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Semblance of Normality	By : Ladylala04 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 28248 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or the characters. They are a product of J.K. Rowling's wonderful mind. This story is purely a work of fiction and it serves for entertainment purposes only. I gain no monetary profit from this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: I absolutely love Triofic and this my first try at writing one. If you like it, tell me about it. If not, tell me about it anyway. Thanks!!

A big thanks to Salon_Kitty for being a great Beta!!!!

Harry Potter was known as many things to many people. He was The Chosen One, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The Savior of the Wizarding World, and several other silly, pompous titles that were all capitalized and hyphenated. But, Harry knew if his annoyingly adoring public had ever caught wind of his terrible secret, they certainly would never address him with those regal epithets. They would all call him what he truly thought himself to be: Harry Potter, the Bloody Pervert.

Though, that title seemed a bit harsh, he reckoned it fit. How else could someone describe a bloke who wanked, nearly nightly, to thoughts of his best mates in the throes of passion; wishing he could either (a. switch places with one of them or (b. join them in a steamy debauched three-way.

Harry spent many nights lying in his bed, conjuring up depraved images that involved broad shouldered redheads and/or curvaceous bushy-haired burnets. He would snake his hand into his pajama bottoms and wish that the firm grip on his cock was Hermione’s tight cunt or perhaps Ron’s even tighter arse. And sometimes, when he dared to touch that special spot behind his balls with spit drenched fingers, he pictured the immense pleasure he was receiving came from the tip of Ron’s fingers or the tip of Hermione’s cute little pink tongue.

Following the fantasies, he would cum, fall asleep sated, wake up feeling terribly guilty, and then rinse and repeat the next night. However, over time, the guilt he felt in the morning heavily played on his psyche. He was supposed to be their best friend for Merlin’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to get-off over images of them giving him double fellatio, or he and Ron double penetrating Hermione. And after he got a raging hard-on from an innocent hug they had given him, he decided enough’s enough, and vowed to never wank to them again.

However, that was easier said than done, considering the fact he shared a tiny flat with them, and their bedroom was right next door. It also didn’t help matters much that the walls in their home were paper thin.

So, the night after he made his vow, Harry found himself on his bed with a pillow clutched over his head, desperately trying to drown out the soft moans and near silent squeaks of the mattress that belonged to his flatmates in the next room over. They must have been having a hell of a time, because he could still hear the sound of their love making after using a fairly decent Muffliato spell. Harry groaned as he applied another pillow over his head, wishing they would stop so he could force himself to go to sleep.

He wanted to wank, Merlin knew how bad he wanted to, but nothing, not even the satisfied sated feeling that overcame him afterwards, would assuage the guilty and self damning feelings that would assault him in the morning.

What on earth could they be doing in there? He thought to himself. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to his nasty thoughts. He pictured Hermione laying spread eagle, clutching fistfuls of Ron’s bright, copper hair as he eagerly lapped at her sensitive clitoris. Harry rolled onto his back and absentmindedly palmed his straining erection through his clothes. Maybe they’re kinky, he thought as a new image came into his mind. He imagined Ron on all fours, as Hermione rammed into him with that special device he once saw in an adult store he wandered into in Muggle London. His pre-cum was starting to dampen his pajamas.

When he heard a low wail coming from the other side of the wall, his world snapped back into focus. He needed to get out of the flat, and he needed to get out now! Harry flung himself from his bed and hastily put on a pair of discarded trousers he found on the floor. Not even caring he was still wearing his pre-cum soaked pajama bottoms underneath; he struggled to pull the zip over his insanely hard cock.

After finally getting fully dressed, he silently opened his bedroom door and slipped into the hallway only to hear Ron scream, “Fuck Hermione!!” Harry thought it was impossible to get any harder than he was, but he was proven wrong.

Harry ran out of the flat and made a mad dash to the small alley across the street. He closed his eyes, focused on his destination, turned and Disapparatedon the spot.

There were only a few places in the Wizarding World that Harry felt he could be at ease and slightly let his guard down. Hogwarts was at the top of the list, followed closely by The Burrow, and in recent years Hog’s Head had made the cut.

Whenever he wanted some anonymity and to get pissed without an audience, the Hog’s Head was the place to go, and tonight he would need a good stiff drink to rein in his rampant arousal.

Harry entered the shabby little pub and made a bee line straight to the private booth Aberforth, the landlord, had always saved for him. His fingers twitched anxiously as he waited for the older man to come over his way.

“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” Aberforth said with an amused chuckle. “I’d say it’s a little late for a pub crawl, Mr. Potter.”

“Look, I know what time it is. Just give me the strongest drink you have and make it quick.” Harry replied a bit harsher than he intended.

Aberforth gave him a curious look with the same twinkling eyes as his brother. Then he gave Harry a cheeky bow and said, “Wha’ever you say boss.”

Harry sank lower into his chair as he watched the old man walk away. He reminded himself to leave a nice big tip for him on his way out.

A few moments later, the old barkeep brought over a shot glass filled with clear liquid that had strange whiffs of blue and green smoke coming out of the top of it. Harry eyed the concoction cautiously. “This, my dear lad, is Tûz Pálinka. I guaranteed it’s the strongest drink in all of Europe.”

Harry grabbed the glass and made a move to knock the whole thing back, when suddenly Aberforth quickly wrestled the drink from his hand.

“For Merlin’s sake Potter, are you tryin’ to kill yourself?! You sip Tûz Pálinka, not swallowit whole. I gave it to ya in a shot glass ‘cause it’s all I’m legally able to sell ya.” After giving Harry a stern look, he returned the glass.

Harry looked rightfully embarrassed when he put the small glass to his lips, and he understood the barkeeps admonition because after taking a miniscule sip of the stuff, he felt as if his insides were set aflame with Fiendfyre. His entire body instantly flushed red, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his palms dripped with sweat. He was appreciative the burn only last a few seconds because he wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take. He also noticed the effect the liquor had on his now flaccid manhood.

Grateful to be rid of his blasted ‘problem’, Harry sat back in the booth and welcomed the warm buzz that took over his mind.

In his heightened state, Harry began to ponder the great questions of life, like: Why was the sky blue? Why were roses red? Why couldn’t he be like any normal bloke; fall in love with a nice girl, get married, and populate the earth with little green-eyed, messy haired versions of himself?

Because nothing about you is normal. Nothing in your life has ever been normal, he thought bitterly. Every part of his life was unconventional. It was as if his existence had been some big, sick cosmic joke. He was marked for death as an infant, raised in a cruel and unloving household, flung into a world he had no idea existed, eluded the clutches of lunatic, and lost far too many people he cared about. So why did he ever delude himself into thinking his love life could have some semblance of normalcy?

Harry felt the buzz wearing off, so he steadied himself for another sip. That time it wasn’t too bad. He felt a less scorching heat shoot through his fingers and toes, leaving behind a warm tingly feeling all over.

Ron…Hermione…How in the hell did I end up falling for the both of you, dammit?

He knew that he always cared about them, but he had to seriously stop and think about how loving his mates evolved into him being in love with his mates.
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Semblance of Normality