Birthday ficlet (belated) for duniazade
It involves wine.
Enjoy (in spite of the totally insipid title)!
IN VINO
Hair envy is pretty much a given in the Ganger-Snape-Malfoy household. If anybody went to the trouble of creating a hair-envy diagram, it would look quite simple: two arrows, one green, one scarlet, converging on one dot labelled “Lucius’s platinum blonde, straight, never-out-of-place, never-greasy hair”.
Severus and Hermione tend to avoid discussing the topic openly, but sometimes their eyes will stray first to Lucius’s impeccable blond mane and then they will meet, and a look of unspoken understanding will be exchanged. It’s a burden they bear together. Silently. They have been doing so for quite some time; as a matter of fact they have been doing so since their ménage à trois was, let us say, institutionalized some four years ago. Before that happened, neither of the two had ever realized the amount of care Lucius devotes to his hair, or indeed been exposed to its splendour for extended periods of time.
In most people, except for very dull individuals or saints - both Severus and Hermione would strongly object to being part of either category - envy sooner or later leads to thoughts of dire retribution, unless, that is, the envious individual in question possesses the means of achieving the object he or she so covets.
Since neither Severus nor Hermione could ever obtain hair as resplendent as their Third’s, it seems pretty inevitable that dire retribution should sooner or later worm its way onto their agenda.
They are lazing in bed while Lucius is already up and spending his customary two hours in the bathroom.
“The question is,“ says Hermione, “whether we should rather do something to its texture or its colour. Or of course both.”
No explanation is needed as to what she’s referring to.
“Or, indeed, both,” Severus agrees in that gravelly, honeyed voice she loves so much. It’s particularly seductive on mornings like this one, after a night of debauchery. “But,” he continues, rolling over to lie on his stomach, “we wouldn’t want to make it permanent, would we?”
Hermione waits a moment before answering, enjoying the warmth of the early winter sunshine and the feeling of his leg brushing hers just so under the duvet. “Or,” she says dreamily, “we could make it permanent, unless he discovers the means to reverse it. So we might hint that he just has to try hard enough - either to work it out by himself, or to make us tell him.”
LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS
Even after four years of living together with Severus and Hermione, there are still moments when Lucius can’t quite believe his luck.
Things had been looking so dire after the war. His wife gone, his son estranged, polite (and even impolite, imagine the gall of those people) society shunning him; on top of all that, he’d been slow to recover from the effects of the preceding two years. At some point, though, somehow, he succeeded in renewing his friendship with Severus, who in turn had formed a kind of reluctant friendship with Hermione. Somehow they drifted closer together, imperceptibly, and one fine day the three of them woke up in his bed together, and from there on things have been decidedly going uphill.
What he particularly enjoys - apart from the sex and the intelligent conversation - is the way that two of them will always be trying to find ways to surprise their third; it doesn’t have to be anything big or flashy (even though he has to admit that the look on Severus’s face when he got that first edition of Paracelsus was worth every single galleon he paid for the bloody thing), because it’s the thought that counts.
He’s even beginning to stop sneering at himself for having that kind of thoughts; fond thoughts that make him smile instead of smirking. If turning a bit Hufflepuff is the price he has to pay for this happiness, so be it. There’s always a Minister to harass or a business partner to outsmart whenever he feels he has to prove that he’s still got what it takes.
It’s been a while since Severus and Hermione last surprised him. So maybe today’s the day?
LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS
As it turns out, today is indeed the day.
Hermione almost feels a bit guilty. Not because of Lucius, no, because not only is he looking bizarrely handsome with his periwinkle blue hairdo that reminds her of David Bowie, he’s also quite adorable when he sulks. Besides he has obviously decided not to waste his skills on finding a way to counter the potion’s effect - his attempts at convincing her and Severus to tell him how to do it have proved a most pleasant addition to their usual pursuits à trois.
It’s the wine that causes her conscience to give the occasional guilty twitch.
Wine created not from grapes but purely by magic. It’s a masterpiece of Severus’s Potions- and her Arithmancy skills. A Châteauneuf du Pape 1978, bursting with sun and herbs and heat, strong and round, delicious. Better than the original, was Severus’s assessment, delivered with a satisfied smirk.
Thanks to his remarkable skills and creativity in the erotic department Lucius already knows that the wine wasn’t genuine; Hermione admitted that much after some hours of exquisite torture - she would’ve told him the whole formula and written it down for him in triplicate, so he’d finally allow her to come. Now they’re working on Severus, Lucius and Hermione together, and if the noises he’s making are any indication, the secret won’t remain a secret for much longer.
There’s no doubt about Lucius being rich; it is also manifestly true, however, that Lucius would never, ever say no to the possibility of getting richer. Whether legal or illegal, Lucius Malfoy has never and will never decline a chance to make money, which is most probably the reason why he and his ancestors became rich in the first place.
Creating a 1978 Châteauneuf du Pape at practically zero cost, with a 99-percent profit margin, is a prospect so dazzlingly glorious that Lucius will be embracing it without thinking twice. He may think once, quickly and deviously as he is wont to, because a credible back story will have to be established.
Hermione only half-listens to Severus’s charmingly inarticulate rendition of the recipe.
A little later, her own attempts at resisting the combined efforts of her two lovers - Severus dedicates himself to the task with a vengeance, literally - are not more than half-hearted. Arithmantic formulae spill from her lips, intertwined with moans and screams and gasps.
Their secret is out, no more than three hours after Lucius’s hair has morphed into a periwinkle mess; he can reverse the effect any time he likes.
Right now, though, he doesn’t seem overly interested in restoring his hair to its original shape and colour. Draped lazily, languorously across the bed, he lets his eyes wander between his two lovers. His expression is calculating, bordering on malign.
There we go, Hermione thinks. A plan is already forming behind that barely lined forehead; ancestors are being invented, family trees drawn up which link the Malfoys to the most prestigious producer of Châteauneuf du Pape by way of some obscure Squib cousin ten times removed...
He may have changed, but he’s still essentially a predator.
Hermione sighs, almost inaudibly. She loves him just the way he is, but wouldn’t it be nice if sometimes, or maybe just this once, he simply enjoyed the game, without immediately coming up with a dozen ways to use it to his advantage?
And then she smiles, because Lucius drawls, “How creative you have been, the two of you.” He buries his hand in Severus’s hair, massaging his scalp, making him smile and purr with contentment. “Maybe we ought to do this more often?”
And then her jaw drops, because Severus kisses his friend and murmurs, “Did I ever tell you that my paternal great-uncle was part French? His mother was born near Avignon...”
And then they laugh, the three of them, suddenly aware of how much they still have to discover about one another, in the years to come.
A/N: Châteauneuf du Pape is a village between Avignon and Orange. The wine produced there enjoys worldwide renown. Here’s more information:
http://www.chateauneuf.com/english/index.html
Enjoy (in spite of the totally insipid title)!
IN VINO
Hair envy is pretty much a given in the Ganger-Snape-Malfoy household. If anybody went to the trouble of creating a hair-envy diagram, it would look quite simple: two arrows, one green, one scarlet, converging on one dot labelled “Lucius’s platinum blonde, straight, never-out-of-place, never-greasy hair”.
Severus and Hermione tend to avoid discussing the topic openly, but sometimes their eyes will stray first to Lucius’s impeccable blond mane and then they will meet, and a look of unspoken understanding will be exchanged. It’s a burden they bear together. Silently. They have been doing so for quite some time; as a matter of fact they have been doing so since their ménage à trois was, let us say, institutionalized some four years ago. Before that happened, neither of the two had ever realized the amount of care Lucius devotes to his hair, or indeed been exposed to its splendour for extended periods of time.
In most people, except for very dull individuals or saints - both Severus and Hermione would strongly object to being part of either category - envy sooner or later leads to thoughts of dire retribution, unless, that is, the envious individual in question possesses the means of achieving the object he or she so covets.
Since neither Severus nor Hermione could ever obtain hair as resplendent as their Third’s, it seems pretty inevitable that dire retribution should sooner or later worm its way onto their agenda.
They are lazing in bed while Lucius is already up and spending his customary two hours in the bathroom.
“The question is,“ says Hermione, “whether we should rather do something to its texture or its colour. Or of course both.”
No explanation is needed as to what she’s referring to.
“Or, indeed, both,” Severus agrees in that gravelly, honeyed voice she loves so much. It’s particularly seductive on mornings like this one, after a night of debauchery. “But,” he continues, rolling over to lie on his stomach, “we wouldn’t want to make it permanent, would we?”
Hermione waits a moment before answering, enjoying the warmth of the early winter sunshine and the feeling of his leg brushing hers just so under the duvet. “Or,” she says dreamily, “we could make it permanent, unless he discovers the means to reverse it. So we might hint that he just has to try hard enough - either to work it out by himself, or to make us tell him.”
LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS
Even after four years of living together with Severus and Hermione, there are still moments when Lucius can’t quite believe his luck.
Things had been looking so dire after the war. His wife gone, his son estranged, polite (and even impolite, imagine the gall of those people) society shunning him; on top of all that, he’d been slow to recover from the effects of the preceding two years. At some point, though, somehow, he succeeded in renewing his friendship with Severus, who in turn had formed a kind of reluctant friendship with Hermione. Somehow they drifted closer together, imperceptibly, and one fine day the three of them woke up in his bed together, and from there on things have been decidedly going uphill.
What he particularly enjoys - apart from the sex and the intelligent conversation - is the way that two of them will always be trying to find ways to surprise their third; it doesn’t have to be anything big or flashy (even though he has to admit that the look on Severus’s face when he got that first edition of Paracelsus was worth every single galleon he paid for the bloody thing), because it’s the thought that counts.
He’s even beginning to stop sneering at himself for having that kind of thoughts; fond thoughts that make him smile instead of smirking. If turning a bit Hufflepuff is the price he has to pay for this happiness, so be it. There’s always a Minister to harass or a business partner to outsmart whenever he feels he has to prove that he’s still got what it takes.
It’s been a while since Severus and Hermione last surprised him. So maybe today’s the day?
LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS LMHGSS
As it turns out, today is indeed the day.
Hermione almost feels a bit guilty. Not because of Lucius, no, because not only is he looking bizarrely handsome with his periwinkle blue hairdo that reminds her of David Bowie, he’s also quite adorable when he sulks. Besides he has obviously decided not to waste his skills on finding a way to counter the potion’s effect - his attempts at convincing her and Severus to tell him how to do it have proved a most pleasant addition to their usual pursuits à trois.
It’s the wine that causes her conscience to give the occasional guilty twitch.
Wine created not from grapes but purely by magic. It’s a masterpiece of Severus’s Potions- and her Arithmancy skills. A Châteauneuf du Pape 1978, bursting with sun and herbs and heat, strong and round, delicious. Better than the original, was Severus’s assessment, delivered with a satisfied smirk.
Thanks to his remarkable skills and creativity in the erotic department Lucius already knows that the wine wasn’t genuine; Hermione admitted that much after some hours of exquisite torture - she would’ve told him the whole formula and written it down for him in triplicate, so he’d finally allow her to come. Now they’re working on Severus, Lucius and Hermione together, and if the noises he’s making are any indication, the secret won’t remain a secret for much longer.
There’s no doubt about Lucius being rich; it is also manifestly true, however, that Lucius would never, ever say no to the possibility of getting richer. Whether legal or illegal, Lucius Malfoy has never and will never decline a chance to make money, which is most probably the reason why he and his ancestors became rich in the first place.
Creating a 1978 Châteauneuf du Pape at practically zero cost, with a 99-percent profit margin, is a prospect so dazzlingly glorious that Lucius will be embracing it without thinking twice. He may think once, quickly and deviously as he is wont to, because a credible back story will have to be established.
Hermione only half-listens to Severus’s charmingly inarticulate rendition of the recipe.
A little later, her own attempts at resisting the combined efforts of her two lovers - Severus dedicates himself to the task with a vengeance, literally - are not more than half-hearted. Arithmantic formulae spill from her lips, intertwined with moans and screams and gasps.
Their secret is out, no more than three hours after Lucius’s hair has morphed into a periwinkle mess; he can reverse the effect any time he likes.
Right now, though, he doesn’t seem overly interested in restoring his hair to its original shape and colour. Draped lazily, languorously across the bed, he lets his eyes wander between his two lovers. His expression is calculating, bordering on malign.
There we go, Hermione thinks. A plan is already forming behind that barely lined forehead; ancestors are being invented, family trees drawn up which link the Malfoys to the most prestigious producer of Châteauneuf du Pape by way of some obscure Squib cousin ten times removed...
He may have changed, but he’s still essentially a predator.
Hermione sighs, almost inaudibly. She loves him just the way he is, but wouldn’t it be nice if sometimes, or maybe just this once, he simply enjoyed the game, without immediately coming up with a dozen ways to use it to his advantage?
And then she smiles, because Lucius drawls, “How creative you have been, the two of you.” He buries his hand in Severus’s hair, massaging his scalp, making him smile and purr with contentment. “Maybe we ought to do this more often?”
And then her jaw drops, because Severus kisses his friend and murmurs, “Did I ever tell you that my paternal great-uncle was part French? His mother was born near Avignon...”
And then they laugh, the three of them, suddenly aware of how much they still have to discover about one another, in the years to come.
A/N: Châteauneuf du Pape is a village between Avignon and Orange. The wine produced there enjoys worldwide renown. Here’s more information:
http://www.chateauneuf.com/english/index.html