atone."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her her riotous hairline. Then as her stare connected with Malfoy's cast-down eyes, her jaw dropped. Hermione looked between the two men and felt her skin prickle at the strange, unidentifiable energy that thrummed between them. She shook her arms out in attempt to dispel the feeling before her long-lost curiosity spiked at Zabini's comment.

"Atone for what, exactly?" Hermione asked.

Zabini moved a fraction closer to Malfoy, as if his dark immovable form was a bolster to the other man, so when Malfoy finally raised his eyes back to Granger, resolve flashed in those quicksilver depths.

"My horrible life choices, of course," he started to quip but the moment of levity fell flat. A sigh escaped into the tense silence before he tried again, the truth choking him on the way out.

"If only it were a choice," Malfoy admitted although the words were far and away, intended not for the human audience but the trees. "I did horrible things and I let horrible things happen. Nothing will change that. But I need peace and to get it, I have to give it to those I wronged."

Malfoy moved forward, Zabini his ever-attending shadow, and then he stuck out a slightly trembling hand. "I wronged you, Granger."

The hand remained suspended like a luminescent peace offering wavering with hope that Hermione couldn't begin to contemplate. She gazed at the men, then the hand, surprised when a flicker of her old fire tickled her chest.

In the solitude of the abandoned memorial site, the past heavy as a blanket of night on their shoulders, Hermione reached out and grasped Malfoy's hand with a certain desperation that now, perhaps, something may finally change.

oOo

Hermione sneezed for the 5th time in over an hour; she was dirty, the tome she was scrunched over was dusty, and her stomach growled ferociously to indicate the lunch hour had arrived.

Very carefully, Hermione used her wand to mark her place in the tome, as it was written in ancient runes, and then cast a quick Scourgify on her person. She hated to ascend up into the main area of the Ministry covered in century-old neglect. The lift ride- alone- only amplified the depressing spiral of her day which- if Hermione truly thought about it (a feat she didn't think she could bear)- was a mere coil in the tedious tangle that her life had become.

The lift dinged and she stepped out, her pointer grazing an unadorned left hand. She sighed as she put her hands in her robe pockets.

A habit best broken another day.

Hermione flooed out to Muggle London since she felt after an evening of artifice and morning of solitude, whatever tolerance that typically existed for nosy journalists and preening magicals had long been depleted.

Luckily for her, she knew of a tea room on the edge of the business section of London with scones that would go a considerable way to lightening her mood. She strolled the teeming blocks, allowing the flow of the other people to guide her pace. She fortunately fit right in, as the Department of Mysteries uniform came with a permanent notice-me-not charm that left curious muggles' eyes drifting over a banal but proper pant suit.

The tea room's black paneled window front came into view. Hermione brushed a few stubborn curls from the crease of her lips before entering and inhaling deeply. The aroma never failed to put her at ease.

Moving to the front, she perused the brightly-lit cases and then the wicker baskets set atop the counters, lulled into a state of leisure from the sweetly-scented air.

So intent was she on finding the perfect combination of baked goods, Hermione missed the trill of the front bell. She missed the sure, heavy footfalls of the new arrivals. What she didn't miss was the icy hot trickle of awareness down her spine as someone came indecently close to her back.

"Mmhm. Looking good." A voice murmured into her ear, its velvet tone having the same effect as coffee on a January morning.

Heating, Hermione jerked around. Right into the alarmingly firm chest of Draco Malfoy. She gaped unattractively at him- twice in less than 24 hours!- from his groomed pale locks down his tailored suit and to a different of course pair of dragonhide shoes.

He quirked an eyebrow, the threat of a smirk on his face. "The pastries? They look good, hm?"

Hermione's neck curled at an uncomfortable angle to glare into his unsettling face but she couldn't step away since her back formed snugly against the bakery case. She shoved at him and he stepped back cooperatively enough, revealing Blaise Zabini as his quiet, equally attractive companion again. The observation made Hermione's skin itch and so she lashed out.

"What are you doing here?"

Both men stared, amusement lighting their features. A muggle man came out from the back and before Hermione could deepen her scowl, the muggle grinned. Directly at Draco Malfoy.

Why do I keep referring to him by his full name?

"Oh Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Zabini, how good it is to see you again. Your usual, I assume?"

Malfoy's pale, translucent lips curved into a smug grin as he answered the muggle, his eyes never leaving Hermione. "Yes, Frank. That will do."

The muggle Frank bustled back through the rear doors and left the magicals to themselves. Blaise moved forward to peek into the lit cases but otherwise ignored the other two. Hermione opened her mouth to attempt another what likely would be a less-than-successful berating but Malfoy beat her to the punch. Gray eyes crinkled and searched, his gaze finally snagging on the decal that denoted her position at the Ministry.

"So Granger. An unspeakable, hm? How do you make that work after being a know-it-all for half your life?" He brushed shoulders with her, eyes laughing, as he moved to look in the case himself.

Hermione nearly stomped her foot in frustration. "You insufferable git," she seethed. Despite the hunger gnawing at her gut, the embarrassment burned hotter and she figured at this point, even scones were not worth the effort.

Yet when Hermione moved to stomp out of the store, her exit was halted by Zabini who grabbed her by the elbow and guided her to an empty table. "Don't mind Draco, he's just trying to get your attention," Zabini mollified from his own seat. Hermione's face knew it must have radiated incredulity until Zabini spoke his next remark.

"Not that I blame him."

She bloody well fell out of the chair in astonishment. The dark, attractive man helped her back to her seat and sent a smile of gentle amusement her way, further baffling Hermione. I have walked into some alternate reality. There's no explanation.

At that moment her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that no matter which reality, her body still required nourishment. Blaise stood smoothly from his seat. "I will get you something. Tea and scones? Do you have a preference?"

Functioning only on basic instincts, Hermione's mouth opened without hesitation and answered, "Earl grey. And strawberry scones."

The enigmatic man proceeded back to the front, calling for Frank to put in her order and converse briefly with Malfoy. Seeing the two together again with their strange pulsating energy left Hermione feeling like she was ten steps behind whatever secrets they were exchanging in hushed tones. Despite his pureblood upbringing on etiquette, the pale-haired prat craned his neck at one point to look back at her, his face as close to the emotionless mask he wore as a teen that she's seen since reuniting with him.

Hermione hated to admit but the smiles he wore suited him much better.

She colored at the unconscious inner outburst, likely matching the red berries that studded the pastry Zabini just set before her.

"Thank you," she said, although her voice pitched it like a question. It may be three years since the war and longer since she sat in a classroom, but a snake is a snake- despite it's now alluring exterior.

Zabini's gaze connected with hers, a fathomless dark that urged her closer.

"You know I have my ulterior motives," he remarked nonchalantly, his head cocking just so at her stiffening spine, "but I meant what I said Granger. I don't blame Draco for trying to get your attention. In fact, I'd like it for myself. Would you like to go to dinner Friday evening?"

Hermione's heart stuttered as Zabini's- or, perhaps she should consider him Blaise?- words washed over her; gentle, tentative, stone-smooth words designed to feel her out.

Her skin prickled at the notion. Biting the supple flesh of her lower lip, Hermione's mind churned as it tried to process the rather unbelievable turn to her day. However, the thoughts got tangled up in the feelings, and although she knew there was some link she was missing between the two Slytherins the fact that there were any feelings at all needled her on. From her peripherals she noticed Malfoy paying Frank for a bag of goods and knew that there was no way in bloody hell she wanted him part of the conversation so her tongue twisted out the truth.

"Yes." And it rang like a bell around the quiet space. And she couldn't find a fuck to give because it was the first yes in a three-year-wide ocean of no's. Draco Malfoy had almost approached their table but she fled the shop first with a half-full stomach and an overflowing chest because hell, one yes was enough for the day.

She nearly flew down the sidewalk in her excitement and so missed the brief exchange of the two men who sat, smug and intent, in the shop.

"Damn, I hoped to get to her first," Draco groused at his companion.

Blaise just smiled wickedly. "You know it would never have worked with your history. Trust me- this way and we'll both have her in the end."

oOo

A dinner date turned into a second one, followed by a lunch date. A 4th meetup lasted into the afternoon hours such that Hermione tempted Blaise into an evening together as well.

Twilight winked at them from their present al fresco dining space, the toasty, summer air so teasing that when Blaise asked if she'd like to come back to his place, she didn't hesitate.

Two weeks. That's all it took.

Blaise, wrapped in mystery and a crisp Armani suit, led Hermione around the side of the restaurant after dinner. "Trust me," he said.

She slowly nodded and then they disapparated. When Hermione regained her bearings, she observed a well-ordered and spacious foyer lit from above by large bronzed iron lanterns. Up one flight of stairs, then another, and one more as Hermione panted lightly at the exercise of climbing, too labored to ask Blaise for an explanation.

He had stopped in front of an unadorned stretch of plastered wall, his mouth quirked mischievously at her, before laying his hand to it. A door sprung forth. Hermione smiled in delight, noticing the shiny brass number 5 on the face of the door before Blaise ushered in.

The loft, although modest at first glance, screamed wealth from the hand-painted murals on the accent walls to the gorgeous, gleaming oak furniture. In the living room, a sleek white marble fireplace stretched up 7 feet before vaulting into a cathedral ceiling. A spiral staircase to a loft-type space was tucked in the back corner near a bar, where Blaise busied himself making drinks. Hermione wandered to the bookshelves that doubled as a window seat.

"The shelves rotate," Blaise called out randomly. Hermione looked over her shoulder, surprised that his back was still turned. "Prat," she muttered but subsequently warmed as her body subconsciously tuned into Blaise's invisible smile.

Oh damn. I may be getting in too deep.

Hermione sat anyway and waited for her drink, taking a large pull once handed the glass. It stung like firewhisky but warmed like cinnamon. She cocked her head questioningly.

"One of Draco's adaptations. You knew he was always good at potions."

The mention of Malfoy sparked the heat into something a bit more tenacious. Hermione foolishly took another gulp and then returned her focus to Blaise.

He was closing in on her, like high tide sweeping first the glass from her hand and then the weak protest from her lips as he crashed into them. The kiss felt firm and lush; Hermione unconsciously bit into Blaise's lower lip, a ripe pomegranate that would keep her ensconced in this delicious darkness forever.

Blaise drew back giving Hermione enough self-awareness to feel abashed. However wide-eyed he appeared, a sense of wonderment crept into his voice when he said, "I knew it. You are inevitable."

They kissed again before Hermione could fully contemplate what that meant. The play of lips went on and on, occasionally adding tongues and teeth, such that the two became so immersed that it required a loud bang to pull them apart.

Desire died on Hermione's lips and was replaced by a hot flush of embarrassment when she caught Draco Malfoy lounging against the rail of the spiral staircase.

"Any room for me?" He smirked and she burned hotter. With restless hands, Hermione coiled her now tousled hair into wide ringlets as she waited for Blaise to throw Draco out of his flat. The man just trained his eyes on her intently, never once sparing a glance for his friend.

"Oh shite," she whispered. The possible explanations trampled like a herd of erumpents through her desire-hazed mind. She wasn't just in too deep; she was drowning now.

"I think I should go," she postulated, although the words somehow felt wrong as her mouth formed them. Blaise sighed and left her on the window seat to approach Malfoy. He passed the blond man, also suited in Armani, to make a third drink.

"Way to ruin the mood," Blaise groused, his face remaining contemplative.

Malfoy grinned a bit wickedly. "Usually you say I enhance the mood."

Hermione gasped as the implication in that statement tightened her muscles- all of them- like over-tuned strings in need of ministration. Drowning. I'm definitely drowning.

She cleared her throat despite the air being thick with unacknowledged emotion and prodded, "So you two. You're together?"

Two sets of eyes turned to her, Blaise reflecting surprise that she was still there in the loft while Draco seared with the swirling heat in his.

"Yes," he clipped. Blaise only rolled his eyes at the possessiveness.

Nonplussed… curious… Hermione rolled the phantom ring on her finger and tried for clarification. "But, you… with me? I mean, we kissed." The words fell lamely into the open air, neither man attempting to catch them as they crashed into the tension. Conversely, Blaise released a huff of amusement.

"We did. Kiss. And I enjoyed it immensely. You see, neither Draco nor I have a preference."

"Unless you count threesomes."

Hermione balked, feeling her usually glowing skin pale, then turn beet red. "I really need to go now."

Standing briskly, she drained her cup of cinnamon-spiked whisky and used the courage it conjured to walk over to the two men and hand over her glass. Draco- since when did he become that?-took the glass as Blaise insisted, "Let me show you out."

He trailed her down every flight of stair and into the foyer where a smooth hand then stayed her retreat. He turned her into the warm light of the lantern and his paradoxically soothing embrace, a low cadence of words traveling from the crown of her head but getting lost amidst her curls.

"Come again?" she asked.

Blaise tilted her face up, planting a soft kiss on her lips and then both cheeks, sowing impossible possibility into her skin. "I hope we could meet again, Hermione. And that you don't let Draco scare you off. I meant what I said before." Blaise released her then and blinked back up the stairs.

Inevitable, he said as Hermione exited the muggle townhouse building in a daze. She feared that applied to more than just herself.

oOo

Hermione did nothing but go to work for the next 4 days. She didn't send owls, she made no floo calls, and she kept her dining strictly inside the Ministry. She learned during one of her lunches with Blaise that the two snakes held jobs of a questionable nature outside the magical government building.

The two snakes… despite her deliberate avoidance of anything that would force her to confront what happened at their flat, the both of them consumed her thoughts. Morning. Noon. And night.

The blinding stream of light through her bedroom blinds startled her much like Draco's smile. Her daily cup of coffee- once heavily lightened with cream- now took on the shade of Blaise's fathomless eyes.

Oh, and that tension that thrummed through her body like a violinist, plucking at muscles and heartstrings until she thought she would shatter from the vibrations. Let's not forget about that.

Hermione still did not reach out. Through all the inner turmoil, she couldn't bring herself to reach out because somewhere along the way- maybe during the Horcrux Hunt or the horrific battles, maybe in those trauma-heavy post war years or the nasty break-off with Ron- somewhere she lost herself.

And she didn't think the finding was to be done with two Slytherins.

"'Mione?"

The tome, lax in her fingers, fell to the ground as the nickname jolted her back to the present. Harry stood at the entrance of the archives, cringing apologetically.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he started, "but I was hoping you would join me for a drink after work?"

Hermione hesitated. Things had become strained now that the Golden Trio was the Golden Duo and a Wandering War Heroine. Much of the blame could likely be laid at her feet; the self-imposed solitude did no favors to her friendships. Then again, it kept her from hexing anyone that came within a three-foot radius.

She supposed now after all this time, her carefully-reconstructed sanity could stand one drink, though.

"Sure, Harry." She silently called the book from the floor and placed it on her work surface. "Can I meet you in 20? I'm covered in Archive dust."

He smiled a bit faintly before nodding and calling a lift. They parted ways at the Atrium, Harry to the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione to her flat. Stripping out of the unflattering uniform, she jumped into the shower and hastened through her routine. After drying off, she haphazardly braided her hair into something resembling civility and then slipped into a pair of denim jeans and a cotton tee- cut right at the ridge of her denims which allowed a small sliver of bronze skin to wink as she moved.

It was the first time wearing the flattering shirt since she impulsively bought it two years ago.

One fortifying breath and Hermione apparated to the Leaky. Excessive noise and energetic bodies sliced through the air molecules, creating vibrating little iotas that distorted Hermione's vision as she entered the pub. After a second scan of the rather modest space, she spotted Harry at a table dead center to the bar. Slowly, self-consciously, Hermione moved through the people and attempted not to brush against anyone with all her skin showing. A devilishly difficult task when you're a war heroine.

She slid in opposite of Harry. "You look good Hermione," Harry greeted, the observation startled out of him as he scanned her head to toe. She smiled her thanks then took an over-large gulp of the drink Harry pushed in front of her, cringing a little at the bitter quality of the swill.

No cinnamon in this, that's for sure.

Awkward silence pressed upon them, even as the crowd in the Leaky swelled well past capacity. She watched her friend's green eyes dance from her freckled face to the frenetic throng and the weight of all things left unspoken started to grind on her bones so Hermione latched onto what she hoped was a safe topic.

"How's Ginny?"

That searching gaze snapped back to her. Harry again looked startled before biting his lip tentatively. "She's grand. We're, uh, starting to make some plans."

Hermione's ring finger flared hot. She resisted the urge to pick at the prickly skin.

"Oh?" she forced out.

A laugh similarly expelled from Harry's mouth. "Yeah, I went respectable and finally proposed!" (A fact which both were well aware Hermione already knew since it had been plastered all over the papers.) Nevertheless, Harry plowed on as if it was news. "We've picked a date." (Pause.) "She would like you to come."

Doubly long pause by which Hermione practiced her poker face, an emotionless mask that was coming far too naturally nowadays. Except when it came to the snakes.

Irony followed wherever she trod.

Harry's verdant eyes were lit a bit expectantly, a bit hopefully and Hermione dug down to the dredges of their friendship so that she could provide a respectable- if dishonest- reply until a certain fiendishly tall redhead sidled up to their table.

"Harry! Could you have picked a worse spot to meet? I spent ages looking for…" Ron's booming baritone faded as his eyes took in the scene fully, "... you."

Two sets of eyes pierced Harry. Friendship? What friendship?

Harry, for what it was worth, sat unyielding in his seat with the whole of his body radiating stubborn resolve. "I miss my friends all right? I miss what we were." He provided as explanation. Cynicism settled into Hermione's being like a shadow she forgot was there.

"And you have yet to grasp what we are not," she retorted. Ron leveled a sneer at her.

"And whose fault is that?"

Their raised voices made no dent in the din surrounding their central table but the venom in their tones was felt all the same.

At his remark, Ron scooted around the table to sit next to Harry and the judgment uniting them radiated out from their stiff postures in waves, rendering Hermione speechless. The top of her Hogwarts class. 11 Outstanding NEWTs. Brightest witch of her age and yet, when these two boys look at her with identical accusatory stares, she can't help but regress back to 1st year Hermione crying in the bathroom.

"Well?" Ron pushed.

Merlin no. I don't need a trip down memory fucking lane.

White, tightly fisted hands lay atop the aged bar table and after deliberately relaxing so that sensation returned to those precious extremities, she then deigned to look at her friends. One ex-friend and one soon-to-be acquaintance. These boys… not even men.

"I think we all wish things went differently," she offered, the inane words following her eyeline over the boys' heads to then get lost in the network of noise.

Suddenly, the heavy and tragic nostalgia of the situation became too much for Hermione to wade through so abruptly, she stood and elbowed her way from the Pub, uncaring that no less than 4 different people used her myopic trek as excuse to caress her. Once escaped, Hermione did the most brilliantly stupid thing- and without real conscious thought, bless her brash Gryffindor soul- she disapparated to Blaise's flat.

Blaise and Malfoy's flat.

Blaise and Draco… oh bugger.

With adrenaline still pumping through her, Hermione wandlessly unlocked the building's main door and then flew up the steps to the third floor whereupon she stood in front of the blank stretch of wall that hid flat number 5 and promptly yelled.

"Blaise! Blaise Zabini! It's- "

The door carved itself from the wall and opened, revealing a rather smug Malfoy. Draco.

"Granger," he said, the husky syllables an intangible caress down her spine, one much more pleasing and effective than those she received on her exit from the pub.

Fuck me.

She blushed at the duplicity of her thoughts and Mal- Draco bared his teeth. "What brings you here?"

She braced herself. "Is Blaise in?"

Draco's eyebrows shot up into a curious arc but he gestured her inside, wordlessly magicking the door closed before leading the way. Once arriving in the familiar living room, Draco again spoke.

"Blaise is upstairs," the blond announced as his long legs ate up the steps of the spiral staircase, "I'll fetch him. Pour yourself a drink Granger- I think you're going to need it."

The teasing words flitted across the vast space as he disappeared into the loft. Too charged, Hermione couldn't bring herself to be irked by Draco's goading. In fact, it just churned whatever restless, nameless feeling now coalescing in her belly.

Butterflies with the wingspan of eagles, no, hippogriffs.

Bombastic beating butterflies. Perhaps I'll take that drink.

Hermione poked through their liquor stores, finally locating the specially-made whisky that felt like fire and freedom and familiarity all in one liquid tumble down the throat. She gulped heftily then choked when she heard footsteps. Turning, Hermione felt her just-moistened throat go dry at the image both men struck on the stairs.

Blaise stood on the bottom step in a set of jet-black Nike sweats, his feet bare… his body relaxed… his eyes warm and contemplative. Draco, now that she properly looked at him, also wore sweatpants although surprisingly the color was grey. A white tee molded to a rather attractive chest that left little to the imagination. Hermione tried swallowing but the air felt thick and immovable so she took another gulp of cinnamon-laced courage.

"Helping?" Draco asked too politely.

Blaise walked towards her. At touching distance he reached out a hand that she gratefully grasped like an anchor. "What brings you here, Hermione?" Blaise repeated Draco's question. She chuckled humorlessly.

"That's a long story."

A quiet, anticipatory spell fell across the room while Blaise just ran trails over the back of her left hand, like the answer was Braille on her skin, which she was enjoying immensely until he touched her ring finger.

Hermione reflexively jerked.

The tension ratcheted up as Blaise and Draco shared a look, a look loaded with unspoken words, and with an impatient huff the blond ascended the stairs again.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Hermione whimpered a bit helplessly, breathlessly as Blaise meandered his fingers to the bronze strip of skin between shirt and jeans.

"I do," he answered. His fingers gripped her hips firmly. "Inevitability."

Blaise hauled Hermione in, peppering kisses across the seam of her lips as she struggled mentally with the idea that Blaise was still a bit of a stranger, a snakey stranger, and he was with Draco, another snakey stranger borderline childhood enemy, and only a half wall and set of stairs separated her and Blaise from him.

And ultimately she wasn't even sure if she wanted the separation at all.

Too quickly Hermione's lips parted on a moan, allowing access for Blaise to lap inside her mouth. Savor the remnants of spiced whisky. Taste the cheap Leaky's ale. Get a hint of the cool cynicism with which she shut her only friends out of her life.

The thought jolted Hermione into pulling away.

The dark man smiled, unperturbed by her vacillating, then proceeded to use his wand from his pocket to transfigure the coffee table into a mattress. Slowly, he backed her toward that harrowing hunk of intent, all the while whispering things… dumbfounding things…

"Too much thinking. Draco always said you get obsessive with your overthinking."

Delicious things.

"Come now, Hermione. Let's simplify this. You want me. And I want to take care of you."

Hermione stumbled backward onto the thing, er, the mattress, and savored one last lung-exploding breath of air before diving into this new thing. Into Blaise.

Every kiss to his slowly exposed skin tasted sinfully dark, bittersweet chocolate-like that had her sucking his neck, the hollow of his back, until he groaned his impatience.

"My turn." With impressive skill, Blaise rolled her shirt and torso with large, determined hands until the blue tee was discarded without so much as an inch of levitation on Hermione's part. She gasped as she felt cool air hit her naked breasts.

He undid my bra too? That sneaky…

Hermione's train of thought dissipated into sweet, supple sensation as Blaise took up exploring her body like some long-lost continent in need of mapping. And all she could gather between the trailing of fingers and marking of lips was the idea of more… more… more…

In a desire-drunken blink of an eye, there was more. More nakedness. More Blaise. More of this utterly consuming passion that had her canting into him as he entered in one thrust.

Hermione felt her inner muscles constrict from the unusual pressure and in a moment of clarity, she lifted her heavy-lidded eyes to see Blaise's own trained on her.

Consuming her.

So she tightened her muscles voluntarily this time, if only to bask in Blaise's heated stare. "More," he demanded as he started to pump in and out of her, "I need more, Hermione," he pleaded now as their pace became more frantic, untethered, and yet their eyes remained on each other.

Brown on brown. Deep, affectionate, chocolate brown on brown.

A thoughtless flick over the shoulder.

Grey on brown. Roiling steel grey on brown.

And Hermione couldn't help it- she fucking climaxed.

The glorious explosion of sensation brought her attention back to Blaise who tensed not 5 seconds later, growling obscenities as he, too, orgasmed. Then he collapsed, the sweaty brute, and Hermione could confirm what she desperately hoped had been a play of passion on her senses- Draco did indeed sit atop the staircase, left hand snugly below his waistband. Shuddering out a breath he turned now-baffling, blank eyes downward before shuffling away to some hidden room.

"Incorrigible he is. Always vying for your attention." Blaise rolled to the side but kept one arm firmly tucked under Hermione's hips. His eyes, searching. His smile, teasing.

Hermione's anxiety spiked.

"I- how did you…?" She tried unsuccessfully to formulate a coherent comment and disentangle her naked form from Blaise's.

His grip only tightened.

"I can sense him. His stare sears right through my back," he joked. Tentatively he moved forward and kissed her crown, adding, "Plus I noticed your eyes wander."

Horrified, Hermione redoubled her efforts in disengaging from Blaise so she could disappear to somewhere. Like Tahiti.

He let her go a bit albeit regretfully- thank Merlin- and Hermione scrambled for her clothes, shoving them through extremities regardless of orientation.

"Hermione, please." The plea broke on the 's', drawing Hermione's embarrassed gaze back to her lover.

Her incredible lover. Her incredible bisexual lover.

Buggering hell.

"I can't," she started but Blaise, now covered from the waist down, held out a hand and echoed his plea. "Please."

Against her rapidly deteriorating logic, she went to him, placing a clammy hand in his so that he could pull her to a sitting position on the couch. They aligned themselves shoulders to hips looking straight at the fireplace, while the tension coiled tight, an eddy that could pull Hermione down and drown her in its unknownable depths.

Her hand spasmed fear into Blaise's self-assuring hold. He absorbed it unconditionally.

"We come a bit as a pair," he ventured carefully.

A knot made of something akin to sin and salvation clogged her throat and she couldn't get past the surprising sweetness of sin, the satisfying tang of salvation, so she just tightened her fingers around Blaise.

"It's your choice, Hermione, because we would never force you."

Another pause, aching in its weight of expectation.

"Draco specifically sought you out for atonement, you know. In fact, from the moment we talked about you, it wasn't ever about forcing or fixing."

Hermione was almost certain she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen but then Blaise just dismantled her.

"It was about recognition."

Now, with that bizzare breath of life filling her lungs, Hermione knew that she had to escape or else become a blubbering pathetic excuse of a Gryffindor on their presumably priceless Persian rug. A real pity that would be. Blaise remained on the couch as Hermione silently felt her way down the dark hallway back to the door.

Freedom and some furious self-reflection beckoned her until a hand encased her wrist, the fingers slimmer and yet more commanding than Blaise's touch. She whirled to find a shadowy silhouette and two flashing gray eyes on her right.

"You- " Hermione trailed off, too wide-eyed and wondering to muster up some cutting remark. Draco, though, solemnly shook his head. He kept his mesmerizing slate eyes on her and his cool, compelling hand on her and affirmed, "You. Just you."

oOo

When Hermione returned to their flat two days later, she had a mental list of questions as long as her unruly hair and she intended on getting the answers to every single one before falling back into bed.

Then Draco opened the door, looking pompous in his perfection. She gulped and internally corrected. Maybe I will just take the important answers.

Tamping down on her ridiculously excessive physical drive (which, by the way, happened out of nowhere since her time with Ron did not consist of such strong desires), she studied the broad lines he cut in his blue-striped Oxford while clinging desperately to the questions that had her there in the first place. He led her silently into the kitchen where she took a seat on a stool at the island, grateful for the barrier as Draco strode around it to pull water from the fridge.

His usual, jovial energy was tempered by the tentativeness in his eyes. He nudged a glass of water in her direction before confessing, "Blaise isn't in. Had a meeting to prepare for this afternoon."

"Meeting for what?" Hermione took a careful sip of water and felt restored to some balance as her curiosity latched onto Draco's words. It's like I don't even need my list.

He, conversely, gulped some water down. The nervous action did not dampen his attractiveness one bit, the prat; in fact, Hermione was further fueled by the show of humanity.

"Why do you have to know?" He countered, but the words held no bite. The addictive swell for discovery rose and for a moment, she felt like her pre-war self.

If that wasn't a bloody fucking miracle, she didn't know what was.

Hermione stubbornly rose her eyebrows and Draco capitulated. "He… we… are lawyers. He's reviewing a case with our client."

Her response to that was lightning-fast.

"Who's the client?"

She leaned over the island a bit, chasing the breadcrumbs Draco dropped, inhaling them like the most satisfying of foods.

The fair man only rolled his eyes. "You know I can't tell you that."

"What can you tell me?"

He blew out an impatient breath at her persistence then proceeded to roll up his sleeves, only pausing when he reached the left one. Grey, cautious eyes tipped up to meet hers. Hermione offered a smile of forgiveness and he visibly deflated, rolling the left sleeve up to reveal the ugly evidence of his grand mistake.

Surprisingly, staring at it seemed to trigger no reaction in Hermione so she stretched her body like some obscene contortionist across the island and traced it, which caused Draco to swiftly inhale but for Hermione to, again, feel nothing.

Huh. Miracles, miracles everywhere.

He stopped her hand as she went to pull away and as their eyes met once more over the charged, quiet space his eyes pulsed a rather desperate timidity that Hermione couldn't fathom Draco being capable of.

And yet he was, clearly is, and the observation only made her wonder what else simmered under that sardonic, callous mask.

"I can tell you," he finally answered as his fingers played guardedly with her own, "I can tell you that my atonement for you goes much further back than the war. As does my interest. I can tell you that I burn with jealousy that you submitted to Blaise first. I can tell you that in the years since Voldemort's fall, all I ever really sought was peace. And myself. Which I found partly with Blaise."

He inhaled like courage could be found lingering in the air molecules and then finished his monologue.

"I think what you seek since Voldemort's fall could be found with Blaise too."

And maybe me his eyes pleaded as he carefully brought her hand up to his lips to kiss the fingertips. Hopefully me, his lips planted, like seeds of supplication as he moved to her knuckles. Then to her palms, embarrassingly blistered from her time on the run but Draco with his flawless translucence seemed not to care and kissed the skin new.

Kissed her new.

A day of miracles, she thought dazedly as she shoved all her overbearing questions aside and climbed across the island to crush her lips full on his.

Even with the height from the counter, Hermione came level with Draco, wrapping her arms around him like it was as natural as breathing while she braced herself against his chest and he ravaged her mouth.

Where Blaise tasted like pomegranates and darkness, sweet and slow temptation, Draco chafed and soothed the way of his whisky. He pulsed lightning through his fingertips as he rolled up her shirt, exposing her skin to his demanding touch. Breaking the kiss, he pulled the shirt free of her loose, overwhelming curls then paused.

"He said we wouldn't force you," Draco murmured as he came unbearably close to rest his forehead on hers. The glacial grey was so startlingly clear that close that she stumbled through her answer.

"I… Blaise…?" Hermione trailed off questioningly. Whatever passion that was warming Draco's eyes dimmed and Hermione gripped him fearfully, willing the light to return. She'd become attached to it and how it guided her way.

"You forget I'm new to this," she chided gently, bumping heads in playful reprimand. Draco stared a breath longer than was comfortable before relaxing into a quintessential Malfoy smirk, devoid of derision.

"Me too," he admitted. Then he kissed her again with renewed persistence, sweeping her clean off the kitchen counter and backing her up to the only bare wall in the kitchen. With impressive dexterity (and at record speed) Draco bared them of the necessary clothing from the waist down, keeping her fully suspended against the wall, having her soaked only by the single-minded focus with which he pursued her.

"I've waited too long," he groaned half-apologetically, then impaled her hips on his erection.

Hermione's eyes fell closed. "Oh… shite," she exhaled, so full of sensation by Draco that she couldn't keep the curse from slipping past her lips.

"Are you okay?" He asked between sporadic breaths. She tilted her head up to soak in the sight of him, this pale-haired enigma, who was clenching his teeth against the pent-up passion. And she realized then from the fluttering of her inner muscles that she had quite a bit of pent-up passion that could use tending to, so she ground her hips in a slow circle as response.

Draco hissed, his eyes popping open blearily to reflect near-arctic blue and said, "Fuck you."

"I thought that was the point," Hermione responded cheekily as she ground her hips once more. His gaze boring into her, he released her to grip her hips and started a slow, infuriating piston in and out of her… all the while murmuring incomplete thoughts against Hermione's mouth.

"Fuck Granger, don't stop looking at me… yes… Granger you're… just… holy fuck you come right now."

So she did, screaming his name at her release which Draco swallowed back like a bracing shot of alcohol and then he followed her into delirious oblivion, the tendrils of his thought finally spiraling to completion.

"Perfect." He exhaled into the crook of Hermione's neck and her eyes became as wobbly as her legs. They stood there for a moment, holding each other up, until Hermione pulled back and said as response to statement, "Even during sex you reek arrogance," but her smile flouted the true emotion behind it. Draco's face split into a smirk as he pulled her towards, then up the staircase.

"Come on then, Granger. Let's go nap before your brain morphs into overthinking mode."

Hermione huffed slightly but did not resist when Draco pulled her half-clothed form onto a king-sized mattress with the softest linens to ever touch her skin.

An hour later, when Blaise returned, he found the two still asleep in the bed and with a smile he stripped down to join them.

Later, as the golden afternoon flirted with the edge of the cityscape, Hermione gathered with both men around their kitchen island. Wine glasses filled with cabernet sat in front of each and Hermione tried not to blush as deep as the drink from the memory of sex replaying in her mind like a broken record.

She failed. Horribly. Draco openly grinned.

"Hermione," Blaise broke into the little tete-a-tete, his own face shining in amusement, "I'm a bit surprised to find you here."

Although stated like an observation, Blaise's words were coated with curiosity; a feeling that had once again flared in Hermione now that she felt sated.

"I surprise myself," she muttered under her breath. Draco, having heard her, snorted. Instantly, Hermione's eyes snapped to seriousness as she finally focused on the questions that brought her to their doorstep in the first place.

"What happened after the war? Not that I was looking but I never heard anything about you." Blaise pulled a delicate sip from his glass.

"Well, if you recall, I remained neutral during the conflict. In fact, I would probably have run off to the continent if it weren't for Draco. We were only friends at the time but... " He speared the fair-hair man with a look that Hermione felt down to her toes, "I hoped for more.

"So after the war, with his family in hiding and in disgrace, I reached out. Gave him a tether, so to speak. Which Draco greedily took hold of, especially once his father was locked in Azkaban for life."

Hermione looked then to Draco. He shuttered his face so that she couldn't begin to guess at his feelings.

"Once we were ensconced in the same living quarters again, I started to push to see if he was interested in me past being an escape hatch."

The teasing note of Blaise's voice relaxed the air again and Hermione watched, astonished, as Draco's face slackened into a subtle shade of affection. Neither man said anything but the air hummed from the near-telekinetic conversation the two were having as they locked eyes.

It was enough to make Hermione sick with envy. A decade-long friendship with two boys and not once did they ever look at her with such naked understanding.

For a moment, the petty part of her wanted to yell, "Don't forget me!" but the vulnerability from years of benign neglect clogged her throat and watered her eyes.

Whether he sensed the change, Hermione didn't know, but Blaise returned his attention to her as he reached a sympathetic hand out to touch Hermione's left fingers. "Care to share?" Blaise asked, the warmth of his tone slowly melting Hermione's reserve. Even so, with his fingers gentle and unthreatening as they stroked hers belying the question he wanted to truly ask, Hermione hesitated at exposing so much, so soon.

Honestly, wasn't her exposed body enough?

She diverted with a half-truth. "The war changed so little and so much at the same time."Hermione sighed her discontent. "My friendship with Harry and Ron after the war became strained. Without the immense pressure or the threat of imminent death, we had no reason to hold onto each other. The differences became too apparent," she finally admitted out loud.

Draco snorted derisively. "I could have told you that. Two twats, they were."

A well-rooted protective instinct swelled in Hermione as she glared at Draco's tactless- but also accurate- comment. She considered retorting but the defensiveness fizzled as she opened her mouth, uninspired.

Draco's gaze bore into her unrepentantly, as if it could burn his true intention into her brain.

"Like I said. Twats."

Blaise squeezed Hermione's hands reassuringly then diverted the conversation. "So you isolated yourself but by doing so, didn't know who you were anymore."

The alarmingly precise observation swept clear through her, like a gust of wind disturbing every single belief that made up her person since… forever. Deliberately, she removed her hand from Blaise's and clenched them under the cover of the island counter, as if the constriction of her body would keep everything in place.

The two men stilled preternaturally after Hermione's withdrawal as they waited, eyes trained, for her backlash.

She trembled under those eyes. A pair of espresso-brown, enduring and grounded like the Earth. The other as restless as a storm-tossed ocean. They were as far from the accusatory sets of eyes staring across to her 3 days ago, and she wasn't quite sure how to reconcile that.

"Why me?" Hermione choked out as her attempt at holding everything together failed. A few rebellious tears ran down her cheeks and the anxiety for something so unfathomably new churned her blood like miniature torpedos whizzing through her torso.

Both men, conversely, relaxed at her question.

"If you don't know, you're not as bright as I thought," Draco said. He reached out to run a thumb through her tear tracks. Blaise admonished him with a glare.

"We'll show you. Over time, you'll learn why."

oOo

Hermione did. Over time as both men- together- brought her on date after date and both men- separately- wooed her with flowers and little lines of poetry, or with yearn-filled kisses in darkened corners… Hermione learned why.

It was never so plebeian as a conversation; since the talk at the kitchen island, carefully voiced explanations had all but ebbed but it was no matter.

In the weeks after, Hermione found her way back to that brilliant, passionate 18-year-old she thought long gone. So when Blaise brought her red tulips and a secret smile, she believed him. And when Draco turned her curls into a bind around his finger, she basked in it.

The three had fallen into a comfortable harmony that Hermione felt loathe to disrupt with the complications of sex. Gratefully, the men held true to to their word and never forced her past whatever arbitrary lines she drew until one evening, six weeks into their courtship, all of Hermione's intangible but safe boundaries were washed away.

Sand-spelt messages consumed by the inexorable, shifting tide.

Hermione sensed it one morning when only Blaise met her at the tea shop, the same one where it all started. Frank already had greeted her, now that he knew her by name, before he bustled off to put in her order of Earl Grey and scones.

Hermione perched herself on the edge of a seat. Her hands nearly itched to fidget with the uselessly utilitarian work jumper as she checked the time again and noticed Blaise was running late.

He never ran late.

The niggling sense of discontent flared like red warning sparks as the completely normal morning turned into unknown territory. Just then, Blaise walked through the door. He smiled openly at spotting her and ambled over, placing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She sat stiff and suspicious. "Sorry I'm late," he started but Hermione cut him off.

"You never said why Draco couldn't come."

He startled at the bite in her tone, leaning back and crossing his arms as if he could avoid the verbal whiplash. In the silence that followed, Frank delivered Hermione's order so the couple busied themselves with preparing tea before Blaise responded to Hermione's words.

"We have an event tonight that requires a great deal of our input." Blaise's movements were too laid back as he swirled jam on his scone. For a moment, Hermione's gaze followed the redolent movement of his dark fingers, poised to respond, but he continued nonchalantly.

"We'd like you to come with us tonight. As our date."

Hermione's heart thudded uncomfortably as she tried to train her face into an expression of polite interest instead of unadulterated panic. She grasped for clarification. "Is this a… work event?"

Blaise smiled, albeit humorlessly. "Yes."

They nibbled on their scones and took preoccupied sips of tea, the minutes of silence churning away until Hermione's mid-morning break was well past over. Having realized, Blaise stood from his seat and offered a hand to Hermione so he could escort her out to the sidewalk. The ambient noise of the outside encapsulated them and for the first time in a month and a half, Hermione felt disconnected from Blaise.

Like being submerged in liquid- she, isolated in a bubble of suspicion and he, murmuring through a wall of water. One of his hands wrapped around hers while the other one fingered her ear lobe as he leaned down to say, "We'll pick you up at 7?"

He turned on his heel and departed before reply or protest could be uttered.

After that, Hermione stewed the rest of the day. Petty inconveniences that stopped bothering her long ago grated against already raw nerves. The dark of the archives hurt her eyes and the dust made her sneeze; Ancient Runes in the text that she was presently translating made her head pound to the point that she cried off early from work.

Stewing was best done in the privacy of one's home, anyway.

The afternoon hours whiled away in the same frame until 6PM rang clear from Hermione's clock, signalling that it was high time to get her self-pitying butt in gear. By five of seven, she was showered and dressed with her hair half piled on her head like some frizzy halo. Initially, her restless fingers started a french braid with her shower-damp hair but Draco's preference for it in its "natural state"- as in, wild and outrageous- stayed her hands.

Now she couldn't help but wonder if that was a mistake but before Hermione could make any changes, the doorbell rang. Her men stood in the cramped little hallway of her flat's building, perfectly groomed as usual, although the excellent tailoring couldn't hide the anxiety rolling off them in waves. Wordlessly, Draco took her hand and apparated them to an unfamiliar atrium.

Both men offered an arm. Hermione looped through each and walked with them through the doors, the heels and mysterious environment making her feel unsteady on her feet.

Clearly they were showing up fashionably late to the engagement as the dozen tables arranged around the room were already mostly filled, the lights low as conversational humming filled the air. A stage with some chairs and a podium were set up towards the back of the room; Blaise and Draco, limiting their pleasantries to nods of the head, meandered their ways towards the stage where a partially empty table was located.

"Would you like a drink?" Blaise inquired as Hermione and Draco took their seats. She nodded mutely and then stared, unabashed, at the others already seated at the table.

Draco cleared his throat. "Hermione, these are the partners of the law firm where we work. Larissa Beaumont and Leo Richards."

The man, Leo, guffawed at Draco who was straight-back in the chair beside Hermione. "Draco says that as if he and Blaise couldn't have been partners themselves."

Hermione turned expectantly to Draco but her curiosity was thwarted as Blaise came back with the drinks. He sat on Hermione's other side, an arm stretched across the back of her seat serving as symbolic reinforcement when the conversation turned.

"Blaise, you didn't bring a date?" Larissa asked politely, although something decidedly more covetous lit her eyes.

The temporary touch of comfort disappeared as Hermione awaited his response. All easy smiles, Blaise leaned into her like a lascivious lion. "Hermione's both our date."

Raised eyebrows… awkward silence… and an exceptionally reassuring hand squeeze from Draco, put Hermione into a strained sense of purgatory where societal expectations loomed forbiddingly.

"Ahem."

The entire table yet again- more like bloody thankfully- reoriented their focus on a speaker who ascended the stage. He started to drone on about this, that, and the other, most of which Hermione unrepentantly ignored as she thought about how uncharitable it was for the men to usher her blind to a work event.

As a threesome, no less.

She started obsessing over all the ways the evening had gone pear-shaped and they hadn't even been sodding fed yet, when Hermione felt jerked back to the present by a thunderous applause.

Blaise and Draco were both standing, each taking a moment to spare her an exasperated glance, before moving up to the dais where the speaker was handing them… an award?

Oh fuck.

Draco stood to the side, sketched in stoicism, as Blaise positioned himself before the microphone with loose-limb movements even as his eyes tracked the room.

"As much as Draco and I knew this was coming, we remain unprepared." Blaise's eyes latched onto Hermione's, unwavering, as she struggled to breathe through her hot shame of completely misconstruing… pretty much everything.

"In fact, if it were up to Draco and I, we would have avoided receiving this award entirely. You see, it has never been noble reasons that drove us to assist mu… men and women unfairly represented." He looked back to Draco who had bowed his fair head to the ground in apparent penance, "No, it was a restlessness in our souls. A drive to balance out the bad with some good."

Draco looked up then and both men pierced with their earnest, earnest gazes, until Hermione felt struck to her center with a renewed sense of security, of unadulterated comprehension.

Blaise concluded softly by admitting to the crowd as a whole, "We were just hoping for a slice of peace."

The crowd erupted into applause and Hermione cried.

Openly, shamelessly cried like a girl come home. And she finally felt that she had.

The clock struck midnight as Hermione followed her two men slowly up the stairs of their flat. The stress of the day made their movements sluggish, their tongues inert as each took a turn in the bathroom and prepared for bed.

Lights extinguished, Blaise and Draco had already taken their regular spots in the bed, their silhouettes in the darkness showing the way they cant towards one another. Hermione hesitated. Perhaps this is a mistake, she thought as she worried her bottom lip, Perhaps they…

"Granger," Draco's voice slid roughly over the darkness, "get your arse in bed so we can all sleep. It's not polite to lurk."

Smiling unwillingly, she slid in next to Blaise who immediately turned on his back. She took that as invitation to burrow into his side. She fell asleep inhaling the scent of his sandalwood soap.

Sleep did not last long for Hermione because although the bed was well equipped for three people, her solitary soul had yet to grow accustomed to the shifting of heavy males next to her.

She woke to the gray static of pre-dawn blurring her vision. The air in the bedroom was still, save for the steady, sonorous breathing of… one man.

Fingers feathered Hermione's waist and her own breathing hitched.

"You're a light sleeper," she whispered to the darkness which, for all intents and purposes, was her darkness, trailing over her midsection slowly.

Blaise hummed near her ear. "Didn't want you sneaking off." His arm, now full across her stomach, swiftly but soundlessly turned Hermione on her side, facing him. She could just make out the inquisitive eyes in the early morning light.

Shaking her head slightly, the full force of inevitability pushed itself into her skin and through her blood until it entered her heart. Warm. Implacable. Treasured.

"I'm where I belong," she murmured before pressing her lips to his, barely catching the widening of his eyes at her admission.

The words, while significant, paled under the desire being traded from Hermione to Blaise and back again, until the feeling was fanned into something insuppressible.

Blaise rolled over and brought Hermione with him until she was situated in a straddle above his chest. Clad only in pants- a fact she ignored when she first climbed into bed- Hermione could feel his erection poking rather insistently into her backside so she nipped his chin in joking rebuke. A laugh tumbled through his chest.

Then, as Blaise shimmied Hermione up his body so he could take full advantage of her position, Draco grumbled into the void. "Neither of you wake me? Prats."

Hermione had her face toward the headboard which meant Draco's movements were completely invisible; this turned out to be good for her overwrought emotions because with only a slight murmuring, the fair-haired devil accioed away her knickers.

Blaise rose up between her legs like a man starved.

He lapped, he sucked, he moaned and the noise traveled through Hermione like she was a tuning fork, vibrating only for him. Vaguely she considered what Draco could be up to; she turned her head and caught a sideways view of what had Blaise in such vocal disarray- Draco's pale locks, so white blond they shone like a night light- obscured his mouth that presumably was focused on pleasuring every inch of Blaise.

Every inch.

Blaise's relentless tongue combined with the vision of Draco pushed Hermione over the edge. She fell head-long into the orgasm, the sensation radiating all the way up her body like some physical wave of pleasure, the ripples of which wrenched a second orgasm from her.

Hermione sagged briefly before rolling off Blaise; entranced, she watched Draco work Blaise's cock until the man was swearing for release and Draco being uncharacteristically generous, provided it. The deep timbre of his voice yelling "Fuck" into the bedroom primed Hermione again in spite of her loose-limbed gratification.

The rosy hue of dawn eked into the bedroom. Blaise's dark skin glistened from the sweat of his pleasure as he lay utterly still on his back, smiling into the empty space between Draco and Hermione. The empty space that was quickly disappearing as Draco crawled his way over to Hermione's semi-nude form.

With efficient movements he removed first her top, then his pants before pressing all his skin up against her own. Feet to legs, erection tucked snug against her belly… all the way to their cheeks- his left against her right.

One hand had already worked its way into her curls, fisting them like some kind of lifeline, as Draco leaned into her ear and asked, "Why us? Why me?"

Hermione smiled. "My small slice of peace."

Draco turned and pressed a kiss to the soft spot behind her ear, pressed recognition into that fragile layer of skin, before repositioning so that he could enter her.

Hermione gasped at the connection, Draco looming over her as he set a steady rhythm giving Blaise- who was back to attentive- plenty of space to fondle her breasts.

After being aroused for so long Draco's pace picked up, chasing the peak of sensation as masterfully as he once chased a snitch. Hermione saw stars as the combined attention from both her lovers sent her hurtling into her third orgasm in the space of an hour.

Sparkly, transcendent stars sent to light up the dark. Like those bloody fairy lights months and months ago.

A fond smile tipped up the corner of Hermione's mouth as Draco shuddered his release, his spent body collapsing onto her. The unlikely trio rested quietly in the creeping blush of dawn, their bodies tangled so that one couldn't know where they each ended or began.

Peace had never felt so peaceful.