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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
- 36
- 37
- 38
Chapter 37. Backsliding

Ron started cursing the minute their tongues uncurled from Moody’s curse when they arrived back at Grimmauld Place. He raged and stormed all the way up the stairs and into the drawing room, livid at Griphook’s demands and incensed by his superior behavior. It took Harry and Hermione several minutes before they could calm him down enough to discuss their options rationally. The problem was; they had no options.
“We can’t give him the sword!”
“He won’t agree to help us if we don’t.”
“Yes, but we need that sword to get rid of the Horcruxes. It’s the only thing we have to destroy them.”
“I know that, but we can’t get to the Horcrux unless we give him the sword!”
It went round and round like that for the better part of an hour before they finally talked themselves into silence, and still they had no solution. Mostly the debate was between Harry and Hermione. Ron offered very little in the way of an answer to their dilemma except to make some suggestions on where he’d like to put the sword when, and if, they handed it over to Griphook, which seemed more and more the likely outcome as they had absolutely nothing else to offer the goblin in trade. Now the trick was working out how to agree to give Griphook the sword without really doing so until after all the Horcruxes were destroyed. Ron suggested they simply double cross the ‘beady-eyed bastard’ and give him the fake sword once they were in the vault, but that proposal didn’t sit well with Hermione, who looked scandalized by the idea.
“Even if we tried that, Ron, Griphook would know better than us which sword is the fake,” she pointed out crossly at the conclusion of her litany of reasons why Ron’s suggestion was a poor one.
Ron had no argument to that logic, apparently, which just made him angrier, and he reverted, once again, to spewing his distaste of the goblin. So the bickering continued. Hermione was irritated with Ron’s irrational (her term) dislike of the goblin, and Ron was irritated at what he saw as Griphook’s inexcusable ungratefulness and Hermione’s willingness to overlook it.
Harry thought Ron had a point. Griphook wasn’t very pleasant, but taking offense to his ways wouldn’t help them in their dealings with him, and not dealing with him wasn’t an option either. They needed the goblin’s cooperation, whatever his demands, and wasn’t that just the way Harry’s life went? Fucked no matter which way he turned. He was coming to expect nothing less. It reminded him again of Draco’s snide comment about his luck. Feeling weary and irritable himself, Harry rubbed at his face in frustration.
“Come on,” he finally interrupted, putting an end, at least temporarily, to their bickering. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
His appetite, which had abandoned him yesterday, was back again today in full force, and that was good because the last thing he needed was to go off food again. Harry found the ingredients for bangers and mash which was an easy and fairly quick meal to make. Ron sat on the kitchen counter peeling potatoes by hand into the kitchen sink as Harry fried up the sausages before slicing up onions and caramelizing them for the gravy while the potatoes boiled. Meanwhile, Hermione threw together the makings of a bread and butter pudding for afters. Harry and Hermione avoided more talk of Griphook, and instead, bantered lightly about other topics, discussing some of the tales Dean and Luna had shared with them earlier in the day while they worked and Ron brooded. Then Harry served up three heaping plates, and the three of them hungrily devoured their supper.
Ron’s mood improved (as was usually the case), once his belly was full, and talk returned again to the ‘goblin problem’, as Ron had dubbed it, while they had pudding. They all agreed that they shouldn’t hand over the sword until after Griphook had gotten them safely in and out of the bank. Then they could at least use the sword to destroy the Horcrux before they had to relinquish it. Hopefully, that plan would also guarantee the goblin’s full cooperation to fulfill his end of the bargain. This was assuming, of course, that Griphook would be agreeable to these terms.
When they went up to bed that night, Hermione grasped him by the hand before Harry made another attempt to leave them, which, naturally, had been his plan. He’d hoped to give them some time alone together to reconcile fully after their earlier disagreement, but they both argued against it. So Harry allowed himself, once again, to be led by Hermione and pushed by Ron up the stairs with shamefully little resistance because at the first touch of her hand he’d felt his cock harden and his pulse quicken. His body was already becoming conditioned to anticipate them and react like one of Pavlov’s dogs salivating at the sound of a bell.
He’d have to get control over that reflexive impulse, but it wouldn’t be tonight. Right now, he still couldn’t say no. He was unable to fight his body’s response, or even attempt to resist. The moon was finally waning; his over-stimulated senses slowly returning to normal, yet it hadn’t reduced his desire for them. Perhaps now that he’d experienced that kind of intimacy with them, it never would.
Everything inside him wanted to let go his conscience and be with them, to embrace this fully whatever the consequences. Everything except his heart which still ached for another, despite the knowledge that Ginny would despise him if she knew what he’d done and was doing. Even with that constant, gnawing guilt, Harry couldn’t stop accepting what they were offering him, or he was simply unwilling because it was more than just physical with them. Ron and Hermione made him feel safe, desired, cherished even, and he craved that more than he wanted to admit. There was so much to fear both from the dangers of what prowled outside in the shadows and what lurked inside himself, but alone with the two of them, Harry didn’t feel afraid, and he needed that reprieve above all else right now.
When they arrived in Sirius’ room, Harry managed to undress himself without Ron’s assistance this time, but he still insisted on a shower again before bed. He wasn’t unaccompanied tonight, however. Both Ron and Hermione joined him unexpectedly in the bath, startling him slightly when Ron wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him flush against his body. His head had been under the warms spray, his eyes closed, so he didn’t realize they’d come in. Ron turned him around to face Hermione, who tugged the soapy rag from his hand and dropped it unceremoniously onto the tub floor. Apparently, Harry was as clean as he was going to get tonight.
His body came alive and his brain went numb when Ron began massaging his chest and rubbing himself against Harry’s bum, making him rub against Hermione when she pressed herself against him. Already panting, his head fell back onto Ron’s shoulder when their hands began exploring him and his began exploring them. While Ron supported him and held him upright, their mouths nipped and sucked along his chest and up his neck, their hands traveling down his stomach and up his thighs until they met around his excited cock.
After the indescribable sensation of being jerked off by the combination of both their slippery hands working his shaft simultaneously, Harry found himself on his knees again in the crowded tub. Touching Hermione where he’d never touched a woman before, he felt all the secret places inside her with his fingers while she ground against his hand. He stroked Ron’s cock with the other, alternately lapping at them both as the warm spray of the shower rained down on him, and his own cock stiffened once more between his legs. When Ron had found his release, Harry turned his full attention to Hermione and did his best to pleasure her with his hands and mouth, determined to bring her off. Once Ron recovered, he bent his head and slurped Hermione’s pebbled nipple into his mouth. Pinning her to the tub wall to support her weight, Ron scooped her leg up with his arm giving Harry more access to her, and she moaned in encouragement.
“Yes!” she gasped, “Oh, God, Harry. Right there, just like that!”
Then she was palming the back of his wet head to hold him to her, straining and crying out. And when she climaxed, her toes actually did curl.
Damn, it was sexy! Harry smiled against her with satisfaction as she clenched around his fingers and pulsed against his tongue, which made his dick throb with the desire to be inside her. She was panting, limp with exhaustion after her release. Ron eased her leg down, supporting her until she found purchase on the slick tub bottom while Harry reached around and slapped the faucet off before getting back to his feet with a groan.
If he was going to spend all their time together on his knees, he’d have to remember to do a cushioning charm, or something. Christ, his kneecaps ached!
They toweled each other off quickly before moving to the bedroom, and Harry spent the third night after Dobby’s death in Sirius’ bed, back on his usual side with Hermione sandwiched between his and Ron’s bodies. With her back to Ron, Hermione lay facing Harry, which made him feel slightly guilty because Ron always seemed to be in the back, allowing Harry to hog all of Hermione’s attention. Both Ron and Hermione appeared to be comfortable with the position, though, or even preferred it, since it gave Ron easier access to all her lovely bits, his hands in constant motion. Besides, the fact was that Ron was the largest of the three and could support more of their weight, making it the most logical arrangement for all of them.
When Ron entered her from behind, Hermione threw her leg over Harry’s waist and pulled his head down to her breast. Latching on, Harry then gripped Ron by the arse and pulled them into him to rub fervently against her front. Hermione came twice more as she prolonged their release by cruelly pulling off one of their swollen cocks when they were close and onto the other waiting impatiently for her before either of them could orgasm. They sure as hell weren’t complaining though. When Harry’s release finally did come, it drained him completely. He felt as if he’d emptied all his energy and magic into her along with his seed where it joined Ron’s, leaving him as weak as a newborn in a tangle of damp bed sheets, sweaty limbs, and panting bodies.
Afterwards, Hermione stroked his face, running her fingers across his jaw while he lay prone next to her with his eyes closed, but still breathing heavily, feeling incredibly weak. God, he was totally knackered. They could have told him Voldemort was at the door, and he didn’t think he could have mustered the strength to care right now. Ron and Hermione had inadvertently found the key to his demise, his Achilles’ heel. All that was needed to lay him defenseless and at their mercy was to fuck him into oblivion.
Well, actually, maybe the Death Eaters already knew that, he thought. Bellatrix, in particular, had certainly done her best, succeeding in raping him raw and draining him dry.
“You have such a strong jaw,” Hermione told him in a whisper. “I actually think it’s one of your best features, besides those long black eyelashes that every girl envies, of course.”
“My jaw’s not very strong,” he replied drowsily, frowning slightly. “Bellatrix managed to shatter it with one well placed kick.”
Her hands froze on his face for a second at the mention of Bellatrix’s name, and Harry was quite surprised himself that he’d actually said at all, especially without shuddering. He chalked it up to utter exhaustion and the deliriousness of being half asleep. Still, saying her name at all was an improvement, which he owed to both Ron and Hermione. Certainly, the hold Bellatrix had on him physically appeared to be waning finally, but perhaps it was psychologically, as well. Harry hoped so, anyway.
“That’s not what I meant,” Hermione said, tugging playfully on his chin.
“Well, if we’re comparing features, you have a beautiful arse and a perfect nose,” Harry mumbled, smirking slightly before yawning.
Then dragging a heavy arm up, eyes still closed, he felt around blindly over her face before tweaking her nose while she snorted in amusement.
“What’s my best feature, then?” Ron asked petulantly.
“Your lips,” Harry and Hermione replied in unison.
Harry smirked again before rolling over to face the window.
“Give your boyfriend some affection. I think he’s feeling insecure and needs his ego stroked cos I’m just so damned pretty, apparently, not to mention famous.”
He yawned again.
“I mean, I am Harry Fucking Potter, after all.”
“What you are is a fucking ponce,” Ron replied before slapping Harry on the back of the head.
Harry chuckled as Hermione turned to face Ron instead, while Ron stroked Harry’s head where he’d just struck him, as if soothing the spot. Then he slid it down to the base of Harry’s head and began massaging his shoulder and neck. Harry groaned into the pillow. It felt really good.
“I love the color of your hair, Ron. And your navy eyes, and the breadth of your shoulders, and the size of your hands, and all the freckles across your chest that I’ve started naming,” Hermione whispered between the sounds of them kissing and the continued stroking of Ron’s thumb up the back of Harry’s neck.
“Yeah? What’s this one’s name, then?” Ron whispered in amusement.
“That’s your nipple, Ron, not a freckle.”
Then more kissing as Hermione was, no doubt, now showering his nameless nipple with attention.
Harry listened, his chest constricting with a mixture of relief and envy. God, he loved being here with them like this, needed it, but he couldn’t allow himself to continue to get so psychologically attached and emotionally dependent on them. Already, the idea that they might want his leeching of their affection to end threatened to devastate him. But their interest and fascination at having him in their bed couldn’t go on indefinitely. Eventually, they’d tire of him. He was simply the newest toy in the toy box, and soon the shiny would wear off. That was the warning he had to keep repeating to himself. That was the inevitable reality for which he must prepare. This was fleeting. He knew that, even if they didn’t yet, or wouldn’t admit it.
What they had with each other was genuine, unwavering love. What he had with them was an intensely devoted friendship polluted by a mixture of pity, guilt, gratitude, mutual dependency and an overpowering lust. Soon their infatuation would fade, and three would, once again, desire to become two. Harry needed to be strong enough not to fall apart when it did, to be able to let go and stand on his own when that day came, or he would lose not only the warmth of their bodies, but their friendship, too.
I’ll try again tomorrow, he told himself. I’ll try harder.
Listening to them express their mutual adoration of each other, and lulled by the rhythm of Ron’s caress, Harry finally drifted off to sleep, which was without any dreams or interruptions by Ron or Hermione during the night. Perhaps they weren’t able to rouse him, or they chose to engage each other instead for some middle of the night love making. Or maybe, like him, they were simply sated and too exhausted for more.
Harry slept like the dead. In fact, he hadn’t even moved from the spot he’d fallen asleep in as if he’d been drugged and knocked unconscious for the entire night, though he was sure he hadn’t been. It left him feeling groggy and disoriented the next morning. It took him a few tries to coordinate all his limbs to get himself off the bed so he could stagger to the loo to take a much needed piss. He looked comical when he got a glimpse of himself in the newly repaired mirror, having slept on damp hair so that it dried into a wild mess, sticking up in some places and plastered to his head in others. God, it needed to be cut, and he mentally reminded himself again to ask Hermione later if she’d be willing to attempt it.
With the other two still asleep, Harry jumped in the tub to finish his interrupted shower from the night before. They were just waking up when he returned to the bedroom, both of them looking as hilarious as he had and as equally uncoordinated crawling out of the bed and stumbling around the room. Yet still, the sight of them in all their naked glory caused arousal to stir in him again.
“Sexy,” Harry commented with a snort when Ron scratched his balls on his way past.
Ron mumbled something in reply which sounded a little like “go fuck yourself,” but Harry couldn’t be sure because in the next instant, he reached out unexpectedly and pulled Harry to him by the head. Desire surged in Harry when Ron’s lips crashed over his, sending heat all the way through him. Ron kissed him briefly, but possessively, before pulling away.
“You taste minty,” Ron remarked as he continued towards the bathroom after releasing a startled Harry.
“Well, you don’t,” Harry replied to Ron’s retreating back, feeling slightly wobbly in his wake.
“Sorry. Gimme a minute and I’ll take care of that.”
What he took care of as soon as he’d emptied his bladder, however, was Harry’s lingering erection. Pushing Harry down on the bed without warning when he’d returned, and then kneeling on the floor between Harry’s legs while Hermione watched, Ron enveloped him with those lips and brought him quickly to orgasm. Then before Harry had even recovered, he stood back up, wiping at his mouth and smiled down at Harry who was sprawled boneless on the bed, dazed and staring up at him.
“Jesus, Ron. What the hell was that?” Harry gasped as he tried to catch his breath, his heart still pounding in the aftermath of his release.
“An apology for my morning mouth. I figured you wouldn’t mind as much if I kissed you there, instead.”
“I didn’t mind either way, but maybe you could give me a little warning or something next time?” Harry replied weakly.
Shrugging, Ron turned, kissed Hermione on the neck and then returned to the bathroom to get a shower.
“I feel like I was just the main entrée at breakfast, or something,” Harry growled in dismay.
“You do look delectable,” Hermione responded, grinning at him as he struggled to sit up. “But I’m hungry for something a little more filling this morning.”
“Ouch! That hurts,” Harry replied, pouting sullenly at the implied slight to his manhood. “I suppose you’ll have to wait for Ron to finish his shower then, if you need something more filling than me.”
“Oh, stop it. That’s not what I meant,” she said with a snort. “You’re as bad as he is sometimes.”
“He is a bad influence,” Harry agreed. “And entirely too cocky.”
Hermione nodded.
When they headed downstairs, Hermione decided that it was Ron’s turn to make breakfast that morning while she got a shower, which meant that they ate at Bill’s instead. Then they grimly went to meet Griphook, who was still taking his meals in his room, evidently not yet recovered from his wounds and too weak to walk. At least that’s what he’d told Fleur when she went to check on him. It was clear by her tone, however, that she believed otherwise and was not pleased to be catering to him.
He was still sitting propped up on the bed, the breakfast tray set off to one side when they entered. He took his time, making a show of things by dabbing his mouth with the napkin and wiping his hands before tossing it onto the tray. Then he turned his attention to the three of them and raised his eyebrows.
“What is your decision, Harry Potter?” he asked in way of greeting, but with an air of supreme indifference, which made Harry clench his fists.
Battling back for control of the negotiations, Harry took his own time in responding, as if he were still thinking it over. In actuality, he was trying to decide how best to give in to his demands without losing too much of the balance of power between them, and also to frustrate the goblin some if he were being honest.
Hoping to make him flinch, to betray himself and show his eagerness for his terms to be granted, Harry waited. Griphook blinked once and glanced briefly at Hermione to see if she carried the beaded bag, and that was all Harry needed. Griphook badly wanted that sword. That being the case, Harry felt sure that he would do all he could to satisfy his end of the bargain to gain it.
“The sword is yours,” he finally answered.
Griphook immediately stretched out his hand to receive it, but Hermione made no move to remove it from her bag.
“You get it after you get us safely in and out of the bank, Griphook. Those are my terms,” Harry amended warningly. “Take it or leave it.”
Scowling at Harry, the goblin dropped his hand while Harry stared calmly back into those narrowed black eyes.
“Agreed,” he finally growled.
“Fine then,” Harry responded, nodding his head.
“Shall we begin?” Griphook asked irritably, gesturing for Harry to take a seat in the sole chair in the room, but Hermione took it instead.
All business, she sat down and swiftly dug out parchment and quill from her bag as if she were the group’s designated secretary, readying herself to take the notes of their first official meeting.
The four of them spent the entire day in the tiny bedroom, only leaving when one of them had to go to the bathroom or when Ron went to make some sandwiches for lunch, which were met with disdain by Griphook when Ron returned with a plate stacked high. This further deteriorated Ron’s opinion of the goblin and his resolve not to throttle him. Harry was starting to feel claustrophobic by the time Bill knocked on the door to let them know supper was ready, and they finally broke for the day. He had a headache, and Hermione had pages of notes, yet they hadn’t even gotten very far today. Harry was already starting to dread the number of days he saw stretching out in front of him locked together in this room trying to keep Ron from murdering their accomplice. This was going to take careful planning, though, even with Griphook as their guide which diminished Harry’s hopes of getting to that Horcrux quickly and ridding himself of the unpleasant goblin’s presence for good.
“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Griphook?” Bill asked.
“No. I’ve not yet recovered enough,” he answered dismissively. “I’ll take my meal here.”
Bill pursed his lips, but nodded and turned on his heels, perhaps not looking forward to telling his wife the goblin’s demands. It made Harry feel guilty for forcing them to endure Griphook, especially realizing how long it would have to continue. Having spent the entire day with him, Harry wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But moving him to Grimmauld Place wasn’t an option either. Hermione absolutely refused to allow anyone else admittance into Number Twelve when Griphook demanded to come with them once he realized they were not staying at Shell Cottage round the clock, even though they’d told him it was just too crowded. Voicing his misgivings that they would take his information and leave him without his prize, he then wanted them to leave the sword here as insurance that they would return. Harry refused, of course, not trusting that the goblin wouldn’t just sneak away with it in the night. The mutual distrust they’d both revealed in that brief exchange caused suspicion to take root, weakening their alliance. It was another mistake Harry wished he could have avoided.
“I’ll bring you your meal, Griphook,” Harry said tiredly as Hermione gathered up her notes. Then he turned and followed Ron from the room.
“I’ve decided to move Mr. Ollivander to Aunt Muriel’s as soon as he’s able,” Bill announced conversationally to the table at large during supper. “Maybe in a few more days. I think he’ll be more comfortable there, and we could use the space. We can put Luna in his room then and get her off the couch, but with Griphook staying, that still leaves Dean having to double for space. So if you want, you can go, too, Dean. Aunt Muriel has loads of room, and the twins and Ginny are there for company. I know Ginny would love that. She’s probably going spare over there with just Fred and George for company.”
Harry’s fork had frozen on the way to his mouth, and his whole body tensed at the suggestion of Dean joining Ginny at Muriel’s. The idea of them sleeping under the same roof, sharing meals and possibly rekindling their relationship caused that familiar jealousy to surge in him. Picturing them, lips locked together behind a tapestry in the Hogwarts corridors or snuggled next to each other in a booth at The Three Broomsticks made Harry clench his jaw.
His head gave a painful throb, and he dropped the fork back onto his plate when his hand started to shake. Looking up, he saw that everyone at the table had their eyes on him.
“Griphook and I have been sharing sleeping quarters for quite a while now. I don’t mind rooming with him, Bill.” Dean answered into the silence, but his response was to Harry, whose eyes he held. “I mean, unless I’m in the way here,” he added, glancing back at Bill.
“Bien sûr,” Fleur assured Dean quickly. “Bill and I enjoy ze company. Sometimes it gets so lonely ‘ere.”
Harry had no right to be upset with Dean, certainly not in light of the current circumstances of his relationship with Ron and Hermione. He didn’t own Ginny or have any right to say with whom she could spend her time. He’d given up any claim to her when he’d walked away from her that day of Ron’s party, and certainly killed any hope of returning to her after what happened the day Dobby died and every day since, but it didn’t seem to matter to his jealous heart. Ginny and Dean were blameless and did not deserve his anger. He deserved theirs. He was the one betraying Ginny every night with Ron and Hermione, and he was the reason why Dean and Luna were taken to Malfoy Manor to be tortured for information.
Harry knew he was being an arse. He’d just been blindsided by Bill’s suggestion is all, unprepared for his reaction, but he needed to get used to it. Ginny wasn’t his any longer and never could be again. He should be glad to think that they might be able to find happiness together in these dark times, he told himself, but even in his head, the words sounded hollow.
Harry tried to relax his shoulders and unclench his jaw, to say something conciliatory or lie and say he thought it would be great if Dean wanted to keep Ginny company at Muriel’s, but he couldn’t. The words would be just as wooden and insincere as the ones in his head. Instead, he picked up his fork and returned his eyes to his dinner, remaining mute on the subject as he pushed around the pasta on his plate.
“Well, what about you Luna? Would you like to move to Muriel’s?”
“Oh, I’d love to see Ginny, but I really fancy it here. It’s so beautiful, and I like helping out. I feel more useful, and I don’t mind taking the couch. It’s a lot more comfortable that what I’ve been sleeping on recently. Maybe Ginny can come here for a visit soon if she’s lonely?”
Harry could feel them all staring at him again, and his heart started to pound at the idea of facing Ginny, but it was Hermione that spoke.
“I really don’t think that’s a very good idea right now, Luna.”
“You mean because you and Harry are together now?” Luna asked. “Have they had a row about it?”
Harry’s mouth opened in shock, his eyes jerking upward and widening as he gaped at Luna. Fleur had braided her long hair and wisps curled around her innocent looking face, framing those large eyes which stared into Harry’s with frank curiosity. The dangling radish earrings had been replaced with tiny spiraling seashells and she twirled one with her fingers absently as she considered him.
“They haven’t had a row, Luna. Harry stopped seeing Ginny at the end of last year,” Ron explained matter-of-factly.
“Yes. But Ginny still talked about him all the time at Hogwarts, so I thought she might be put out now that—”
“It’d just be a bit uncomfortable, is all. And you’ve got the wrong end of that, too. Hermione’s my girl,” Ron interrupted smoothly.
“Oh, I know, but I thought…it’s just that you all seem…well, it doesn’t matter. Still, Bill, if I may, I’d like to stay here, too.”
Harry snapped his mouth closed and dropped his gaze from Luna’s perceptive blue eyes, which he felt were x-raying him, seeing all the shame and guilt inside him, and returned, once again, to focus on his plate. If talk continued around him, he could no longer hear it over the roaring in his ears and the panicked hammering of his chest while his mind spun in all directions.
He should have known that this couldn’t be kept private. Soon, everyone would know that he was having sex with both Ron and Hermione, and that talk would join the speculation about what had happened to them during their capture, which, without a doubt, had been discussed in detail in The Daily Prophet for weeks now. The Death Eaters had surely gleefully shared with everyone they could about how they’d had The Chosen One on his knees, or bent over a table, sobbing and begging while they fucked him bloody.
“I could hear the screaming.” Harry heard Ollivander’s quiet voice whisper.
Oh, God! This was a nightmare. He was going to have a panic attack right here in front of everyone. Shaking all over and feeling light headed as he started to hyperventilate, Harry pushed back from the table. He excused himself with a mumble and fled to the bathroom where he splashed water on his face to ward off the nausea and get a grip on himself while terrible memories flooded his mind and a chorus of voices started up in his head.
“Rudolphus told me that he an’ Bella sure did enjoy your company last evenin’ Potter,” Macnair told him with a leer. “Said you was a right whore.”
“Delicious,” Greyback growled into his ear, licking Harry’s blood from his lips as he rubbed his spent cock against Harry’s thigh.
“Say you want me, Potter,” Bellatrix ordered breathlessly as she rolled her hips against him, but he’d angrily refused. Only it was a lie. He had wanted her, desperately. Harder than he’d ever been and aching for release as he throbbed inside her, Harry had fought against his own traitorous body.
“Noooo!” Harry moaned in misery, fighting the nausea that was rising in his throat while the room spun.
“I believe we’ve found something you’re a natural at,” Snape growled as he pulled Harry by the head, forcing his fat, purple prick down Harry’s throat, threatening to strangle him with it while Lucius and Avery eagerly watched.
“Perhaps you’ve been sucking him off for years now,” Bellatrix speculated while Harry shook his head in denial, still cradling the bloodstained cock which he’d just used to violate Hermione.
Gagging then, Harry lost the battle and vomited into the sink. Heaving until he’d purged himself of his half finished meal while Draco’s disgusting accusations echoed over and over in his head and tears leaked from his tightly squeezed eyes.
“You let them…you volunteered for it, provoked it even.”
He had not! The outrage of that memory finally eased Harry’s panic and the frantic longing for the sting of the blade against his skin, replacing it with seething hot anger. He was shaking all over again, but with fury this time. His body was vibrating with unleashed magic, his hands glowing with power as he gripped the sink. Taking several deep breaths, Harry tried to calm down, tried to control the magic before it spiraled out of his control and exploded out of him, terrified of burning down the cottage and all its occupants in a blind rage.
He couldn’t stop what the Death Eaters had done to him, or silence whoever might be talking about it now. But, by God, he could, and would control his reaction to it!
Of those who had so brutally sodomized him; Rudolphus, Macnair, Greyback and Rowle, none were left alive to brag of their deeds any longer, he told himself as he talked himself down. He’d personally shut the eyes and mouths forever of every person that participated in it with the exception of Greyback, whose demise Harry owed to Lupin. Only Bellatrix and Snape were left of his sexual torturers, and he’d let them both live; one on purpose and the other by accident. Of those who’d witnessed any of it, only Avery remained as Lucius was also dead now, thanks to Tom. If Harry ever found Avery, he would gladly remove his tongue and eyes as payment for the show he’d so enjoyed watching. As for Draco, having been made to witness his father’s murder was payment enough for what he saw and knew of Harry’s torture. He’d done nothing to harm Harry, nor took any pleasure in what the others had done to him. He was a prick, but he was in no way culpable for what had happened in his home. Harry owed him no retribution besides a punch in the throat if he uttered another infuriating accusation like the one he’d made during their last meeting.
And Luna was just being Luna. Harry was convinced that she could simply see the truth in everyone, no matter how it might be disguised. It was her gift, and she meant no harm by it, or perhaps wasn’t even aware she possessed it. She was simply curious, and if he’d handled her queries as calmly as Ron had, he wouldn’t have made such a spectacle of himself and given anyone any reason to suspect that her deductions were anything more than the crazy theories she always spouted. Hell, the rumor that he and Hermione were dating had been bandied about since his fourth year. Half the Wizarding population still believed they were an item, those who read Witch Weekly, at any rate. It shouldn’t have caused him to break down like he had. Luna had merely stated her belief that he and Hermione were now an item, and it had caused him to lose his dinner and, temporarily, his sanity. Christ, he was completely mental.
Harry stared at his hands, curling and uncurling them as the color returned to normal, his body absorbing the magic back into himself. When he’d finally gotten himself under control and felt like he could withstand the embarrassment of returning to the table after falling apart in front of everyone, Harry splashed more water on his face, rinsed out his mouth and let himself back out of the bathroom. He was relieved to see that neither Ron nor Hermione was standing outside the door waiting for him.
“Everything all right?” Bill asked when Harry returned.
Harry nodded, but didn’t speak. He must have been gone for a while. The kitchen was nearly empty.
“I left your plate if you are still ‘ungry,” Fleur told him from the sink.
“No, it’s fine,” Harry mumbled in reply, picking up his plate and carrying it to her.
The idea of attempting to finish the meal he’d just heaved up made him feel a bit green again.
“I’m not hungry anymore. It was delicious, though,” he added politely.
At least it had been going down.
Fleur took the plate from him, set it in the counter, and then dried her hands with a towel.
“You are not well?” she asked, placing her hands on his face and smoothing his hair again as she had the other morning. “You are clammy and pale and still ‘ave fever.”
“He always has fever, Fleur,” Ron explained from the doorway, coming to stand next to Bill, his worried eyes searching Harry’s, Hermione following right behind him. “You’d have to have better healing skills than Madame Pomfrey if you hope to cure him of it. Though Harry might be a much better patient if you were his healer,” he added with a wink.
“Why is zis fever so difficult to remedy?” Fleur asked, her beautiful features undiminished by her perplexed frown.
Harry shrugged.
“If you find out, share it with the healer. It drove her barmy, and she gave him everything she had in her bag at least twice to bring it down to normal. He even got a nice ice-water bath once when it spiked, though I wouldn’t recommend trying that again. I needed healing myself when that was over.”
“Shut up, Ron,” Harry growled, throwing him a warning look, which for some reason, made the crease in Ron’s brow ease and the lines around Hermione’s mouth soften.
“I just have a headache, and I’m tired,” Harry explained then to ease Fleur’s concern. “There’s nothing else wrong with me.”
Well, there was plenty wrong with him, but he wasn’t planning to share it with her or anyone else, for that matter. Not if he could help it.
“Zat is from spending all day in ze company of zat goblin,” Fleur replied crossly.
“No doubt,” Harry agreed. “He’s enough to make anyone feel ill, but I’ll be fine. I promise. And the fever is nothing to worry about.”
She stroked his face again before kissing him on each cheek.
“Tu as de beaux yeux,” she said, staring into his eyes, to which Harry just stared blankly back.
“You have beautiful eyes,” Hermione translated quietly.
“Oui,” Fleur agreed. “But complète de la douleur… Full of pain,” she translated herself when Hermione didn’t offer to explain this time, her lips having tightened into a frown again. “Even from ze first time I met you at ‘Ogwarts. Only fourteen zen, and a man now, but you always ‘ad eyes of one zat ‘as seen too much.”
She dropped her hands from his face then, but continued to stare up at him with concern.
“I will always worry for you, mon amour.”
“Well, here’s hoping that he doesn’t turn all your gorgeous hair gray before this is all over,” Bill said, tucking Hermione under his arm and beaming down at her. “We’re going to have to keep you around to translate for these two, luv. Though I could do with a lot less of hearing my wife telling Harry what a beautiful man she thinks he’s become and calling him ‘my love.’ I might get jealous.”
“I studied a bit before we went on holiday. But my French was never that good, and that was years ago. I’m much better at translating the language than speaking it.”
“N'importe quoi,” Fleur argued. “I will teach you!”
“I’d like that,” Hermione agreed, smiling at Fleur, who beamed back at her.
“And Bill, you just called ‘Ermione love, mon chéri,” Fleur pointed out, striding over to him to give him a peck on the cheek. “So, should I also be jealous?”
Releasing Hermione then, Bill slid his arms around his wife’s waist and nuzzled into her neck.
“Apparently not,” Ron said into the silence. “Bad luck, mate. Guess you’re stuck batting those beautiful eyes at Madame Pomfrey, for now ‘cause it doesn’t looks like Bill’s going to be keen on allowing you to be his wife’s patient for fear you might try and steal her away from him.”
“Right,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Well, I don’t want to be anyone’s patient, to be honest. I’m actually doing my best to avoid another visit from Madame Pomfrey because the ‘bow you’s’, or whatever, don’t help,” he lamented, butchering Fleur’s French. “I think she likes seeing me in pain.”
Ron grinned at him, and Harry gave him a weak smile in return. Hermione cleared her throat, still standing uncomfortably close to the cuddling couple.
“Harry, are you ready to head home, or do you want to stay for tea?” she asked.
“If it wouldn’t be rude, I think I’d like to go home.”
“No, of course not. Don’t worry about it,” Bill replied, finally taking his attention off his wife. “Go, get some rest.”
“Thanks, Bill.”
“Will you be back in the morning?”
“Yeah,” Harry said apologetically. “For many more mornings, I’m afraid.”
“Not a problem. The goblin is a guest as long as you need him to be, and if you’re keeping him entertained during the day, that just means that Fleur and I don’t have to.”
Fleur snorted angrily at that, but did not comment.
“Thanks again. Do you need us to help with anything before we go?”
Bill waived off Harry’s offer to help. “We’ve got plenty of helping hands around here. You three are just occupying precious space. So go on.”
They said goodnight to everyone before returning to Grimmauld Place where the three of them spent a quiet evening. Hermione reviewing and re-writing the notes she’d made while Harry and Ron played a game of chess, neither of them daring to bring up the conversation at supper for which Harry was immeasurably grateful. He was dreading the idea that he would have to face another therapy session with Ron or both of them tag-teaming him when they got home. Worried that they would try and force him to talk about his feelings or explain what had caused his episode at Bill’s.
Instead of trying to talk him into Sirius’ room again that night, Ron and Hermione had apparently conspired on a new strategy and simply followed Harry into his when they went to bed. Without a word, Hermione pulled her wand and magically enlarged the bed enough for them all to sleep on it, and then began to undress. Harry and Ron silently followed suit, stripping and crawling onto the bed after her.
It was much more cramped. Hermione slept squashed against the wall with Ron dangling off the outside edge, and Harry ended up in the middle, sleeping wedged between the two of them.
They didn’t offer him sex that night. Maybe because they knew he would finally refuse them. Harry didn’t ask. Relieved to avoid the sexual intimacy, but grateful for the physical and emotional comfort, he curled up between them, cocooned in their embrace. And it was again a night without any nightmares for Harry, but not without disturbing dreams.
He dreamed that they were back in the tent, just him and Hermione. He was already in bed on the bottom bunk, and like the image he’d conjured days before, she’d slipped in next to him totally silent and completely naked. Harry tried to protest, but she put a hand to his mouth to silence him, and then grasped his other hand to slide it over her soft breast. When he didn’t pull away, or begin to argue further, she replaced the hand at his lips with her own, working her tongue into his mouth and her hands into his pajama bottoms.
Kneading her breast in his palm, Harry broke away from her mouth and bent his head to taste her, running his tongue over her puckered nipple and sucking it into his mouth while her searching fingers found his erect cock and squeezed. Shifting underneath him, she spread her legs in invitation and pulled his hand to her center, rubbing against his fingers as she rocked her hips, wetting them with her silky moisture to let him know she was ready for him while she stroked his cock.
Harry pushed two fingers inside her, feeling her firm, slippery inner walls gripping him. She moaned, and Harry wanted more. Impatiently, he pushed down his pajama bottoms and boxers before positioning himself between her thighs. She whispered his name when he entered her, but it was no longer Hermione’s voice. It was Ginny that Hermione had turned into when he’d buried himself inside her. Ginny who was now spread out beneath him, her flame red hair fanned across his pillow.
Harry let out a little yelp of shock. Feeling both fear and guilt, but even more aroused at the sight of her, excitement surging through him to be doing this with her. His hips jerked forward automatically, slamming himself into her to the hilt, and she let out a gasp of pleasure and surprise, encircling his waist with her long legs.
“Oh, God! Don’t stop, Harry,” she begged, running her hands up his back, her nails scratching against his skin as she pressed him into her with her heels.
Jesus, he wanted to keep going, more than anything! He desperately wanted to hear her gasp, to make her moan like that again, but he was afraid. Afraid that if he continued, she’d stop being Ginny and turn again into someone else, her beautiful red hair turning black and curly, those nails piercing his skin, and her breathless moans turning to mad laughter.
Harry’s heart started to pound in fear, and then with a start, he woke up.
He was lying on his side facing a sleeping Hermione, his hands gripping his pillow, but his hips were still thrusting forward, his cock gliding through someone’s grip, and when he pulled back, someone else’s hard cock pressed into the cleft of his arse. Harry let out a whimper of fear before he realized that it was Ron. Ron who was behind him, whose cock was burrowed into the valley between his cheeks and whose hand was stroking Harry’s straining erection.
“Shhh,” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear before pulling his earlobe between his teeth. “It’s only me.”
Once he understood that Ron wasn’t actually trying to penetrate him, at least not yet, Harry’s fear eased, and he released his grip on the pillow. His heart still pounding, Harry tried to relax his stiff body while Ron continued to work him, trying to banish the image of Ginny still filling his brain because he didn’t want her here. He couldn’t think of her as her brother was jerking him off while humping his backside. And he didn’t want to turn over and do this face to face with Ron either because he felt guilty after dreaming of fucking Hermione back in the tent once Ron had gone and then of fucking Ginny. It was too much for him to bring to bear on the lover he was actually with and possibly the cause of the dream in the first place.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like what he and Ron did together normally, or how Ron made him feel. He just needed this to be more anonymous tonight. He wanted to forget who Ron was, forget who he was and have a quick, affectionless wank.
Taking a deep breath, Harry reached around and tried to grip Ron’s cock to help him to his own end, but he really couldn’t maneuver his wrist at the odd angle. So instead, he laid his hand flat, pressing against Ron’s cock to provide more friction as Ron slid through his arse cheeks, slick with his pre-cum. Ron latched onto Harry’s neck, moaning his approval and pumped Harry harder with his hand, which was good because Harry was close to orgasm, and he wanted this one to come quickly, for both of them.
The next morning, Harry was fairly silent at breakfast which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione. She kept trying to pull him into a conversation, but Harry really just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. Hermione was nothing if not persistent, however, and she cornered him in the foyer when he went to get his jacket.
“Harry? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
He couldn’t tell her he’d had a sex dream about the two of them alone together before she turned into Ginny while her boyfriend had been fisting his cock. Or about how horrible the resulting orgasm had made him feel afterwards as Ron came against Harry’s back, grunting into his ear and biting down on his neck to stifle the noise while Harry had secretly held his breath and came with the thrill of fear that the feel of Ron’s teeth had inspired.
It was the first time that he’d truly felt ashamed of himself and what they were doing as Ron cleaned them both up with his wand. There was no light, teasing banter afterwards, just Ron snuggling back against him and stroking his arm until he fell back to sleep again while Harry lay awake in the darkness, horrified at what he’d needed from Ron to be able to get off. He’d used Ron to punish himself, making him an unwitting accomplice in his bid to atone for his misdeeds, to push thoughts of Ginny naked beneath him as far away from himself as he could.
“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked worriedly.
Yes, he said to himself. The worst kind. The kind where you’re awake through the whole thing.
“No. We were just all packed so tightly together that I didn’t rest well. I’m tired, is all, and not looking forward to having to spend another day trying to concentrate on memorizing the vast labyrinth of Gringotts and all its nasty surprises.”
“Do you want to rest here for a while and maybe come later?”
“No. No offense, Hermione, but I don’t think that you alone will be able to keep Ron and Griphook from coming to blows if I’m not there.”
“True,” she agreed. “We could make Ron stay here. That ought to take some of the burden off,” she added, smiling. “He could do some of the laundry, or something.”
Harry snorted.
“Hmmm. Something tells me that trying to talk him into that would be harder than just going to Bill’s and getting this over with.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” she asked. “Harry, you’ll tell me if there’s something wrong, won’t you? I know that the talk at dinner yesterday upset you.”
Wisely, she had not said Ginny’s name or articulated her knowledge of his fears, either of Bill’s announcement of his plans to install Dean at Muriel’s with Ginny or of Luna’s astute observations on the nature of their relationship. But she knew at least some of what troubled him. She also knew him well enough to know what his likely response would be, too, and was trying to counter it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured her.
Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. Hoping to try and ward off the intervention he could feel coming before she summoned a vial of holy water and enlisted Ron’s help to hold him down once the casting out of demons began.
Hermione was no fool, however. Yesterday had marked a turning point in their relationship, and she’d sensed it. She knew that he was trying to pull away from them again, no matter how much he denied it, and she didn’t like it. If he could, though, he would, as much as possible to protect them and himself, though he resolved to appear as normal as he could outwardly to quell her suspicions or she would sink her claws in and not let go until he confessed everything.
They spent another unpleasant day with Griphook, where Harry suffered another mental blow. The goblin had informed him that they couldn’t impersonate Draco and use his wand in lieu of a key when he’d revealed their plan to use the dose of Polyjuice potion and the hairs they’d acquired. Quickly dashing Harry’s hopes, he told him that Draco would not be able to get into Bellatrix’s vault. That left Harry with the terrifying prospect of coming face to face with the embodiment of his despised tormentor again.
The idea of seeing Hermione, his lover and friend, cloaked in the body of his rapist was a cruel abomination so horrible, that it was almost more than Harry’s fragile mind could contemplate. Yet she was really the only one for the job. Neither he nor Ron would be able to pull that off. But what if it tainted Hermione and fused them together in his mind forever? What if he lost his head when he saw her and couldn’t keep it straight that she was really Hermione and attacked her before anyone could stop him?
Harry returned that night to Grimmauld Place with a headache again, feeling aggressive and frustrated. Sensing it, or simply frustrated himself, Ron evidently decided not to wait until they went to bed to let off some steam. Pinning Harry to the wall when they entered the drawing room, Ron gripped Harry’s hips and rubbed his erection against him while licking his way into Harry’s mouth.
Harry was caught off guard, but it only took him a second to respond by sliding his hands down over Ron’s arse and squeezing to encourage Ron to grind against him. It culminated with Harry on his knees again, blowing Ron before things moved to the couch where Hermione sat watching and waiting.
Inadvertently, Ron’s randiness that evening had given Harry the opportunity he needed to break from their sleeping arrangements. Without the lure of sex, Harry could insist on sleeping alone. So he suggested that they all move back to their own rooms and left them alone together for the night.
They didn’t let him go without a fight, of course, and it had been brutal, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. He’d been forced to lie as convincingly as possible and say he was exhausted, telling them that the headaches were a result of a lack of sleep from being squashed together with them every night.
No, he wasn’t trying to end things between them, he’d argued. Didn’t the fact that they’d all just finished fucking on the couch prove that? He just needed sleep, he told them. Uninterrupted sleep. But he didn’t get any.
Without them, without the shelter of their bodies to hold them at bay, his nightmares finally came back. He dreamt that night of their attempt on the bank. The Alley was filled with Death Eaters awaiting their arrival when the Apparated in front of Ollivander’s old wand shop, and they were immediately set upon.
Harry awoke in a panic, sweating and panting as he frantically tried to free his body from the blankets wrapped around him like so many arms trying to hold him down while terrifying images of Ron and Hermione fighting against the tide of hooded figures overtaking them swam in his head. His hands tingled with magic while his heart raced, and he sat up, trembling all over. He couldn’t go back to sleep after that and spend the rest of the night sitting with his knees pulled against his chest, waiting for the sunrise.
It was just withdrawal, he told himself, struggling to hold his resolve and not flee back to them. It was natural. He would adjust. It was just going to take some time for him to get his footing again before he stabilized, he reasoned, but he feared it was a lie.
As the days wore on and the nightmares increased, Harry felt himself backsliding. The three of them were still fucking at every opportunity, but it wasn’t the same. Harry tried to make it so, to appear as if nothing were wrong, to make himself as accessible and available to them whenever they wanted, but both Ron and Hermione were becoming frustrated with him. And things with Griphook weren’t going at all well either.
Every step forward in their strategy meant two steps back. Harry’s hopes to formulate and implement a plan to acquire and destroy that Horcrux quickly were fading day by day. This mission was by far more dangerous than their break in at the Ministry. Harry was becoming more and more fearful for their safety with the introduction of every new obstacle Griphook revealed that they then had to work out how to overcome. They’d gotten by so far, mostly on luck, and he knew his was running out. It made him anxious and moody.
Ron, too, seemed to be more aggressive than usual. He did his best to keep his word and hold his tongue in front of Griphook, but the goblin seemed to know that Ron despised him and took every opportunity to provoke the temperamental redhead. Harry was surprised, actually, that he hadn’t already been forced to pull them apart. Griphook, in fact, seemed to be making it his mission to aggravate everyone at the cottage. Fleur, in particular, and she finally blew up one evening and refused to continue delivering his meals to him.
“You can join ze rest of us, or you can go ‘ungry!” She’d angrily announced before storming back out the room when she’d come to call them to dinner.
Harry, Hermione, Bill and even Dean did their best to mediate, acting as a buffer between the goblin and those in the house that he was trying to infuriate, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Ron finally lost it and attacked, possibly joined by the formidable part-Veela. So Harry began allowing Ron to take his pent up frustration with the goblin out on him at night instead. Frankly, he didn’t mind much. His own impotent aggression and anxiety needed an outlet, too. Besides, he also found it sexually exciting, which was something else to add to the list of things he’d learned about himself that he really wished he hadn’t.
Hermione found this new aggression between them alarming, however. Especially when she’d returned from the loo the first time it had happened and found Harry flat on his back on the drawing room floor, struggling with Ron who was sitting on top of him. Ron had pushed him off the couch after Harry had tired of the goblin bashing and told Ron sharply to give it a rest for a while. Fighting to free his arms which Ron had pinned over his head, Harry grunted in frustration while Ron used his weight to hold him down.
“Get off me,” Harry growled, trying to leverage his body up with his feet to unseat Ron.
“Make me,” Ron replied threateningly as Hermione came back into the room.
“Ron! What are you doing? Get off him!” she shouted, pulling her wand and hurrying forward.
The distraction had given Harry the opening he needed. With a huge effort, he bucked Ron off him. Quickly reversing their positions, he smashed Ron’s face into the carpet and roared in triumph as Hermione alternated pointing her wand at each of them, uncertain whom she should stun.
“I told you I could have his face in the dirt, Hermione!” he crowed.
His victory over Ron was short lived, however, and in a few moments his own arm was wrenched behind him, and he was on his knees, bent over and staring down at Hermione’s feet with Ron behind him.
“Stop it!” Hermione shrieked.
“I’m not hurting him, Hermione,” Ron insisted.
Then he turned his attention back to Harry.
“And you’re a dirty sneak bastard,” he accused, panting with the effort of trying to keep his grip on Harry. “That wasn’t fair…I was distracted.”
“Anything’s fair if your opponent has two stones on you. And…uhh…besides,” he added, still struggling to get out of Ron’s hold, “you set on me without warning, too. How is that fair?”
Ron flipped Harry onto his back and quickly straddled him again, but across his chest this time, pinning his arms down again with his knees.
“You deserved it for that cheek. Now try getting me off this time,” Ron challenged, still breathing hard and red faced from the effort, but smiling in satisfaction.
“I would…try getting you off…but you’re not close enough to reach with my mouth, and you’re pinning my arms down, too.”
Lifting his head, Harry stuck out his tongue, trying to lick Ron while wiggling his fingers to demonstrate his helplessness.
Ron snorted with laughter before reaching around him to cup Harry’s stiff cock through his jeans.
The idea of being pinned like this and having his bits groped should have terrified him, but it didn’t. No matter what his current position, he didn’t feel threatened by Ron in the slightest, and he’d been the one who actually started the sexual innuendo in the first place.
“Stop… molesting… me!” he shouted, kicking his legs fruitlessly.
“Say you give up first.”
“No!”
Ron raised his eyebrows and slid the zipper down on Harry’s fly while Harry twisted his hips to try and thwart him.
“No?” Ron mocked, moving his hands to his own fly. “Then how about this?” he asked, sliding his own zipper down.
Harry’s heart started pounding then with the slight tingling of fear, but also arousal.
“No, and you suck!”
“You’re going to start sucking if you don’t give up,” Ron countered, reaching into his pants, but he didn’t go further.
“Ron! That’s not funny. Let him up,” Hermione urged him, worry creeping back into her voice, but Harry knew he was bluffing.
“Yeah, let me up. My arms are going numb,” he pleaded.
“Say you give.”
“Aaarrrggh…this is so emasculating! Get off me,” he growled.
“Make me,” Ron taunted again, chuckling.
“I can’t! You weigh more than a Hippogriff.”
“Please, you’re not so helpless. Use your magic to knock me off if you aren’t strong enough.”
“I can’t,” Harry argued. “I don’t know how.”
“Ron, let him up,” Hermione said warningly.
“Bullshit! You have control of it. It just scares you, and you’re afraid to try,” Ron accused, ignoring Hermione’s command.
Harry shook his head in denial, suddenly uneasy.
“No, I can’t do it, Ron.”
“Well, if you’re not giving up, and I’m not letting you up until you try, I guess you’re fucked. If you won’t use your magic, then you can spend the rest of the night right here like this, sucking my cock. But if you do try, I’ll suck yours.”
Harry glared up at him.
“It’s not that easy, Ron. It could be dangerous. I can’t control it like that.”
“Another lie. I’ve seen you do enough of it now to know that you know exactly how to use just enough of that power to get the result you want. Just try. I don’t believe that you’d ever hurt me or Hermione with your magic.”
“Ron, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hermione interjected holding her hand out to Ron.
Ron looked up at her, but before he could argue, Harry had sucked in a breath. Closing his eyes, he concentrated hard and felt his body vibrate under Ron.
Ron was right. Harry could feel it gathering in him from the slight sense of fear coupled with his excitement and stubborn determination to win. He felt the heat of it in his hands and in the tingling of his body.
“Woah!” Ron yelped in astonishment staring back down at Harry in alarm. “All right! Wait…wait! That stings a bit—”
Then, with a shriek from Hermione, Ron was upended, rolling backwards down Harry’s legs like a bowling ball through the return chute.
“Oh, my!” Hermione gasped when Ron’s momentum was finally stopped by the chair leg.
“You owe me a blow job,” Harry announced, sitting up on his elbows and smirking at Ron who was sprawled on the floor, rubbing the back of his head.
“You tricked me! You knew all along you could do it, you bastard. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you? And you made me bite my tongue,” Ron said in outrage as he sat up.
“I didn’t know, and the tingling shock was an accident. It took me a second to focus it properly. You’re lucky I figured it out, actually. Otherwise we’d likely be putting out the fire of your charred remains right about now.”
“That was bloody amazing!” Ron announced, giving Harry a huge grin and bounding to his feet before yanking Harry off the floor by his arm and gripping him in a bear hug hard enough to crush bone.
“For fuck’s sake, Ron!” Harry grunted in pain. “Hermione already knows you’re bigger and stronger than me. I’m sorry I said I was prettier than you the other night. Stop trying to break me all right? Those ribs are still delicate.”
“You’re doing that again later,” Ron announced excitedly, kissing Harry hard on the mouth before finally releasing him. “Once my head stops throbbing.”
“Ohhhh,” Harry said in mock delight, rubbing his bruised ribs. “What will I get for doing the neat magic trick next time, Ron? A hernia?”
What he got was his head trapped under Ron’s arm in a headlock, but that was easy enough to get out of. Harry had spent too many years fighting off Dudley’s attempt to stick his head in the toilet not to be an expert at extricating himself from that particular hold.
Minutes later Harry was back on the couch with his hair standing on end. He attempted to flatten it back down while Ron tugged on his trousers, trying to pull them down his legs to begin giving Harry his reward.
“Hermione?” he grunted, slapping Ron’s hands away. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Would you mind giving me a haircut?”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise from the other end of the couch.
“I suppose I can do that. If you don’t mind the hatchet job it’s likely to be.”
“Really? Right now?” Ron complained as Harry fought him off, sitting back up and attempting to do up his fly. “It can’t wait?”
“Nope,” Harry replied. “It can’t wait.”
He stood up, yanking his shirt over his head and dropping it next to Ron before straddling his thighs. Gripping a fistful of ginger locks, he leaned down to kiss those pouting lips as Ron pulled him by the hips to grind against him.
“But you can.”

~ . ~
- 36
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- 38
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What it comes down to

Chapter 37. Backsliding