Was written for GE fic exchange

Prompt: Marrying would have been an easy step in their relationship had she not found her heart stolen by another. (Best friend/Brother/Son) I'd love something different like Hermione is marrying Theo's Father or even Anthony's for an über rare pair and falls in love with Anthony or Theo.

Recipient: MistressMalfoy

Gifter: Savva

Title: English Suite Genre: Adult Hermione, Drama, Post Hogwarts, Romance

Rating: NC17

Characters: Anthony Goldstein, Hermione Granger

Warnings: AU, Coarse Language, Limes, Lemons, UST

Pairings: Hermione Granger/Anthony Goldstein

Spoilers: EWE

Author's Notes: Huge thank you to my beta RussianDestruction and alpha Quilter. Also, hugs to MistressMalfoy for the brilliant prompt.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Wb and Scholastic- we humbly thank JK Rowling for allowing us the sincere pleasure of playing in her wonderous playground.

English Suite

Part 1

I. Prélude

I'm sorry that I didn't get to see you before the concert! I loathe those Apparition centres and their backlogs.

The concert starts at seven, darling. Don't be late. I need to feel your lips hands eyes on me!

Scrap that, I just need to feel you, Hermione! Christ, I missed you so much, my dear, dear girl.

Need you. Want you. Love you.

Amad

Hermione thoughtfully traced Amadeus' spidery cursive with the tip of her finger and sighed. Yes, she missed and needed him too, and fuzzy butterflies of anticipation in her stomach were already very much alive and fluttering. God, she wanted him! She hadn't seen him for seven weeks, and it was, indeed, too bloody long. She sighed again. At moments like this, she thought that maybe Amadeus was right. Maybe she really needed to leave that blasted Ministry and marry him. She chuckled and shook her head; the man had already proposed so many times that she had honestly lost count. The wizard's relentless persistence surprised her to no end. Yet, rather uncharacteristically, she still couldn't make up her mind and give him a straight answer.

Frankly, Hermione herself couldn't explain her hesitation. She did love and absolutely adore him. They had been together for five years, and she didn't regret a single minute, even though their encounters were sporadic at best. She had known exactly what she was getting into from the very beginning. As a classical pianist, and a quite brilliant classical pianist at that, Amadeus Goldstein was a busy man, performing in every corner of the world. She, on the other hand, being the Minister's favourite and most trusted employee, was needed in London. They truly were an odd couple. Both were driven by their careers, both possessed quite strong personalities. He was religiously devoted to his music and she... Well, it was a known fact that for Hermione Granger, her work at the Ministry was definitely on the top of her list.

They had met at one of the Ministry's galas. Amadeus had made a cameo appearance, and the moment his fingers had touched the piano, she'd been done for, utterly lost. She had wanted him so damn much that she had even forced Kingsley to introduce them to each other after the concert. They had hit it off tremendously right from the start. It had been an instant mutual attraction on every level: physical, sexual, intellectual. Not wasting time on useless courting, he had taken her to his bed that very night, and, on every possible night afterward.

It wasn't easy on either of them. Amadeus was constantly on the go, with one lengthy tour after another. Hermione, burdened with her responsibilities at the Ministry, wasn't able to join him for long, if at all, and they missed each other terribly. Hence, he kept asking her to abandon her job, marry him and travel with him, only to receive her typical reply that she would think about it.

Perhaps, she thought, still tracing his cursive on the parchment, it was time to seriously consider his proposal.

The clock chimed the half-hour, reminding Hermione that she needed to run. Carefully folding the parchment, she placed it in her purse right beside the ticket, stood up, straightened her black velvet dress and stepped into the Floo. When she walked into the concert hall, it was already almost full, and she made her way to her seat, nodding to the familiar faces she saw along the way. From there, she smiled and waved to Kingsley, who was frowning at her from his private loge. He waved back, though not without giving her the eye. The Minister didn't quite approve of her relationship with Amad, occasionally muttering in his stern bass that she needed someone who doted on her rather than on Bach. She, however, was used to his grumbles, and simply brushed them off, reminding him, with all due respect, of course, that as an eternal bachelor he hardly had any say in matters of the heart.

Settling comfortably in her chair, Hermione gazed around the hall, noticing stone-faced Malfoys with permanently-attached-to-them Greengrasses and solemn looking patrons and habitués. And, of course, shifty-eyed Rita Skeeter in her magenta outfit, which had become brighter, tighter and even more obnoxious over the years. The flickering of the light interrupted Hermione's perusal of the hall, and the wave of her usual nervous anticipation engulfed her. She started to twist the program in her fingers feverishly, eagerly waiting for the light to go out altogether, and for Amadeus to appear. At last, after a few long minutes, the candles on the chandelier were put out. The audience gave a round of polite applause, and Amad's tall, slightly hunched silhouette appeared at the narrow entryway.

The world around ceased to exist for Hermione. With baited breath, just like a ridiculously infatuated fangirl, she watched as Amadeus walked to the piano. He bowed curtly, smiled directly at her, sat down, and began to play. The crystal clear sound of his music flowed down from the stage, working its magic over the barely breathing members of the audience, sinking into every pore, reaching the most sacred places in their hearts, and instigating their reaction, forcing them to feel it, to live through it.

Hermione could never stifle her reaction to the sight of Amadeus on stage. His masterful, powerful performance caught her by surprise every damn time, and she pathetically fell in love with him all over again. There was something utterly fascinating about his hair curling around his passion-stricken face, in the sensual movements of his hands, and his long, strong fingers stroking the ivory keys of the piano. The domineering, manly assertiveness with which Amadeus handled the piano always made her knickers wet, literally. And, frankly, she didn't mind in the slightest. On the contrary, she always readily embraced the maelstrom of emotions he awakened in her. She even foolishly envied that black Steinway, which was singing, moaning, and crying under his masterful fingers.

Or, maybe, it wasn't foolish at all, because perhaps, somewhere deep in her heart, Hermione Granger knew that for this particular wizard, she would always come second.

II. Allemande

The concert was over before she knew it. To her, it seemed that the music had just started a moment ago, and now here he was, already bowing to the standing ovation of the roaring crowd. His sweaty and exhausted face was lit by the bright, elated smile, which made him breathtakingly beautiful. Hermione shouted, "Bravo!" and his eyes immediately found her. Amadeus pulled one of the blood-red roses from the bouquet in his hands, strode to the edge of the stage, and sent it flying toward her.

The rose landed right on Hermione's lap, and his voice whispered in her ear, "To my Muse!" causing Hermione to jump from the unexpectedness of it. She had no idea how he had managed to charm the rose in a matter of milliseconds, but his soft, seductive murmur forced her breathing to quicken all the same. The suffocating wave of desire rushed over her, pebbling her skin with goose bumps. Damn, she thought, stifling a shudder. Why on Earth does he have to be so unbearably sexy?

Trying to calm her racing heart and trembling fingers, she watched as Amadeus accepted congratulations, shook hands, and received flowers. It was the usual post-concert fuss, which repeated itself with more or less identical scenarios after every performance. Hermione didn't rush from her seat - she preferred to wait until they were alone. Eventually only Amadeus, Kingsley and Anthony remained, and the three wizards had a quiet conversation on the stage. Soon, however, the Minister shook hands with Amad and Anthony, waved to Hermione, and went home.

Not wishing to interrupt the father and son moment, Hermione sat silently, watching them from her seat and thinking how very alike they looked. Both wizards had dark blond, wavy hair; both were tall and lanky, though Anthony looked a bit more muscular; both had very prominent noses and full lips. The only striking difference was in their eyes: Anthony's were bright blue, and Amadeus' hazel. Of course, there was that tiny little detail that the father was a true genius, whereas the son was just a quiet, nerdy, and maybe somewhat mysterious young wizard. The mysterious bit, however, came from the fact that Anthony worked at the Ministry as an Unspeakable. To be fair, Hermione didn't know much about him, even though they had been introduced to each other. All three of them had had a few awkward dinners together, during which Anthony had been extremely reserved, probably due to Hermione's rather unconventional Wizarding community status. Nevertheless, Anthony had been an invariable guest at every one of Amad's concerts, which Hermione assumed indicated a certain level of closeness between the father and the son. Hopefully, she thought, he'll warm up to me if I decide to marry Amadeus.

Finally, to Hermione's delight, the two Goldsteins embraced, and Anthony exited from the hall, giving her a curt half-nod of acknowledgment. Perhaps, on any other day or occasion, this lack of common courtesy would've irked her. Luckily, her mind was very much otherwise occupied, and she was unable to dwell on Anthony's behaviour. In fact, she didn't even have a chance to blink, before almost all the lights in the hall suddenly darkened, leaving illuminated only the man and the grand piano on the stage.

For a moment, the two lovers just silently looked at each other, masochistically prolonging the torture of their separation. At last, when the anticipation heightened to a painful, almost unbearable level, Amadeus sank onto the bench, closed the piano, lightly patted its black, glossy surface, and said, "Come here, little one." Eager and delirious from the overwhelming want, Hermione leaped from her seat and hurried to the stage. Her stupid knees threatened to buckle, trembling more and more with each step she took. She bit her bottom lip, cursed her traitorous body, and willed it to obey. Just a few more steps, she encouraged herself, and made a final push toward Amadeus' strong arms.

"You made it," he murmured into her ear, as she literally fell onto his lap.

"Bastard," she breathed out, and leaned on Amad's chest, sighing from the pleasure when his open mouth slid over her neck, leaving a warm, wet trail on her suddenly overheated skin. His hands smoothed their way up to her breasts and lightly squeezed them, forcing Hermione to moan and arch her back. Looking for more contact, she pressed her bum deeper into his lap, and hissed, "Yes," when her rear met his steely hardness.

Amadeus let out a low chuckle and whispered, "Naughty girl." One of his hands abandoned her breast and ventured lower, skimming over her stomach and cupping her through the dress. "Need more of you," he muttered, and quickly gathered up the velvet material, bunching the fabric around her thighs. A second later, she felt his finger parting her through the wet silk of her knickers and tapping lightly over her clitoris.

Frantically clasping his hips for purchase, she snarled, "Don't tease!" and spread her legs wider, seeking the much needed friction.

"Why not?" he asked laughingly.

"Because it's been too bloody long, that's wh-. Oh!" she didn't get to finish her sentence, because her knickers suddenly disappeared, and two long digits plunged into her.

"Better?" the wizard had the audacity to ask, as he began to pump in and out of her in a steady rhythm, simultaneously thumbing her throbbing nub with methodical persistence.

Shuddering, Hermione mustered all her strength, groaned, "The doors," and weakly flailed her hand in the direction of the hall's many entrances. She truly didn't want someone to catch her knicker-less in the concert hall. However, the resonant sound of the doors being shut one after the other with a wave of magic didn't register in her hazy mind, as she was too busy pulsating around those wicked pianist's finger. Amadeus drove her to the brink with the same unrelenting precision he had played Bach a short while ago, and, helpless against his diligence, she soon climaxed around his hand with a long moan. He let her ride the hot and blissful wave of her orgasm, gently caressing her breast and lightly grazing his teeth over her earlobe.

The moment Hermione came back to her senses, she drew his wet fingers into her mouth and sucked on them. Oh yes, she smiled at his almost inaudible groan. Yes! Fully intending to repay Amadeus for his earlier teasing, she pushed herself off of him and, turning around, sank onto her knees. He watched her intently, his hazel eyes darkened with desire. She made quick work of his fly, and with a breathy "My turn, Mister" dipped her head to his fully erect cock. Alas, she only had an opportunity to give him one long lick from the base to the tip, before the wizard groaned, sharply jerked her chin up, and attacked her lips with unexpected ferocity.

"No," he muttered against her mouth, and lightly bit her bottom lip.

"But I want to," Hermione tried to protest.

"Shush," he hushed her and rose from the bench, tugging her with him. In a matter of seconds, she was lifted and placed onto the cool, smooth surface of the piano, with her rear on the lid. "It's been indeed too bloody long, little one. You'll get your wish later tonight, I promise." With that Amadeus pulled her dress over her head and hurled it aside. He muttered, "I need to be inside you, girl," positioned himself between her spread legs, and with one precise, hard thrust, entered her. They moaned together, and he halted, letting out a faint string of expletives. His eyes roamed her naked form, and he reached for her breasts once again, flicking his thumbs over her pebbled nipples and humming, "So beautiful."

The sight of him, still fully clothed in his concert attire, and hovering over her as she lay bare and splayed on the black Steinway, made Hermione clench around him. "Fuck me, Amadeus! Fuck me like there is no tomorrow," she ordered, and then added sweetly, "Please."

He replied, "Happy to oblige, madam," and began his measured, demanding strokes. And here it was - the domineering assertiveness she loved so much. He took her with the same masculine confidence with which he played the piano. With his attention solely focused on her, she felt that for the moment she was his musical instrument, his centre of the universe, and she wanted nothing more. The moment was perfect. He was perfect. Fuck, they were perfect!

That thought was Hermione's last coherent one for the rest of the night. Amadeus did Apparate them to his house at some point, though not before he flipped her over and took her from behind, biting her shoulder while he was climaxing. And, of course, he didn't forget to cast the Scouring Charm over the Steinway before they left.

III. Courante

The sound of light steps and soft rustling awakened Hermione, and she pried her eyes open. The room was filled with subdued sunlight that streamed through the heavy, sage-coloured draperies. The suspended dust particles caught up in the morning rays sparkled subtly, robbing the air of its transparency, and making everything a bit blurry and impressionistic. Already half-dressed, Amadeus stood between the bed and the window. His freshly shaved face bore that focused and slightly detached expression Hermione knew only too well: he was leaving again.

She drew herself up, and leaning on the headboard, watched him in silence as he fiddled with his tie. Probably feeling her gaze on him, Amad turned to her and smiled. "Ah, my girl has awoken," he said, and the little wrinkles around his eyes made Hermione's throat tighten.

"Must you go? It's Saturday," she whispered and cringed inwardly at how pathetic she sounded.

He strode toward her, reached her in two wide steps and urgently attacked her lips with a demanding kiss. Raking his fingers through her hair, he held her in place, invading her mouth and kissing her thoroughly, and then moving onto her chin, jaw, and neck. Nibbling his way to her shoulder, his lips tickling against her skin, he whispered, "You know that I must. Come with me, little one. Please."

Hermione sighed; she wasn't ready for this conversation. Sensing her hesitation, Amadeus drew back, cradled her face between his hands and spoke passionately, "We can get married today, tomorrow, whenever you want. Be with me, Hermione. Be mine. Travel the world with me, be my Muse. You don't need that bloody Ministry; it will survive without you. I need you, little one. I need you more than Kingsley! I love you, girl."

"And I love you, Amadeus, I really do, and you know it. It's just, I have projects, responsibilities, people rely on me." The wizard smiled wistfully, nodded and rose from the bed. Seeing his wounded expression, Hermione hurriedly added, "I'll think about it, I promise. I'll talk to Kingsley and let him know."

Amadeus returned to the bed, tilted his head to her, and asked, "Will you?"

"Yes." Hermione pushed herself off the headboard and rolled forward onto her knees, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He cupped her face again, and traced her lips with his thumb.

"Good girl," he whispered, dipping his thumb into her mouth. Hermione swirled her tongue around it and reached for the wizard's fly. With a grunt, he pressed her little palm to his strained crotch, and moaned when she began to stroke his hardness through his trousers. Alas, a minute later, he halted her movement and drew her hand to his lips.

"Hey," she protested with a pout. "I wasn't done yet."

"I need to run, I'm late," Amadeus muttered apologetically, giving her one last kiss, and standing up with a regretful sigh. "I'll be back in eight weeks. Promise me that you'll have an answer for me by then," he said, as he grabbed his travel satchel.

"I promise," replied Hermione, and forced a smile, despite the fact that her mood was far from cheerful.

"I love you," he whispered, though his eyes weren't on her, and she could tell that his mind was already miles away from her.

"Love you, too," intoned Hermione readily.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Amadeus paused by the door. "Anthony is temporarily staying here. He ran into some kind of trouble at his flat. So, don't be surprised if you stumble upon him in the kitchen. Be nice to my brilliant boy, will you? And wear knickers, please," he added, and chuckled.

"I'm always nice," answered Hermione automatically, and then, as understanding dawned on her, hurled a pillow toward the wizard. Amadeus, however, had already disappeared behind the door. Hermione huffed, plopped back onto the bed, drew the covers over her head, and decided that she needed more sleep. Alas, she couldn't stop thinking as Amadeus' words played in her head over and over again.

She knew that he had never been married before, and it flattered her that he wanted her as his wife and his Muse, as he put it. He had had lovers and affairs of course, and she suspected quite a few. She herself hadn't been a saint either, so it didn't bother her. Plus, as far as Hermione was concerned, she was the only woman he had asked to marry him after Anthony's mother, and that had happened about twenty-eight years ago. Ignoring Hermione's natural curiosity, Amadeus didn't like to talk about that other woman, and the few titbits Hermione had managed to learn about her over the years were that she had been a Muggle, and a very promising violin player. They had met when they were both eighteen, and it had been a whirlwind romance of two young musicians, which had ended with a pregnancy. Amadeus had tried to marry the girl, but she had chosen her musical career over him and Anthony. Ultimately, it had been Amadeus' parents who had raised the baby, whilst their son pursued his musical dreams.

The muffled sound of music tore Hermione from her ponderings, and her silly heart nearly flew from her chest. Amadeus! He came back, was her first, and completely illogical, reaction. She jumped off the bed and almost ran from the room in all her naked glory. When she was already by the door, she suddenly realised that the music she was hearing wasn't being played on the piano. Hermione opened the door just an inch, and listened carefully. Indeed, someone was playing the violin. Disappointed, but curious nonetheless, she wrapped herself into Amadeus' silk robe and ventured out to investigate.

Barefoot, she moved through the corridors of the Goldstein family house toward the sound. Walking past the empty kitchen and crossing the dining room, Hermione kept going until she ended up at the entrance to the enclosed veranda. Hesitating at the arched entrance, she peeked inside, and froze at the sight. Anthony, clad only in lounge trousers and a white tee, stood in the centre of the sun-drenched room with his eyes closed and the violin on his shoulder. The piece he played sounded absolutely lovely, but that wasn't what stunned Hermione the most. It was the serene, gentle expression on his face that had her utterly flabbergasted. It was just so unlike his father's forceful, almost violent expression mid-concert.

Entranced, she stood on the threshold, holding her breath and watching the wizard in front of her. She missed the moment he noticed her, but when the music abruptly stopped, she found herself staring directly into Anthony's blue eyes. She blushed, all of a sudden very aware of her state of undress, as an uncomfortable silence settled in the room.

Anthony, clearly not in a hurry to start a conversation, was just silently gazing at her. Hermione drew a breath. Unconsciously drawing the silky folds of Amadeus' robe tighter around her naked body, she muttered, "Um, sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

Anthony gave her a tight smile and replied, diplomatically keeping his eyes on her face, "No, no, it's all right. It's my fault; I should've waited with the noise. Did I wake you?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh no, I couldn't sleep anyway. Not since Amadeus," she faltered, "I mean, your father, left." Feeling awkward and trying to somehow remedy it, she smiled and continued, "And it wasn't a noise. It was beautiful. I didn't know that you played, by the way."

At this, the wizard arched his brow and smirked. "Of course I play. In the Goldstein family, it was never a question of 'if', only 'when'. Apparently, I was lucky - I started at four. My poor father started when he was three, I think."

"Oh." Hermione blinked in surprise; Amadeus had never told her that. "Why didn't you pursue a career in music, then? I'm not an expert, but you sound very good, and it seems logical, especially if it runs in the family."

Anthony threw a strange gaze at her and shrugged. "I hate to travel." He put the violin and the bow in the case, walked closer to her, and, bowing slightly, said, "Well, I'll leave you in peace, then. See you later, at the concert or here. Though I hope I'll find a new place soon."

"What happened to your flat?" she blurted, as her curiosity once again got the better of her.

"Water damage," he explained. "The neighbour above me fell asleep in the bath."

"Oh my, is he all right?"

"Yes, he's fine." He chuckled, probably at her horrified expression, and she noted that he had the same smile as his father. Only, he hadn't yet acquired those little wrinkles around the eyes that she loved so much. "My flat, however, is as far from fine as it possibly can be," continued the wizard. "Completely ruined is more like it. Thank Merlin, the water didn't damage my books. The kitchen and the bedroom are gone, though." Their eyes met, and Anthony, probably noticing Hermione's intense scrutiny, curtly ended his story, stepped around her, muttered, "See you later," and briskly strode down the corridor.

Hermione blinked, contemplated her next step for a full sixty second, shouted, "Anthony, wait!" and rushed after him. He had already reached the dining room when she caught up with him. "There is a flat for rent right across from mine. Do you want me to give you the address?" she breathed out, between puffs.

He looked conflicted for a few moments, but then nodded and said, "Sure."

Hermione turned around, looking for something suitable for writing down the address. Anthony knowingly waved his hand, and a small, square piece of parchment along with a pencil landed on the dining table. Awkwardly holding the robe with her left hand, she quickly wrote the address and gave it to him. "Here."

"Thank you. I truly appreciate it," he said very formally. "Well, bye for now." He bade his good-bye for the third time in the last five minutes, and hurriedly disappeared down the corridor. Hermione gazed after him for a short while, and then shuffled back to the bedroom. She suddenly wasn't sure that she had done the right thing by giving Anthony that address. Oh well, she sighed. What's done is done.

* Intermission *

AN: Long time no see, my darlings! Sorry about that! I know I haven't updated my Theo and Blaise stories in a while. But, I have a tiny excuse - I have to fight with my illness again. Bleh!

I wrote the tale above before I was informed that the 'sucker' is back, and to be honest, I haven't written anything since. Cannot focus.

Hopefully, you'll like my little tale about Anthony and Hermione. There will be three parts in total. Please review, darlings! Merlin knows - I need them! Thank you.