Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 35
- 36
- 37
Chapter 36. Negotiations

Dudley had kept a stash of pornographic magazines stuffed in the bottom of his wardrobe. Harry had found them once when the rest of the family had gone out and he’d been left home alone on Privet Drive. It had been the summer between his fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts, perhaps his most difficult summer holiday, at least up to that point in his life. He’d been almost fifteen.
After first being threatened with the usual bodily harm by his uncle if he touched any of the Dursley’s things while they were out, Harry found himself alone in the house for the first time all holiday. Left to his own devices, feeling restless and defiant after Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s return without a single scrap of news from any of his friends, he’d promptly ignored the warnings and had gone looking for trouble, or at least something to take his mind off things. Flipping the channels on the telly for a while, he’d watched the news (which had absolutely no information about what Voldemort was up to), gotten bored and decided to have a go on Dudley’s computer or the gaming console.
His cousin’s bedroom had reeked of flowery air freshener, stale cigarette smoke, and dirty socks when Harry nervously entered it, but he ignored the smell in his quest to explore things forbidden to him. It wasn’t long, however, before Harry lost interest in those electronic things, as well, and started rummaging through his cousin’s side table and wardrobe. For what, he didn’t know, but that’s when he’d finally found something to hold his interest: a crumpled pack of fags and Dudley’s stash of wanking fodder.
Enthralled then, his boredom a memory, Harry lost track of time and almost got caught when he hadn’t heard his relative’s car pull up in the drive. Startled by the slamming of the car door, Harry quickly pocketed the cigarette stub and hastily stuffed the magazines back where he’d found them before dashing back to his room, heart hammering, and dove for his bed.
That was the only time he’d ever seen those images. He’d never gone looking for them again, but he remembered them vividly. Women frozen in poses, legs spread or bent over with their bare arses in the air. And tits, lots and lots of tits in all different sizes and shapes, some with large dark areolas, other with small pink ones. In some of the photographs, they fondled their breasts or pulled on their distended nipples. In others, their fingers with long painted nails spread their labia, exposing their pink, glistening opening for the camera.
The pictures didn’t move, of course, and Harry wondered then if there were any wizarding magazines like that which did, but he doubted it, perhaps in private collections, but surely none that were available for public consumption. Harry had never seen one, but he knew there were muggle videos you could watch, though, because there were advertisements for them in Dudley’s magazine.
He’d wanked to those images almost every night until after the Dementor attack, when he’d finally been smuggled to Order Headquarters and began sharing a room again with Ron. The pictures he’d seen on those glossy pages had been perfectly preserved in his memory, but they were nothing compared to the real thing. Seeing two people in person right next to you, above you where you could hear every breathy moan, see every caress, smell their arousal as they engaged in foreplay was mind boggling. To be able to touch them with your own hands, to join in if you were bold enough was a temptation that burned in his gut and pounded in his veins.
But he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t want to be doing this.
Harry was exhausted, his body scrubbed clean, his hunger satiated, and the massage Hermione had given him seemed to have liquefied all his muscles. He was mourning Dobby, and teeming with anxiety and uncertainty about his decision not to act this morning on the vision of Voldemort. The mental and physical fatigue left him nearly listless, his mind and body both numb, and yet he was completely aroused at the same time.
Why was it that his heart could be bursting with grief, his conscience filled with regret and his brain burdened by doubt, and yet his body still wanted a sexual release? How was it that he could have just buried one friend and still want to bury himself inside another? What kind of person did that?
Harry could hardly loathe himself more. The self-disgust churned inside him, gnawing at his insides, but it still wasn’t strong enough to override the desire. Longing for comfort and relief, he was desperate for the warmth of Ron and Hermione’s bodies again tonight. He hungered for the taste of their mouths, the feel of their hands, the smell of their skin, and the sound of their voices as they whispered encouragement or moaned in pleasure.
There was still fear and shame in being with them like this, but he was powerless to resist it. He felt raw, unable to insulate himself against his yearning for them, helpless to fight his own carnal needs. He’d tried to discourage their advances, to suppress his body’s fervent response. He just couldn’t. They permeated all his senses, bombarded his weakened defenses, and overwhelmed his guilt riddled conscience.
He’d hoped that once his initial thirst for them had been quenched, he would be able to pull back once more, to regain his balance and stop poisoning their friendship, but it only seemed to have made his appetite for them stronger. The fat moon that hung in the sky was still pulling on him powerfully, causing his skin to prickle and burn. The blood surging in him hummed in his veins leaving him jittery and nervous, but the complete lassitude of his muscles made him feel as if he’d taken another calming draught. Curbing the frenzy building inside him, it gave him the appearance of being outwardly relaxed despite the chaos of his thoughts and emotions.
The sensation made him feel as if his body had been bound securely and thrown into rapid waters. Caught up in its strong current, Harry was being borne swiftly along its twisting and curving route to a destination he both feared and craved.
The river that carried him, Harry was sure, ended in falls, and he knew he would soon be swept over them to meet his end on the rocks below. It was just a matter of time. His desire for Ron and Hermione was that current, and his own state of lethargy, his willing acceptance of that fate prevented him putting up any resistance to fight against it. Unable to break free, Harry simply rolled with it, quiescent.
He’d resolved himself to it the best he could, but he would not be unaccompanied. Ron and Hermione were with him, had always been, and would always be. He could not save them no matter how hard he’d tried. Harry couldn’t fling them from him to safety, and his heart broke at their fate. They were the bindings holding him immobile, Ron and Hermione, their bodies wrapped tightly around his, clinging to him which prevented him struggling against the tug of the current. It was far too late to save himself, perhaps it had always been, from the moment Trelawney uttered the prophecy and Snape revealed it to his Master. He’d thought he could spare Ron and Hermione from it at least, but he was wrong. He’d tried though. God knows he’d tried his best.
We’re not Fluffy, he told himself again, but it was a lie. Ron and Hermione were absorbing him into them, wholly and completely. They were all fusing together, now more than ever, his fate becoming theirs, and trying to break from them would be worse than dying. But they already were dying. That was the inescapable truth of it. They had so little time left. Harry knew it in his heart and in his mind. So little time and so much regret, he thought as he stared up at them.
God, they were beautiful together, both of them nearly naked and kneeling above him. Straddling him in that erotic pose, they touched each other in full view of Harry’s avid gaze. Hermione’s eyes were closed, her neck exposed to Ron’s hungry mouth while Ron’s strong arms encircled her. Holding her to him, Ron hands cupped her breasts, and he began kneading the flesh as she rubbed against him. They moved together, not hesitantly, but almost instinctively and with practiced knowledge, each aware of how and where to touch the other. Marveling at the exquisite scene before him, Harry was fascinated and more than a little intimidated.
Balls aching and cock throbbing, Harry’s hand twitched with the desire to rub himself for some relief, but he didn’t want to tend to that, or have either of them stop enjoying each other to tend to him. Instead, he wished he were invisible, under the cloak and watching undetected so that he could simply observe them, denying himself as long as possible until it was painful, until the need to touch himself was overwhelming and he succumbed. And that was wrong, too, another kink he didn’t know he possessed, until now.
Like a voyeur, he wanted them totally unaware of his presence. If they didn’t know there was an audience, they would be freer to indulge in each other and not feel that they had to include him. They would be less self-conscious so he would finally be able to see what they did when they were alone together. He would listen as they spoke intimate things to each other, watch as they made love, and he would know at last if it matched the images he’d conjured of them in his fantasies.
Somehow, simply wanting to see, but not be seen, felt so much more wicked and kinky than actually participating. This was meant to be private, and that element of secrecy, the fantasy of observing undetected was more erotic, the tingle of fear of being caught more exhilarating, and the denial of his own satisfaction, the self-punishment, even more arousing.
Christ, he was fucked up! As if he needed any more proof of his depravity, but there it was.
One of Ron’s hands still cupped Hermione’s firm breast, rolling a hardened nipple between his fingers while he ran his other down her taut stomach, his questing fingers slipping under the fabric of her cotton panties to stroke her. Hermione whimpered and threw her arm up to grip Ron’s head, rubbing her bum against him wantonly. Harry could smell her arousal and his mouth watered; the aching in his loins growing more intense. Swallowing hard, he tentatively slid his shaking hands up her thighs to keep from wrapping them around himself. He stroked her softly with his thumbs, and she moaned in pleasure. The look on her face, wholly uninhibited in this moment as she arched into Ron’s hand, made Harry’s whole body burn with desire for her. He had to squeeze his eyes closed a moment and hold his breath to regain control of himself before he came at the sight alone.
“Can I watch you two together?” Harry asked.
The words were out of him mouth before he even realized it, unaware for a moment that he’d actually spoken them out loud until Hermione’s eyes popped open in surprise. Then he went red, of course, his hands now motionless on her thighs.
“I’ve been picturing it for weeks. Trying to put images to the sounds I heard in the darkness when I was drugged up and hallucinating,” he explained, feeling less mortified at his request when they didn’t look immediately appalled by it. “I want to see it.”
Ron groaned, and Harry felt it again in the tightening of his balls. Breathing deeply, he met Ron’s eyes.
“Show me,” he whispered.
Ron gave him a slow, seductive smile.
“Tell me what you want, Harry,” he replied in a low voice, heavy with his own desire.
That same thrill at his quiet words sent an electric current to Harry’s cock, making him shiver and then go hot all over again. Harry licked his lips in anticipation, feeling breathless. He was being offered free reign to have his fantasies acted out in front of him; whatever he wanted to see Ron and Hermione do with each other.
Remembering vividly the feel of Ron’s lips and tongue on him this morning as Ron pressed him into the tub wall and worked his way down Harry’s slick body, a response began to form in his mind. He recalled the heat of that mouth around him as Ron’s hands pinned him by the hips, the warm wet suction until Harry’s legs shook, and the relentless pull on his cock while Ron swallowed him over and over until the sensation finally brought him to orgasm. He had to fight back a moan and the overwhelming desire to stroke himself as he shivered again at the memory.
“I…I want to see your mouth on her,” he answered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep deeper into his face at his bold request.
Harry was developing a fixation on Ron’s mouth. He’d already seen those lips on him again tonight, and he wanted to see more.
“Damn, Harry,” Ron said, grinning wickedly as Hermione whimpered, and Harry’s heart fluttered erratically in his chest.
“Lay back, Hermione,” Ron coaxed, releasing her and scooting backwards on the bed.
Before she complied, however, Hermione leaned over Harry with her hands planted on the bed beside his shoulders and kissed him. It was brief, but full of heat. Her small, wet tongue immediately filled his mouth, and his hands, which were still gripping her thighs, tightened as more electric currents shot through him. Then she kissed his chest, her hair spilling onto him as she licked each of his nipples in turn and set them on fire, making him moan and break out in goose bumps. Leaning even farther down, her back arching, she moved to his stomach. Harry held his breath, tensing in expectation as a ringing began in his ears. Ron stroked her spine and over her bum, which was lifted up to him when her lips brushed across the hair on Harry’s stomach and her warm breath blew across the head of his swollen cock.
Without warning, he reacted. His hand shot from her thigh to quickly cover his erection, his body going instantly rigid under her. The image of her pleasuring him with her mouth while he lay in this position, trapped under her, suddenly brought back terrible memories of another who had done that to him in the same way. He panicked, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he was with.
“No!” he gasped.
She immediately froze. Then she slowly sat back up, searching his face, and he saw that she was Hermione, once again, with her hair of chestnut curls and her golden brown eyes full of wary concern.
“You okay?” Ron asked cautiously.
His expression mirrored Hermione’s as he stared down at Harry.
“I’m sorry. I just…I thought for a minute,” he stammered, his heart still slamming against his ribcage, adrenaline rushing through his veins. “I got confused …but I’m all right now.”
Stop fucking everything up all the time, you stupid git! Harry berated himself, trying to get his mind and body back under control again as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, her voice and eyes still full of uncertainty.
“Yeah…yeah, I think so.”
The fear was receding finally, taking the ominous tingling in his limbs with it.
“Maybe I should sit up, though.”
“Come on, then,” Ron encouraged, pulling Hermione off him and freeing Harry so he could.
Harry let out the breath he was holding, his anxiety lessening when she went willingly.
Hermione lay down beside him on her back, her eyes still on him as with shaking hands, Harry wrapped the towel back around himself hurriedly and sat up. Reaching for his glasses, he took several deep, calming breaths.
“I’m good. It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry reassured her, hoping to salvage the disaster he was making of things. “It isn’t you. I just wasn’t ready, and in that position…it just scared me is all.”
Reaching down, Harry slipped his hand into hers like she had with him that night in the darkness, and Hermione nodded sadly up at him, still doubtful.
“Will you show me what feels good to you, Hermione?” he asked in a whisper. “I’d still really like to see what makes your toes curl.”
That did the trick. Her expression softened, and smiling up at him, she pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it before answering.
“Only if you show me what feels good to you.”
Not taking his eyes off her face, Harry nodded. Hermione nodded back and nervously licked her lips. Then her eyes began to grow dark once more with arousal when Ron slowly pulled off her knickers and slid her legs apart. Hermione was already panting in anticipation or nervousness at having Harry watch them. Harry stroked her hand reassuringly, starting to feel his own pulse quicken, but with excitement again instead of fear.
Wanting to see her expression when Ron touched her with his mouth, but also wanting to see Ron’s mouth on her, too, Harry’s eyes darted between them both. Finally, he decided to watch Hermione first as Ron settled himself between her thighs.
The moment Ron’s lips were on her, she opened her mouth in a perfect O, and her eyes fluttered closed. Sucking in a breath, she squeezed Harry’s hand. Ron started slow, taking his time and teasing her with his tongue while she sighed, relaxing against the sheets. Then he used his fingers to open her to him and plunged his tongue into her before flicking near the top. Each time he did, Hermione’s legs gave a slight jerk as if Ron’s tongue was electrified, sending a strong current through her when he made contact. Then, when she was writhing under him and whimpering in frustration, he slid one and then two fingers into her while continuing to work his mouth over her more firmly. Circling his tongue, sucking, Ron pumped his fingers into her while Hermione moaned and Harry watched.
Bellatrix couldn’t rub herself against his tongue the way she wanted that night, and she couldn’t release him from the body bind either. Harry would have chewed her up, and she knew it. She’d already tried the Imperius curse, too, so she was out of luck for this kind of oral stimulation from him. It was one lesson she couldn’t really teach him, though not from lack of trying. Harry didn’t know why he could think on it without panicking again and without the terrible memories filling him once more with fear, but he was grateful.
“Damn,” Harry breathed when Hermione bit her lip and started rocking her hips to meet Ron’s fingers, squeezing Harry’s hand rhythmically.
She was making those same noises that had been tormenting him for weeks, the soundtrack to his fantasies and his nightmares.
“What does it feel like, Hermione?” he asked her curiously, but she only clutched at him harder, throwing back her head and arching her back, pinning Ron’s head between her legs with her thighs while Ron groaned into her.
Looking down at her, Harry’s eyes traveled over Hermione’s body spread out under Ron. Her skin was flushed with excitement, and her nipples seemed to harden under his stare. He watched in wonder as they tightened into peaks. Harry wanted to touch them, to taste them, but he was afraid and still a little reluctant. His eyes met hers again, and she nodded encouragingly.
“You are so beautiful, Hermione,” he whispered.
Tentatively, he reached out his hand, sliding his palm over her breast, and she sighed in contentment. Ron seemed to slow down, matching Harry’s leisurely exploration of Hermione, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry either.
Kneading her flesh, Harry rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, traced her ribs with the tips of his fingers and then down to her belly button while she undulated underneath the combination of his hands and Ron’s mouth.
Her body was so much different than Bellatrix’s, softer, less muscular, her tits smaller but more firm, her waist narrower and hips not flaring as wide. Harry hated that he couldn’t stop comparing them, hated that Bellatrix’s body was the only frame of reference with which he had to judge. Then he suddenly wondered if Hermione weighed him against Ron with the same results: less muscular, thinner, and much more scarred, but much less freckled. He felt self-conscious then, so he tried to focus his attention back onto Hermione and on what Ron was doing to her while Harry’s hands continued to roam over her.
Hermione’s breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps now, burning with the slow tease as she writhed on the bed.
“You’re so close aren’t you, Hermione?” he asked on a whisper.
Both Hermione and Ron moaned.
“You should see her face, Ron. She’s absolutely gorgeous. I can see it coming over her.”
As if his words had brought her to her climax, Hermione let out a strangled cry, squeezing her eyes shut and biting down on her lower lip. Arching up off the bed, she gripped his hand tightly as she came, riding the wave of ecstasy coursing through her.
“Beautiful,” he whispered again, circling one of the pebbled nipples she had lifted up to him with his middle finger.
“Holy, Jesus!” Ron growled, lifting his head from Hermione’s damp curls.
“What?” Harry asked perplexed.
“I almost came myself from your damn commentary!” he said accusingly as he pulled Hermione’s legs down swiftly and crawled up her.
Straddling her waist as he gripped Harry one handed by the back of the head, Ron suddenly yanked Harry towards him and plunged his hot tongue into Harry’s mouth, sharing the taste of Hermione with him, making Harry moan now, too. His head spun with renewed desire at the explosions of flavors flooding his senses.
Releasing him just as suddenly then and crawling off Hermione, Ron stood and held out his hand, pulling Hermione up to stand next to him, giving Harry a fantastic view of her pert, heart-shaped arse. Then Ron kissed her, his hands roaming all over her as he pulled her into him to rub against her.
“Come here, luv,” he whispered, walking backwards and pulling her along with him.
Seating himself in the chair in the corner of the room, Ron turned Hermione so she faced Harry before helping her onto his lap. Then he locked his eyes on Harry, who was still sitting propped against the headboard, wide eyed and tingling all over with arousal.
“Take off that towel,” Ron ordered Harry as Hermione settled herself onto his lap and stared at Harry unblushingly.
Harry’s heart started to pound again, but he did as he was told. Pulling the towel from his waist with shaking hands, he dropped it on the bed next to him.
“Good,” Ron praised him as Harry reclined back against the headboard once more, feeling somewhat embarrassed again with his entire body on display. “Now, touch yourself.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the command, and more heat gathered in his cheeks.
“What?”
“I’m going to give you some new wanking fodder.” Ron told him as he spread Hermione’s legs so that Harry could see Ron position himself at her entrance.
“Oh, God!” Harry moaned, his mouth opening in shock at the sight of Ron slowly penetrating Hermione.
When he was fully seated inside Hermione, Ron nodded at him in a ‘get going’ sort of way, and at the non-verbal command, Harry wrapped his hand around himself at last.
“This is soooo wrong,” he whimpered as Ron began moving slowly in and out of Hermione, running his hands over her breasts and between her legs while Harry stroked himself in front of them, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Faster,” Ron instructed.
Groaning, Harry complied. Then he tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut to block out the images because it was just too much. He was going to come too quickly if he didn’t stop watching them.
“Nope, eyes open, mate.”
Harry whined in protest, but lifted his head again to stare at the two of them, his eyes finding Hermione’s for a moment. She was watching him with the same hungry expression that he knew was on his own face. Then Ron, holding her legs spread wide, pulled back her folds, exposing her fully to Harry’s gaze, before sliding his middle finger over her dark pink center and rubbing in circles.
While Ron pumped into Hermione, Harry gripped himself harder, matched Ron’s tempo, and pumped into his fist. Losing himself to the erotic stimulus, he imagined that it was him in Ron’s place, and that the hand that he was thrusting into was really Hermione.
“Breathe,” Ron said warningly.
Harry immediately blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and shuddered.
“Ron,” Hermione moaned heavily, throwing her head back and gripping the chair arms.
At the sound of her pleasure, Harry came with a deep groan.
“Told you I could keep your mind off that bitch,” Ron told him in a self-satisfied way when Harry had stopped quaking. “Now, it’s your turn to try.”
While continuing to thrust slowly up into Hermione to hold off his own release, Ron held out his hand and motioned for Harry to join them.
Still panting, Harry groped for the towel with shaking hands and used it to clean himself up, then did as Ron had instructed. Sliding off the bed, he came to stand in front of the pair on trembling legs. Then without waiting for Ron’s direction, he sank to his knees.
Ron stopped thrusting into Hermione to scoot to the edge of the chair with her and then leaned back, pulling Hermione with him and angling them both up towards Harry.
Displaying a limberness Harry didn’t know she possessed, Hermione draped her thighs over the chair arms with Ron’s help. Then Ron slid his hands to her waist and began to move again, more quickly this time. Able to pull out farther with the chair arms supporting most of Hermione’s weight, Ron held her steady for Harry, who leaned down then without prompting to taste her for himself.
The noise she made when his tongue touched her made Harry almost instantly hard again. Ron moaned, too, as if he could feel Harry’s tongue against him, as well.
Gripping Hermione’s waist tightly, Ron moved faster. Hermione threw her head back again, grasping a handful of Harry’s hair. With the other hand, she fondled her own breast. Her mouth was open, and she was panting as Harry looked up at her.
He didn’t have to do much, which was good, since he really had no idea what he was doing, anyway. Luckily, his inexperience at this and lack of technique was not a hindrance to her pleasure as all he had to do was hold his mouth against her. The movement of their bodies as Ron and Hermione collided together faster and faster was enough to make her slide against his waiting tongue.
Hermione was growing louder, her cries more urgent. She was coming undone at the dual pleasure she was receiving. Reaching up, Harry cupped her neglected left breast and rubbed his thumb over her nipple while pressing his mouth and tongue against her more firmly and sucking hard as he’d seen Ron do earlier. Hermione gripped his hair tighter, and then keening loudly, came for the second time. Harry could feel the pulsing of her orgasm against his lips and tongue. An instant later, Ron came, too, with a growl.
When it was over and the two of them were left gasping for breath, Harry pulled back, sitting back on his knees as Hermione carded her hands through his hair while she relaxed her thighs and sank back onto Ron, who was still nestled inside her.
Then she pulled Harry to her so he was kneeling between their legs and leaning forward. Pressing him against her, Hermione kissed him hard, her small tongue seeking his hungrily. Behind her, Ron scooped her hair into a ponytail and then kissed her on the back of the neck while he caressed the side of Harry’s face.
Harry was hard again, but he didn’t care. He didn’t think Ron or Hermione was ready for more, and it would pass, eventually. He was wrong though, about Ron and Hermione.
When she released him, Harry kissed the tip of each of her breasts and then got to his feet, grateful to be off his knees. Ron groaned when Hermione pushed off him, stood up, and kissed Harry again. Then she went to her knees in front of him.
“No. I’m fine. You don’t have to—”
But she had already engulfed him, and his argument died on his lips when his stomach clenched and his hands fisted at the feel of her warm mouth around him. God, Almighty! They were trying to kill him.
Harry’s eyes rolled up in his head, and his legs began to shake. Then Ron stepped even closer, sliding a hand around his waist to help hold him up and trapping Hermione between them as he took her place at Harry’s mouth, eliminating any further protest Harry might have thought to make with the invasion of his tongue.
With Hermione swallowing him, and Ron’s hands caressing his chest and kneading his arse, Harry came again in short order, spilling into Hermione’s mouth as he moaned into Ron’s. He’d tried to take a step back, tried to pull away from Hermione when he could feel his climax approaching, but they both held him firmly.
“Think you’ll have any more trouble wanking in the shower now?” Ron asked, taking a step back and smiling at Harry, but still holding onto him to help keep him steady while Harry tried to catch his breath and blink the spots out of his vision, still clinging to Ron’s shoulder for support.
Harry shook his head, red faced again and weak with exhaustion, his heart still pounding.
“Not that I ever want you to wank again without me watching, you understand,” he added. “God damn, that was sexy!”
“I think you just get off at bossing me around. Don’t you?” Harry asked, feeling light headed as he helped Hermione up by the hand.
“Hell yes! I loved it,” Ron replied with an emphatic nod of his head. Then he grinned hugely.
Rolling his eyes, Harry, pulled Hermione into his embrace.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, nuzzling her hair. “What are you doing with a berk like that?”
Hermione giggled into his chest as he turned her away from Ron, and Ron let out an indignant, “Hey!”
Harry walked Hermione backwards, steering her towards the bed. Grabbing a handful of his arse, Hermione squeezed playfully as Ron growled behind them before following.
“Harry only likes me bossing him around, Ron. Don’t you, Harry?” she asked.
Harry snorted into her neck in reply.
“All right, I’ll keep letting you boss him around when our clothes are on, then, if you let me boss him around when they’re off,” Ron offered, pressing himself against Harry’s back and pulling Harry into him by the hips.
“Do I get a say at all in who gets to boss me around and when?” Harry asked, trying to sound affronted.
“NO,” they answered in unison.
Harry smiled, following Hermione down onto the bed. She took the middle this time, and Harry lay down next to her on the opposite side than he usually did while Ron crawled over them both.
“Goodnight, darling,” Hermione whispered, removing his glasses from his face as Ron spooned himself against her back and stared over her shoulder down at Harry.
“Night,” he mumbled back.
Then utterly exhausted, feeling replete, he curled up next to her and fell asleep.
Hermione woke him up in the middle of the night, and they made love next to a snoring Ron. Harry was less timid this time and actually managed to bring her to orgasm, which was a huge relief. Of course, it could have been that she was already primed before waking him, or that her body was still sensitive from her earlier release, so it may not have been based on anything he’d done particularly well. Afterwards they spoke in whispers, Hermione with her head on his chest, Harry stroking her back.
“I wish I still had my Firebolt and could go flying. I miss being in the air so much. I know you don’t know what I’m talking about, Hermione. You’ve never much liked flying, but it’s the only time I’ve ever felt completely free.”
“You look like a bird whey you fly, so graceful. It’s breathtaking to watch.”
“It’s the most wonderful feeling. Sometimes I just want to take off and leave all of this on the ground behind me, even if only for a little while,” he told her wistfully.
“Just don’t leave us behind,” she cautioned, kissing him on the neck and stroking his cheek.
“I wish I could actually. I wish I could keep you both safe and stop you from coming with me.”
“We’d never let you face this alone, Harry.”
“I know…and I also know that I can’t do it without you, but I wish that weren’t true.”
“Well, don’t think about it then, and just dream about flying instead. Close your eyes,” she whispered.
He did while she stroked his eyebrows with her thumb.
“Feel the wind in your face and the rush of the air in your ears. Feel it pull at your clothes as gravity tries to tug you back to earth while you defy it by outrunning it.”
“Are you trying to hypnotize me, Hermione?” Harry asked, his lips quirking as he opened one eye to peer at her.
“Shush,” she said, admonishingly, thumbing his eyelid closed again, but then she chuckled. “I don’t think there’s a soul in this world who could hypnotize you, Mr. I-can’t-be-Imperioused-Potter. I’m just trying to give you good things to dream about tonight.”
“M’kay,” he agreed sleepily.
But she was completely wrong about being hypnotized or Imperioused. She and Ron had him under their complete control, he thought as she pressed her lips to his. And that was all he remembered as he drifted back into sleep.
He woke in the morning with the growling of his stomach, tangled up in Hermione and fully rested. Her attempt to plant a dream in him hadn’t worked, though. He hadn’t dreamt of flying at all. In fact, his sleep was uninterrupted by any disturbing dreams or nightmares for the first time in many days.
They lay in bed a while after they all woke up before Hermione finally decided to get up and get a shower after watching, at her request, Ron and Harry rid themselves of their morning wood into each other’s mouths before heading downstairs.
They were much later getting to Bill’s this morning than yesterday. Hermione had cleaned Harry’s jacket while he and Ron got their showers. She met him at the door of the bathroom holding something out to him in her fingers. Several long, curly, black hairs were trapped between her fingers. Harry didn’t have to ask who they belonged to.
“Where did you get those?” he asked.
“Off your jacket. They were in the pocket. You must have yanked them loose yesterday.”
“So now we have her hair and wand, and Draco’s hair and wand, but still no key. Have you started the Polyjuice potion?”
“I…I didn’t get the potion ingredients I needed. I fled the shop before I could pay for them when I saw the spells flying in the alley out the window. And I don’t think I can go back for them now, either.”
“No, we can’t risk going back. They won’t soon forget us, I’m afraid. The Death Eaters are probably staking out the whole alley now in case we turn up again. So, that leaves us with just the one dose.”
“Yes,” she agreed heavily.
Hermione seemed disappointed, but Harry was actually a bit relieved. He was never keen on the idea of waiting around for a whole month before making an attempt on the bank, anyway. This limited their options and made things much more straight forward.
“Well, without more potion, or a key, it makes our persuasion of Griphook that much more important. If he still has access to Gringotts, we’ll need him more than ever.”
“But if the Death Eaters truly are watching Diagon Alley now, it’s going to make getting into the bank that much harder.”
“I know, but we have to get that Horcrux. It’s the only one we have a lead on right now.”
Before they left for Bill’s, Harry tore out the final page of his journal with the list of people’s names on it. But instead of crumbling it into a ball and throwing it away, he folded it tightly and placed it in his Mokeskin pouch where it joined his growing collection of broken promises and dreams: his mother’s letter, a dream of his shattered family, the mirror shard, a crushed hope of speaking to his Godfather again and seeing his face, his wand, with its splintered promise of protection, and the snitch and the vial of memories, a fractured trust.
That list had gnawed at him all day yesterday as he dug Dobby’s grave. The death of his friend had finally doused Harry’s desire for revenge. It no longer burned in his gut. The loss of such an innocent as a direct result of Harry’s blind lust for blood had finally made him let it go. What it had cost him just wasn’t worth it. The momentary satisfaction of exacting his revenge was in no way equal to the grief he felt at Dobby’s loss and would always carry with him.
The victory of Rowle’s death had been hollow. It didn’t fill the hole inside him. It didn’t repair the broken pieces of himself or return to him the things that were stolen. It only damaged him more.
Why was the price for him finally gaining that knowledge so high? Why did it have to hurt so bad to learn it?

Everyone was already up and finishing breakfast when they arrived at Shell Cottage, and when Harry inquired about the goblin, they learned that he was conscious, but still recovering in bed. Before Harry could even ask to speak with him, Bill pulled him aside.
“Look, Harry,” he began without preamble. “I know what you want with Griphook, but I have to warn you. Be very careful in your negotiations. Goblins are extremely crafty, and they’re not like humans. Their ways of thinking are very different from ours. Whatever deal you strike with him to gain his cooperation will be to his benefit, not yours. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Bill, but I can’t get into the bank without him.”
“And he’ll know that better than you, which gives him the upper hand.”
“Griphook is on our side. He’s been on the run with Dean for months—”
“He’s still a goblin, Harry. I doubt very much if he’s on anyone’s side. They care very little about Wizard’s wars. In fact, the more of us that are dead, the happier they’ll be. If he agrees to help you, he’ll want something in return. I can’t convince you to abandon this plan, but please heed my warning, all right? Tread carefully is all I’m saying.”
“Okay, Bill, I will. I promise.”
Bill sighed, looking as if he might decide to refuse to let Harry speak with Griphook at all, but in the end he capitulated and led Harry, Ron and Hermione to the room opposite Ollivander’s where the goblin was resting. He was sitting propped up on the bed, much like Ollivander had been the day before, staring out the window at the garden below when the three of them filed into the room.
“Griphook, I’m sorry to bother you,” Harry began. “I don’t know if you remember me, but you were the goblin—”
“That showed you to your vault the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” Griphook finished, turning his small, black eyes on Harry. “Yes, Harry Potter, I remember you. Even amongst my race, you are very famous.”
“Right, well…I was hoping to speak with you,” Harry tried again, feeling slightly wrong footed.
“You buried the elf,” the goblin interrupted once more, his tone aggressive, almost accusatory.
Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised by his rudeness and irritated by his callous comment about Dobby’s death.
“Yes, I did,” he replied, through gritted teeth.
“I watched from the window,” Griphook continued, oblivious to Harry’s annoyed tone as he pointed a long finger in the direction of the window. Then he went silent for a moment as if revisiting the memory before he spoke again. “You dug the grave.”
“He was my friend,” Harry explained curtly.
“You rescued me from the dungeons,” the goblin said next in that same aggressive tone.
Harry wasn’t sure what to make of him. Was he angry, or was that just the way goblins expressed dismay? Whatever it was, his manner was off-putting. It made Harry feel defensive.
“Hermione and Dobby did that, actually,” Harry corrected him, gesturing to Hermione who stood silently with Ron in the corner.
“You are an uncommon wizard, Harry Potter,” Griphook announced as if he hadn’t heard Harry’s words.
“You’re an uncommon goblin, Griphook, from what I understand. And an uncommon goblin is what I’m looking for,” Harry replied. “I need help with something, and I think only a goblin will be able to do it.”
“What help do you require from my kind?”
Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione before taking a deep breath to steel himself for the goblin’s reaction.
“I need help getting into one of the vaults at Gringotts.”
Griphook’s black eyes narrowed.
“I need something out of her vault. The one that did that to you,” Harry continued, pointing at the goblin’s battered face. “The Lestrange vault. I thought you might be willing to help us after what she did to you.”
“I am not a thief, Harry Potter!”
“Nor am I, Griphook! What we need from her vault doesn’t belong to her. It was taken from someone else, and we need to get it back.”
“You have no chance of succeeding.”
“If you help us we would,” Ron interjected.
“The vaults have been broken into before. The same day we met, Griphook.”
“The vault to which you refer was empty at the time, Mr. Potter. Its protection was minimal. You will not find the Lestrange vault to be in a similar state. It will be well protected.”
“Which is why we’re asking for your help,” Harry replied patiently.
“If it is the sword you seek, you will be most disappointed. It is a fake.”
Harry was taken aback. So it was Bellatrix’s vault into which Snape had placed the fake sword. And Snape must have known even then it was a replica, knew where the real one was hidden because it was he who had delivered it to Harry, presumably on Dumbledore’s orders, for Harry had to admit that there was no other explanation for Snape to have given it to them.
“It’s not the sword I want. I have the real sword.”
“You have the Sword of Gryffindor?” the goblin asked skeptically.
“Yes, Dumbledore left it to me in his will.”
“Show it to me! Let me see it,” Griphook demanded.
Harry hesitated, knowing he’d made a mistake admitting that they possessed the sword. He didn’t like the slightly greedy look in the goblin’s eyes or the way he barked the command, but what choice did he have? They needed his cooperation. Turning to Hermione then, Harry nodded, and she reached for her beaded bag, tucked in the waistband of her jeans. Ron made a sound somewhere between a grunt of disapproval and a threatening growl.
Pulling the sword from its depths, Hermione handed it to Harry, though the goblin had stretched out his hand for it. When his long fingers twitched impatiently, Harry reluctantly handed it over.
Griphook examined it for a long time before he spoke.
“This is the true sword. Forged centuries ago by Goblins and then stolen from them.”
“It belonged to Godric Gryffindor, and now to Harry,” Ron contradicted him irritably.
Griphook and Ron glared at each other. This was not going the way Harry had planned. Things were starting to fall apart before he’d even had a proper chance to gain the goblin’s trust and state his case.
“Listen, Griphook. We really need to get into that vault, and I would very much appreciate your help. I’d be grateful for any assistance at all you might we willing to give us.”
Griphook focused his intelligent black eyes back on Harry, studying him shrewdly while Harry tried to hold his gaze without fidgeting. The silence wore on between them until Harry began to feel as if they were in some sort of staring contest. Harry knew instinctively that there was only one rule: don’t be the first to look away. So he stared calmly back into Griphook’s battered face, intent on waiting him out.
Finally, the goblin spoke.
“I will consider your request,” he told Harry imperiously.
“For how long?” Harry asked.
“Come back tomorrow, and you will have your answer.”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow. I need to know now, Griphook. Will you help us?”
Griphook glared at him. Harry knew he was pushing his luck, but they were in a power struggle. The goblin was testing him, and Harry couldn’t fail.
“We’re planning to spend the day here so I’ll give you until this afternoon to think it over.”
With that he turned and strode back out of the room without giving Griphook a chance to counter.
“He’s a foul, little bullying git, isn’t he?” Ron spat in a forced whisper as he shut the door behind him.
“Ron!” Hermione admonished, shushing him and pulling him away from the door.
“What? I’m just saying, you think he’d be grateful after you saved his life and Bill and Fleur healed his injures and allowed him to stay in their home.”
“He’s not what I expected, I’ll admit,” Harry agreed. “But I need you to play nice with him, Ron. We need him.”
“Fine, I’ll play nice. But you’re Harry Fucking Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and all that. He should show a little respect.”
“Harry Fucking Potter? Jesus, Ron, really?” Harry snorted.
“Well, you are. Do you think he’d talk like that to You Know Who?”
“I’m not a Dark Lord, Ron. I’m just some seventeen-year-old kid who’s on the run, same as him. And if he knows my reputation, he’s right to be leery of associating with me. Those who do usually end up dead.”
They whiled away the afternoon, chatting with the occupants of Shell Cottage, trading stories with Dean and Luna about their time on the run or at Hogwarts this past year. Hermione and Luna helped Fleur with lunch, and Harry spent some time in the garden visiting Dobby’s grave before Bill came out to tell him that Griphook was asking for him.
Exerting his power over the proceedings, Griphook made them wait out his decision. Harry stood calmly, but beside him, Ron shifted irritably from foot to foot.
“I will help you, Harry Potter. But I want payment in return for my services.”
“How much? I have gold in my vault. If you get us in there, you can have whatever you want.”
“I don’t want gold. I have gold,” he replied dismissively.
“Then what?” Harry asked.
“I want the sword. The Sword of Gryffindor.”
“No bleeding way!” Ron shouted, outraged.
Harry put a restraining hand on Ron’s shoulder.
“I can’t give you that, Griphook. We need it.”
“Then we have no deal.”
FUCK! They couldn’t give him the sword, and they had nothing else of value to trade. Griphook was capitalizing on his mistake of mentioning the damn thing. Now what? Harry wracked his brain trying to come up with a suitable alternative, but it was Ron who made the next suggestion. Turns out, however, it was the wrong one.
“There’s got to be loads of valuable stuff inside the Lestrange vault. If you get us in there, you can take your pick of the lot.” Ron offered.
“I’ve told you. I’m not a thief, boy,” the goblin shot back angrily. “The price for my help is the sword. Take it or leave it.”
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, trying to read their thoughts. Ron was red faced and furious. Hermione looked tense and worried. Finally, Harry turned back to the goblin.
“I need to think about it, Griphook.”
He needed time to confer with them privately, to come up with a plan.
“What is there to think about? It’s yes or no, Harry Potter.”
“If I have to decide right now, then the answer is no, but give me some time to consider it, and I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”
With that, it was time, once again, for the staring contest, and for the second time, Harry won. The Goblin finally nodded curtly and dismissed them with an impatient wave of his hand. Harry took the hint and left the room.
Skipping the offer of dinner, they left Shell Cottage and headed back to Number Twelve almost immediately after leaving the goblin. They had a lot to discuss, privately.

~ . ~
- 35
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- 37
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What it comes down to

Chapter 36. Negotiations