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What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 11. While You Were Sleeping

“What’s happened?” Madame Pomfrey asked loudly.
Hermione jerked up off the bed with a shriek of surprise. Losing her balance, she made a wild grab for something to steady herself, but managed to come up with only the blanket. So she slid off onto the floor in a heap with a soft flump, the blanket pooling around her.
“Oh, I’m sorry I startled you, dear.”
Madame Pomfrey came around the bed quickly and held a hand out to help her up. Hermione just blinked up at her, still unsure where she was or how she’d gotten there, her brain still clouded with sleep. Her eyes were matted and felt gritty from so much crying the day before as she tried to rub them clear. Reaching up, she let Madame Pomfrey pull her to her feet. Then she stood for a moment, staring around, trying to get her bearings.
Lupin stood in the doorway, looking both surprised and amused. Ron continued sleeping with his arm still thrown protectively over Harry’s chest as it had been last night, apparently undisturbed by the arrival of their guests. Harry was still flat on his back where Ron had deposited him, left exposed to the whole room when she’d pulled the blanket off onto the floor with her.
Hermione went red all over at the sight of the two of them together on the bed, though Ron was fully clothed. What must it have looked like when Madame Pomfrey and Lupin had come in with her asleep on Harry’s other side, the three of them piled together on a bed that was much too small to hold them all? She hurried to cover Harry with the blankets again, feeling utterly mortified for a moment as Ron finally started to stir.
“What time is it?” Hermione asked, suddenly worried. “I think we missed his last dose of potions.”
Running her hands over Harry’s face and on his neck, she checked his temperature. He was still fevered, his cheeks red, his lips chapped, but he wasn’t nearly as hot as he had been during the night. She blew out a relieved breath.
“Harry had a really bad night last night,” she explained.
She told them about Voldemort’s attack, about Harry’s fever rising, about giving him a fever potion too early, about the convulsions, and about Ron putting him in the bath while Madame Pomfrey ran her wand over Harry, checking his vitals and assessing his condition.
“What’s happened to Ron’s hands?” the healer asked suddenly as she attempted to remove the arm he had thrown over Harry.
“I…I don’t know,” Hermione answered. Bewildered, she leaned in close to see.
Ron’s hand had small, red, water-filled blisters on the palm and fingers, burnt from the appearance of it. Hermione was stunned. She knew Harry must have caused the burns, but she was shocked that Ron had said nothing about them last night. He hadn’t tried to bandage them or asked her to heal them or anything. He’d just gone straight back to bed last night as if nothing had happened. They looked painful, but the damage probably would have been much worse if his hands hadn’t been immersed in the freezing water.
“Accidental magic,” Ron explained in a muffled voice. Then he rolled over onto his back and blinked up at them. “Harry didn’t appreciate the bath very much last night.”
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and then yawned hugely.
“He cannot continue to deplete his energies like that, magical or physical. It’s too much for his body to take.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but we couldn’t bring his fever down,” Hermione tried to explain.
“I’m not blaming you, dear. You both did what you had to do. I’m just worried over his lack of progress. He should be improving, but he just keeps deteriorating. There is fluid in his lungs now, which is probably what caused his temperature to spike. He needs St. Mungo’s, but we can’t possibly take him there or even to the infirmary at Hogwarts. It’s not safe. He’s the Ministry’s and Death Eaters’ most wanted man. But it won’t matter where we take him if he’s giving up the fight,” Madame Pomfrey said sadly.
“What?” Hermione squawked. “Madame Pomfrey, you’ve got to help him!”
“I’m doing all I can, Miss Granger! As I said, there is only so much I can do with spells and potions. Harry has to help himself a little, too. But the more weak he becomes physically and magically, the less chance he has of pulling out of this.”
Hermione stared at the healer open mouthed, the whole room going silent at the pronouncement. Then they all turned to look at Harry as Madame Pomfrey walked around the bed to Ron and held out her hand to him. He stared at her for a minute, and then slowly placed his hand in hers, palm up. She made a clucking noise with her tongue at the gouge marks on his forearms from Harry’s nails digging into him. Running her wand over the wounds, she healed them instantly, then the ones on his face.
“I would suggest,” she said, smiling down at Ron as she spread burn cream onto his hands, “that you trim Mr. Potter’s nails before his next bath.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember to take the time to do that the next time he decides to boil his own brains with fever,” he replied grimly while she wrapped his hands in gauze.
“You did well, Mr. Weasley,” she praised him and patted his cheek, finished with her work on him.
He looked like he was wearing mittens on his hands now, and he examined them with a frown.
“This is going to make things a bit difficult.”
“It’s only for a few hours,” she reassured him. “Then you can take them off.”
His stomach growling loudly then, and he gazed hopefully over at the plate of sandwiches Hermione had brought up for dinner, but they’d gone stale in the night.
“Come on, Ron,” Lupin said. “You don’t think we were allowed to come over here without bringing loads of food from your mother, do you? Oh, incidentally, Hermione, if you could give them the address. You are the secret keeper, of course, and Molly’s going spare over at Muriel’s without a word from you all. I had quite a telling off for not being able to divulge the secret to her.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. “Yes, yes, of course. I hadn’t realized. Still, I think Harry would prefer to decide for himself when he’d like visitors.”
“What do you mean, at Muriel’s?” Ron asked suddenly, interrupting her.
“Well, they couldn’t stay at the Burrow once you three had escaped. Now the Death Eaters know you’re both with Harry, it wasn’t safe. After we’d found Harry, we got everyone to Muriel’s. No one can go to work now, of course, but everyone’s safe at least.”
Hermione watched as Ron’s eyes darkened and his lips pressed into a thin line, looking grim. Remus saw it, too, and clapped Ron on the back.
“How ‘bout breakfast then, eh?” he asked, steering Ron out of the room by his shoulders.
Hermione watched them retreat, worried for Ron again, at how he was coping. Sighing heavily, she turned back to Madame Pomfrey who was back tending to Harry. She observed silently as Madame Pomfrey worked, surprised that she didn’t appear to mind Hermione’s presence during Harry’s examination, but she reasoned, she and Ron had been nursing Harry all this time as well.
Madame Pomfrey checked the lymph nodes in his neck, underarms, and groin for swelling, pressing the pads of her fingers into his bruised skin. Then she palpated his stomach and other organs while Hermione watched.
Harry moaned in pain when she’d evidently hit a tender spot. Nodding to herself, she began talking quietly to him. Nattering away at him as she worked, the healer told him what she was doing as she went along. Then she spoke to Hermione.
“I always talk to my patients. It appears to calm them, lets them know I’m here to help them. I believe they understand me, even if they don’t remember any of it when they wake.”
“I think that’s true,” Hermione agreed quietly. “Harry calmed down last night in the tub when Ron was speaking to him. Well, he yelled at him first, but I think Harry knew it was him.”
“Yes, and Mr. Potter and I have had many conversations like this during his time at Hogwarts. We’ve spent quite a bit of time together, haven’t we, Harry, dear?” she asked him.
She spoke with such affection in her voice that it brought tears to Hermione’s eyes.
“I’m supposed to have a clinical detachment from my patients, of course, but it’s always been particularly difficult with this one. Most students come into the infirmary with minor spell or potions mishaps, the occasional Quidditch injury. Harry comes in half dead every year, it seems.”
“Now then,” she said briskly, after administering some potions to Harry. “I think we can take these bandages off.”
She set about removing the wrappings from his chest, and then his arms. Then she poked his ribs, earning herself another moan from Harry.
“Hmm, still tender, but much better,” she said in approval.
Next, she removed a jar from her bag and scooped a large amount of clear salve into her hands, rubbing them together to distribute the cream. Hermione’s nostrils filled with the fresh smell of mint. Then she started rubbing it into Harry’s skin, starting with his face, across his forehead and cheeks, down his nose and under his eyes, then around his jaw. She moved down his neck, running her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, massaging it into his palms and around each of his fingers before gathering more into her hands and continuing onto his chest, over his ribs, and down his stomach. Harry sighed with contentment at her ministrations.
“Yes, that feels better now, doesn’t it?” she asked him, amusement in her voice, and then to Hermione again. “This is a wonderful invention of Severus’. It helps with the bruising and swelling, and has a mild pain reliever as well. It also works as an astringent, helping to reduce the scarring. It cleans and disinfects, too, leaving a pleasant cooling effect on the skin.”
Gathering still more, she worked it over his thigh and down his leg, even rubbing it into the arch of his foot, between his toes and around his heel. Harry curled his toes in response, letting out a little grunt of satisfaction. And for the first time in days, Hermione smiled. A quick, tiny little smile that was really no more than a quirking of her lips, yet more than she’d felt like doing for so long.
“You do like that, don’t you?” Madame Pomfrey asked him. “You obviously have very sensitive feet, Mr. Potter, but you can put that away,” she said with a laugh. “I’m flattered, but you’re not strong enough to do anything with that. Not for a little while anyway.”
Hermione went red, feeling hot all over at the intimacy of the situation, glancing away from Harry’s obvious arousal.
“Still,” Madame Pomfrey continued, moving on to his other thigh as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for her to see a patient with an erection. “It’s a good sign, Harry.”
Casting a body bind on Harry, she levitated him into the air. Turning him carefully, she laid him face down on the bed, and then continued the process on his back, eliciting more painful moans from Harry when she worked the salve into the bruises in the small of his back and around his kidneys. When she’d finished, she tended the bites on his back and re-bandaged them, then flipped him back over and doctored his arms and chest before replacing the bandages on his arms. Leaving off the binding around his ribs, she propped pillows behind him so he was slightly elevated, no longer flat on his back.
“Now then,” she said, replacing the blanket over Harry’s hips. “His color is much better so we can reduce the blood replenishment to twice a day, but we’ll continue with the others and add a stronger antibiotic for the pneumonia developing in his lungs. Thank goodness his ribs are healing because he’s going to need to cough that up, and it’s going to hurt. I’m removing the heavy sedation so he can. He needs to wake up on his own now. Keep him elevated so he can work to clear his lungs, dear, and start him on the pain potions if you see he’s struggling. He’s going to be in a lot of pain.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well then, let’s go down and have a cup of tea, or perhaps some breakfast for you. Let Harry rest alone on the bed for a bit.”
She’d put particular emphasis on the word “alone,” as she slid her arm around Hermione’s shoulder in a motherly fashion, smiling.
“I would think you might want to enlarge the bed if you’re all planning on sleeping on it,” she advised with a wink.
Then they went down to the kitchens together, Hermione hot in the face again.
Before they’d left, Hermione had written down the address on a bit of parchment for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, charming the paper to only reveal its contents to the people for whom it was addressed. Madame Pomfrey, in turn, insisted on installing a house elf from Hogwarts at Grimmauld Place to ensure that she and Ron were eating properly and to be able to fetch her if there was another emergency like the one last night. They agreed reluctantly, but specifically requested Dobby for the task, though Hermione was still uncomfortable with having a house elf catering to her at all. She knew Dobby loved Harry, though, and she certainly did want to be able to get to Madame Pomfrey quickly if Harry took another turn for the worse. Her earlier pronouncement about Harry giving up still weighed heavily on her mind. By lunchtime, Dobby had arrived.
The elf cried hysterically over Harry for a long while, sobbing while he clutched Harry’s hand, looking ridiculous in his mismatched clothing and tea cozy hat. But after a while, he’d finally pulled himself together and made both she and Ron some lunch, insisting that she eat, badgering her until she complied. Hermione winced at having him serve lunch to her, trying her best to do everything for herself, but he simply wouldn’t allow it. Then he set about putting the house to rights, which was dusty from being uninhabited for so long, and many of the rooms were in disarray from being searched by the Death Eaters after they’d escaped from the ministry last fall. It pained Hermione to see him working so diligently, and she finally retreated back upstairs.
Ron, for his part, seemed totally indifferent to Dobby’s presence. Madame Pomfrey’s prognosis for Harry, and the news that his entire family had gone into hiding, had turned his mood dark, making him go silent again. She’d helped him remove the bandages on his hands mid-morning, and he hadn’t spoken a word to her since. He brooded in silence all day, watching her watch Harry, and he actually got up hurriedly and went to the bathroom when she’d decided, after administering his potions, that Harry had been nude for quite long enough.
Pulling a pair of his boxer shorts from her bag, Hermione struggled to pull them up Harry’s legs. Although she was embarrassed again when she’d finally worked them over his hips, she felt a lot more comfortable afterwards when her eyes fell on the navy blue boxers covering him. Satisfied with her work, she replaced the blanket, covering him to the chest.
She certainly didn’t want another incident like the one this morning, with Mrs. Weasley, or Dobby, or anyone else stumbling in on them while they were asleep again. Harry deserved some privacy, especially now that Dobby and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be joining Lupin and Madame Pomfrey as visitors to the house.
It struck her that she was being strangely protective of the seclusion she and Ron and Harry had been living in for almost a year, jealous at the idea of sharing either Ron or Harry with anyone else anymore.
This last year had been so difficult, changing and testing their relationships with each other, forging an even stronger bond between them. It scared her how much she had come to rely on them, both Ron and Harry. When Ron left them that night in the forest, she’d been devastated, and even though she and Harry carried on without him, there had been a huge hole in their lives with his absence. The idea of Harry giving up on them now, leaving them forever after everything that had happened in the dungeon, after everything they had been through, caused her to go white with fear.
It was near dark again. Dobby had brought up soup for them when they didn’t appear at dinner. Both her own and Ron’s internal clocks were off kilter since their capture, neither of them having had nearly enough sleep in the last few weeks. Dobby waited for them to eat it all, undoubtedly on Madame Pomfrey’s orders, before bidding them goodnight. Then Hermione went back to bathing Harry’s forehead in cooling rags to help manage the fever that just wouldn’t break.
Harry had gone from totally lifeless to restless without the heavy sedation Madame Pomfrey had him under before, showing more signs of pain than he had in all their time here. The wheezing in his chest had grown into a disturbing rattling sound every time he drew breath. Occasionally, he would interrupt the silence with a wet cough which caused him to gasp and moan in pain, trying to curl into himself on the bed and her to wince in sympathy.
She began talking to him quietly as Madame Pomfrey had done, stroking his hand so he knew she was there, telling him that he was the most stubborn person she had ever known, and that he’d never given up in the dungeon, he didn’t need to start now. But she didn’t know how much more of the paralyzing fear she could handle before she broke. Constantly she watched for any sign of improvement in him or of confirmation that he was giving in. Instead it felt like everything was getting worse, that he was getting worse, that Ron was getting worse. When she glanced up at Ron, she saw that he was crying, sitting hunched in the chair.
Hermione was so taken by surprise that she just sat there with her mouth open, unsure what to do or say. He’d been so calm while she’d been falling apart all over the place, so in control last night with Harry while she’d lost her head completely. She’d come to rely on his strength, though she knew he was struggling recently. He wiped furiously at his face with his newly healed hands, his ears going red with anger or embarrassment.
“I’m so tired of sitting around here watching him die!” he said suddenly. “I’m tired of being useless, of being so fucking afraid all the time.”
Hermione let out a little cry of surprise at the fierce anger in his voice.
“I used to be so jealous of him, Hermione,” he admitted more quietly. “I wished I could be him, you know? The Boy Who Lived. I wanted to be the one who was famous, the one everyone talked about. But I couldn’t have done the things he did in that dungeon. Couldn’t have endured what he did. The Cruciatus…” He hesitated, shaking with remembered pain. “It was awful…and I feel like shit because I wouldn’t have been able to handle what they did to him. I feel like shit because I couldn’t stop it from happening to him.”
His voice was building, his words spilling out of him faster and faster. “But I’m angry at him, too, because I couldn’t stop what he did to you, angry that he didn’t get us out of there sooner if he’d had all that power… Why did he have to wait so long?” he cried, his voice cracking, fighting the tears that were rolling down his face quicker than his hands could wipe them away.
“No, Ron, no!” she wailed. “Harry couldn’t control it. It was accidental magic, you know that.” She was crying now, too.
“I know—”
“And he was protecting me from Greyback, Ron. Gr… Greyback would have… he would have…” She was shuddering all over at the image of him touching her now, fighting the memory of what had happened there, of the terror she’d felt then.
“I KNOW,” he bellowed, and he actually grabbed handfuls of his own hair in his fists. “I was so terrified they would come for me, or you, and I…I was relieved when they took him every day.” Ron was crying again in shame, letting the tears stream unchecked down his face as his confession was being wrenched from him.
“I was so afraid they would do to me what they did to him. I couldn’t do anything to stop it!   And no one from the Order came for us,” he sobbed, heartbroken with grief.
She came around the bed then, finally able to move again from the stunned paralysis she’d found herself in since she’d first seen him crying.
“So Harry was the one who had to get us out of there, and here we are, but I still can’t do anything. I couldn’t stop them hurting him. I couldn’t stop him hurting himself. I can’t stop the Dark Lord ripping through his mind. I can’t stop the infection ripping through his body. I’m just helpless again, like I was then in that fucking dungeon, just watching what’s happening, watching him die. Not able to do a damn thing!” he said savagely.
Hermione was on her knees now in front of him, her hands on his thighs, devastated at the agony in his voice.
“When I left…when I left that night in the tent,” he continued more quietly, his head in his hands, unable to look at her, “I knew immediately I’d fucked up, Hermione. Knew I wanted to come back, that I’d made a huge mistake. But then I couldn’t find you, and when I did, I didn’t know if either of you could ever forgive me.”
She was shaking her head in denial of his words, her heart shattering for him.
“I told myself that I’d never walk away from him again, Hermione, not from either of you. Even now, even though a part of me hates him for what he did to you, wants to kick him in the balls for hurting you, I won’t abandon him again, no matter what.”
“You mustn’t blame him, Ron. They made him…what Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters forced him to do…it wasn’t Harry’s fault—”
“Now my whole damn family’s in hiding, just like me, and you, and Harry,” he continued, cutting her off. “But I’m done sitting around waiting, useless. I’m done being afraid,” He wiped his eyes again and sniffed, a blazing look coming into them as he stared into hers.
“I’m in love with you, Hermione,” he confessed suddenly. “I have been forever, but I’ve been afraid to tell you. Afraid you wouldn’t want me, didn’t love me back. But even if you don’t…I had to tell you,” he blurted out. “In case there isn’t another chance.” He seemed terrified, shocked at his own startling admission.
“I’m so sorry for what happened,” he apologized, laying his hands over hers as she sat on her heels in front of him, staring up at him with her mouth open in stunned amazement. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it… couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I’m not Harry,” he whispered, staring at his lap again.
Without realizing she’d done it, she’d gotten to her knees again, slid her hands from his, onto his face, and pulled him to her. Sliding between his parted knees, her lips were suddenly on his, breaking off whatever other nonsense he’d planned to say. It took him by surprise, and he sat frozen in disbelief for a moment, but then he reacted. Plunging his hands into her hair, he pulled her into him, kissing her back. Then they broke apart, both of them looking dazed.
“I love you, too, Ron,” she admitted breathlessly. “It’s always been you.”
They were crying again, kissing through tears and mumbled apologies, clinging to each other. He kissed her eyes, her lips, her neck, and then it grew into something more. Comfort turned to passion, their lips parted, tongues dancing together while they gripped each other still more firmly. She was nearly in his lap now, both of them breathing hard. She felt dizzy, her desire for him powerful, overwhelmed at the depth of her emotions, for how much she wanted to be with him. She’d waited for so long, believing he might never come to her, but here he was, and he said he loved her.
Standing up, she pulled him to his feet and walked slowly backwards towards the bed, pulling him by the hand, her eyes on him. She didn’t know where her boldness was coming from. Both of them were red eyed, puffy faced, their noses running from all the crying. Hermione knew she must look a crazed mess, but she didn’t care. This was Ron, and he’d seen her in every possible state there was. She wasn’t about to start worrying about it now. Then the back of her legs hit the bed, and she sat, pulling him to her as she lay back against the pillows.
His eyes searched hers as he leaned over her, his knee on the bed, a hand beside her head, braced above her. She was grateful that she’d enlarged the bed as Madame Pomfrey had suggested earlier because there definitely wasn’t going to room for the three of them tonight.
Pulling his wand from his jeans pocket, Ron locked the door with a flick of his wrist and a muttered spell, and then followed with an Imperturbable charm and a Muffliato spell before placing it on the side table. Then he looked down at her again, staring at her, waiting for her permission. A thrill of both fear and desire flooded her, but she wasn’t afraid of Ron. She trusted him completely.
Her heart was pounding when he slowly slid a hand to her waist, hooking her shirt with his thumb and dragging it upwards to expose her belly. His eyes were still on hers, waiting for her to stop him, to tell him it was too soon, that she wasn’t ready. When she didn’t, he laid his hand flat on her stomach, just above the waistband of her jeans. Sliding it slowly up, under the thin fabric of her shirt, he stroked her ribs tentatively with the pad of his thumb along the edge of her bra as he leaned down to her.
His eyes were huge, black with desire. Hermione could see herself reflected in them, could count every one of his copper eyelashes, damp from crying. As he drew nearer, her breath hitched in her chest.
“I’m scared,” he whispered against her lips.
Hermione smiled for the second time that day, smiling at the honesty in his voice, at the vulnerability. Feeling his body trembling, she marveled at how innocent they both still were even after all they’d been through. It made her want to start crying once again.
“Me, too,” she whispered back, sliding her hands around his neck, into his hair, pulling him down onto her as their lips came together again.
They made love, slowly, clumsily, exploring each other’s bodies awkwardly withtheir best friend lying unconscious on the bed next to them, their movements making him more restless. She held Harry’s hand, stroking it with her thumb in rhythm with the tempo of their lovemaking, keeping him calm. His fevered body was so close to theirs that they were both sweating from the heat coming off him while they tried not to jostle him too much.
They had moments where they sniggered occasionally at the absurdity of the scene, and they were passionate at other times, but it was perfect the whole time, exactly what it should have been. It didn’t feel weird for Harry to be here with them. She didn’t feel embarrassed that she had no idea what she was doing. It felt right to be here with Ron like this, in this place, at this moment.
But it wasn’t the way any of the witch romance novels made it out to be, though she’d never admit to having read the dog-eared copies Lavander and Parvarti always had laying around the dorm they all shared.   For one thing, they were still sniffling, their noses running, which was just about the most unromantic sound there was, she’d decided. Poor Ron appeared terrified through most of it, too. Worried that he was hurting her, he almost stopped altogether when she’d had a moment of panic and let out a whimper of fear when he was pressed against her entrance.
He whispered horror-filled apologies in her ear while she calmed down, and then calmed him down. And while she wasn’t a virgin anymore, it was still a bit painful when he finally filled her, though it became less so once she’d adjusted around him. Still her body never achieved the ecstasy of orgasm like those she’d read about. At times, however, the sensation was extremely pleasant.
The same couldn’t be said for Ron. Once they’d started to move, he began making the most delicious sounds, little gasps and muffled moans into her ear as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, sucking on her pulse point which sent chills down her spine. He was praising her between stifled moans every time he sank into her, growling deep in his throat when she wrapped her legs around his waist, and she thrilled in the knowledge that she was causing this reaction in him.
When he was close, he bent his head to her, pressing his forehead into her shoulder, and keening in pleasure. It was a long, drawn out, desperate sound that made her shiver all over, causing her to arch up into him, to raise her breasts to him. Then he flicked the nipple of the nearest one with the tip of his tongue. Hermione let out a moan of surprise, clutching his back and Harry’s hand, lifting herself even closer to Ron so that he took her into his mouth. Then he slid his hand down the side of her body, over her hip, cupping her bottom and trapping her thigh with his arm. She felt goose bumps forming on his back and shoulders, and then he latched onto her nipple, sucking hard when he came, causing her to cry out in pleasure while he held her tightly to him, groaning as all the muscles in his arms tensed and his body convulsed.
It was sexiest thing she’d ever seen, and they were both left panting from the experience. He was still suckling her, but more gently now, laving the swollen nipple with his tongue as his body relaxed, their heart rates slowed back down, and their breathing returned to normal.

Hermione woke very early the next morning, right before dawn. The room was barely lit, gray in the morning light, and she found herself sandwiched between Ron’s naked body spooned behind her and Harry’s nearly naked body in front of her. Her leg was thrown over Harry’s, her hand curled around his upper arm, the one that was so heavily bandaged. Ron’s arm was around her waist, his hand cupping her breast, his face nuzzled in her hair, and his warm breath blowing on her neck.
She actually snorted then, feeling a bit hysterical at the expression she imagined on Madame Pomfrey’s face if she were to come into the bedroom this morning, but she sobered up quickly when she remembered that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might be arriving today, too. In fact, they might all be standing outside the door right now, waiting for them to unlock it. So she struggled to extricate herself from between the two boys without disturbing either of them, but found it a nearly impossible job. Finally, she rolled over to face Ron, feeling embarrassed now in the morning light.
“Ron,” she called to him quietly.
His eyes fluttered open.
“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily. “What’s the matter with him now?”
“Nothing,” she said, smiling again. “Well, actually, I don’t really know yet. But we need to get dressed before anyone gets here.”
He came fully awake then instantly, his head whipping around to stare at the door. Then he turned back to face her. Realizing where they were, what they’d done last night, and that she was pressed against him, both of them naked, he went red all over.
“Hi,” he greeted her shyly.
She felt herself going red then, too.
“Hi.”
He leaned in and kissed her, no more than a light peck really, a good morning kiss, and then he smiled, too. It was a sight Hermione hadn’t seen in a long time.
“We need to get up before Madame Pomfrey or Lupin arrive, or worse, your mother,” she warned him, grinning again when all the color drained from his face.
“Right,” he agreed, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, his back to her now.
She stared at him, admiring the muscles in his back flexing when he reached for his trousers, at the curve of his spine, the breadth of his freckled shoulders as he forced his feet into the leg holes of his jeans. Then he pulled them on over his hips in one smooth move as he jumped to his feet.
Walking around to Harry while he did up the fly, he laid his hands against Harry’s face and neck as she had done the previous morning, checking his temperature while she continued to watch him.
“Still fevered,” he announced, coming back around to her side of the bed and picking up his wand. “I’ll take the downstairs bathroom then, okay?”
She nodded as he removed the charms from the door and turned to her, smiling again before stepping into the hall and pulling the door behind him.
When his footfalls faded, she grabbed a pillow and pulled it over her face, utterly mortified again. Feeling ridiculous at how childish and immature she felt at this moment, for how much she wanted to smile and keep smiling at her newfound happiness. She pressed the pillow into her face, muffling the sound as she yelled into it. Then she threw it onto the floor and turned to face Harry.
“You need to wake up now, Harry,” she told him, propping her head on her hand. “Something’s happened, and I need my best friend right now to talk to.”
She actually laughed then at the look of horror she imagined on Harry’s face if she actually did try to talk to him about having sex with Ron, but she stopped quickly as she watched him. Seeing him struggling so hard to hang on, fighting against the whole world it seemed, the smile slid from her lips. She continued to lay there propped up on her side, watching him, listening to his rattling breath, coming back to the reality of their situation.
Leaning in then, she kissed him lightly on the lips, the same good morning kiss Ron had just given her. Then she slid from the bed and made her way to the bathroom.

Madame Pomfrey arrived after they had both gotten their showers that morning and had already had breakfast downstairs in the kitchen. Dobby served them more food than either of them could possibly eat, but Lupin wasn’t with her today. It was apparently too close to the full moon for him, the healer explained. Hermione hadn’t realized how long they had actually been here already.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived before Madame Pomfrey had finished examining Harry, so Molly fretted over them instead. It was clear that she was put out with the idea that Dobby was taking care of them instead of her, and that he’d done such a competent job with breakfast that morning.
When Madame Pomfrey had returned to the drawing room and given the go-ahead, Mrs. Weasley hurried upstairs to see Harry. Mr. Weasley followed, but returned to the drawing room long before his wife. Sitting across from them as they sat together on the couch, he talked quietly with them while they sipped tea that Dobby had served.
Arthur peppered them with questions about what they’d been up to this last year as he obviously knew they had broken into the ministry last fall. But they couldn’t tell him why they’d gone there, though they did tell him how they’d managed it. They couldn’t tell him what they’d been doing since then either, though they did dispel a lot of preposterous rumors he’d heard. They couldn’t tell him what they were doing when they were captured, and then they didn’t want to tell him what happened after they were captured. So the conversation turned to what was happening in the wizarding world during their absence from it, catching up on the events of the world and discussing Snape again and his role, if there was one, in their escape, as he hadn’t been seen by anyone since he fled Hogwarts.
Molly joined them again finally, her face red from crying, and they stayed another hour before finally departing. Mrs. Weasley had every intention of staying permanently until Ron insisted that they were all fine and well cared for by Dobby and Madame Pomfrey, promising to let them know as soon as Harry was awake. So she cried some more as she kissed him on the cheek, hugged Hermione, and reluctantly allowed her husband to steer her towards the door.
It wasn’t until the following day that Harry’s fever finally broke, and another day still before he showed any real signs of waking. They seemed to have settled into a routine of sorts, sharing the bed with Harry at night, sharing their days with Dobby and Madame Pomfrey and Ron’s parents, sharing quiet moments with each other when they could.
But when Harry finally decided to come back to them, it was just the three of them again in Sirius’ room. Hermione was in the chair, curled up, a book on her lap. Ron was sitting propped up on the bed, his legs straight out in front of him, and Harry was lying with his head in Ron’s lap. His arm was thrown over Ron’s legs, and he was shaking from a terrible nightmare while Ron stroked his sweaty hair back from his forehead and neck.
Slowly opening his eyes, Harry blinked in bewilderment for long moments before glancing around the room. Then his eyes found hers, those beautiful green orbs focusing on her, and they appeared to glow, the color more intense than she remembered. Maybe because they seemed so much larger on his face without his glasses, maybe because she hadn’t seen them for so long, but she could see all his emotions cycling through them at seeing her: first confusion, then fear, then sadness and grief.
She smiled at him as he continued to stare at her for a long time. Then finally, he looked up at Ron.
“I need you to get better now, Harry,” Ron told him. “So I can kick your arse, you fuck.”
“Ron!” she admonished, though there was no true malice in his voice.
Still, she didn’t think poor Harry needed to be threatened the moment he regained consciousness, but it was Ron, after all. She supposed she ought to be grateful that he hadn’t greeted Harry by thumping him on the top of the head.
Harry stared up at Ron, blinking hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow his emotions. Then tears welled in his eyes, slipping down the sides of his face, and into his hair. Crying silently, he slowly nodded his head.
“Hush now,” she soothed, tears dripping from her eyes now, too, as Ron stroked his hair reassuringly. “Hush now, Harry. It’s going to be all right.”
For the first time since their capture, she thought it might be.

~ . ~

Alright, there it is. The next one will be Harry's POV again finally. Hope you liked it.  Tell me what you think.
G.
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What it comes down to

Chapter 11. While You Were Sleeping