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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
- 41
- 42
- 43
Chapter 41. Night Flying

Harry reached out a trembling hand, moaning when Ron handed him the broom. Gliding his hand over the polished wood handle, he stroked it reverently, like a lover. Ron was almost jealous, but if he'd had any doubts about his plans, or about Harry's need for relief, it dissolved the moment Harry saw the brooms and realized what he had in mind. Hermione might not agree with him, but this was a good idea. He was sure of it. He'd finally done something right for a change when it came to Harry.
"Thank you," Harry said earnestly, dragging his gaze from the broom held tightly in his fist to stare at Ron. "I don't know what else to say."
"What are friends for? But don't thank me just yet. All I've done is hand you a broom. If it doesn't work out, the only thing you'll be doing with it is sweeping the floor."
"That doesn't matter. In fact, it's probably best if it doesn't work out," Harry told him, sighing with regret as he handed back the broom. "Hermione's right. It's too risky. You shouldn't have done it."
"Why don't you wait and let my dad and brother's decide that, hmm?"
"No. Call it off. You're putting them all in danger for me, Ron. I can't let you do it."
"Are you cracked? I'm not telling Fred and George we've called it off. They're going stir crazy at Aunt Muriel's, same as us. Bill said they nearly fell all over themselves in excitement when he pitched the idea. They'll curse me into oblivion if we back out now!"
"But what if something goes wrong?" Harry argued. "Please, Ron. I can't let that happen. It would be all my fault, and I couldn't bear it. Call it off."
"Nope. I'm not doing it. You need this. I need this. Nothing is going to happen. We'll be safe, I swear it," Ron tried to assured him, but Harry remained unconvinced judging by the panicked, pleading look in his eyes. "Look. If you really don't want to come, you don't have to, but I'm going, Harry, with or without you."
"You know I want to come!" Harry whined in frustration.
"Good. That's settled then. Argument over," Ron said in triumphant relief. "We'll leave it to the others to decide if we go or stay. Now, is there anymore food left? I'm starving."
Propping the brooms against the wall, Ron patted Harry on the shoulder, watching in some amusement the internal struggle going on inside him. What he wanted to do, of course, was pull Harry against him and finish what he’d started in the kitchen. He ached for Harry to touch him the way he’d touched that broom. But he could be Harry’s friend. His best friend, and he intended to prove it. So instead, he left Harry standing there, war still waging behind those eyes that stared after him as he went in search of something to eat.

Harry looked helplessly to Hermione as Ron walked past them into the kitchen. "You think this is dangerous, too. Can't you talk him out of it?" he asked pleadingly.
"And break both of your hearts? Even I'm not that cruel, Harry," she said, kissing him on the cheek before stroking it consolingly. Ron might be reckless and impulsive, and she did think this was dangerous, but she simply couldn't take this away from them, however great the risk. The look on Harry's face when he'd handed back that broom had nearly shattered her.
He'd just angrily told them he didn't want she or Ron to be his guardians, yet he was looking to her now to slam the door on Ron's plans for him, to be the bad guy in all this, but he couldn't have it both ways. She may be the voice in his head telling him to tread cautiously, but she was keeping her opinions to herself on this one. Harry needed to decide for himself if the risk was worth the reward.
"Hermione?" Ron called loudly. "This food is bloody fantastic! I've decided that you're doing all the cooking from now on."
"The hell I am, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted back. Grinning in spite of herself, she was pleased by the praise. "You've decided?" she questioned, feigning offense. Spinning on her heels, she marched back into the kitchen after him. "You thinks so, do you? Well I've decided that you're doing all the dishes from now on then. How about that, you chauvinistic twit!"
“How does that make me a chauvinistic twit?" he asked quizzically. "If you’re good at something, you should be the one to do it.”
“I’m not good at it!" she insisted. "If it weren’t for Harry’s help, you’d be eating a pickle and cheese sandwich for lunch.”
“All right, then he can cook the meals from now on. See, that's not chauvinistic.”
She and Ron were still bickering good naturedly at the counter when Harry came back into the room. Evidently, he'd made his decision as he walked straight up to Ron. Grabbing him by the ears, Harry pulled him down to his mouth and kissed him, passionately. Ron let out a snort of startled surprise at Harry's unexpected boldness.
His plate was balanced precariously in his left hand, and his fork dangled from the fingers of his right while Harry snogged him soundly. To her amazement, he didn’t fling them away to pull Harry against him or take him straight to the floor. He must be awfully hungry, she thought, or he really did think the meal was that tasty.
"I've reconsidered. You're not a prick," Harry declared when he'd finally released Ron.
"Well... uh... that's good then, since Hermione's started calling me names now, too," Ron responded breathlessly, looking dazed from Harry's kiss. "But you know, Harry, friends don't generally show their appreciation, or apologize, or give forgiveness, or whatever by snogging each other senseless."
"Shut up," Harry replied, flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I never said we had to be one or the other."
"I know. I'm just trying to prove to you that I can be, and want to be, both."

Ron did in fact clean up the dishes with Harry's help while she took the robes he'd brought down from the attic earlier and attempted to remove about a century's worth of dust from the moth eaten fibers so she could get a good look at them. They had potential, she decided, but they were in desperate need of laundering and repair. They smelled as if Buckbeak had used them for a pallet when he'd been hiding out here with Sirius while on the run from the Ministry. If the ancient garments didn't disintegrate in the wash, she might be able to do something with them.
When they'd settled in the drawing room, Ron tried to engage Harry in a game of chess, to help pass the time, but it was soon apparent that it couldn't hold his interest long enough to focus. His inability to concentrate meant that Ron annihilated him even more rapidly than usual. The strain of waiting for word from Ron's family was driving Harry to insanity. He was a ball of nervous energy. Anxiety kept him from settling to anything else she or Ron suggested, resorting to pacing the length of the room until she thought he'd wear a hole in the already thread-bare carpet. When he did sit down, he was nearly vibrating in his chair, checking his watch every five minutes and then glaring at it furiously as if it were making the time go by deliberately slowly. It set her nerves on edge, too, just watching him.
Finally, the message arrived. Errol came soaring into the room to her exclamation of surprised relief. The owl circled once before landing on Ron's knee. Sticking out his leg, he hooted feebly as Ron stroked his plumage and steadied him with his hand. With the other, he hastily untied the note attached to his leg.
"Why the hell didn't he just send a Patronus message?" Ron asked in exasperation. "We've been waiting for ages."
"Nevermind that!" Harry cried, his face torn between dread and eagerness as his hands trembled. "What does it say?"
Ron smoothed the note flat against his knee, still holding the elderly owl steady on his other. "Everything set. See you all at six, Arthur." He looked up, smiling widely. "Guess that's it then. We're going!"
Harry sank to his knees. He looked both petrified and relieved as he let out a long, shuddering, breath.
With still hours to go until dusk, however, time seemed to continue to crawl by, and Harry's earlier excess of nervous energy started to ebb away. Gradually, he began to draw into himself again, becoming motionless and morose. It was a stark difference from the way he'd been practically bouncing off the walls earlier. Hermione didn't know if it was his fear of what might happen once there, or apprehension about coming face to face with Arthur and the twins again after having last seen them at Ron's disastrous birthday party that was causing the reaction. She only knew it was contagious. By the time Ron went to collect the brooms and their coats, her own anxiety was running high again, and the mood in the room had grown somber.
When they'd Apparated into the shadow of the small storage shed behind the Burrow, the first things Hermione saw were the identical grinning faces of Fred and George. They were standing under the cover of the nearest tree with their wands held casually at their sides. Mr. Weasley and Bill stood close behind them. Apparently, she, Harry and Ron were the last to arrive, or perhaps, the others had been here since Ron left them hours ago getting things ready.
"Right, then," Arthur called cheerfully, clapping his hands and rubbing them together briskly as he pushed past the twins and strolled up to them. "Everyone here? Everyone who they claim to be?"
"Uh..." Hermione said uncertainly, still gripping her wand tightly while Harry stood stiffly beside her.
"Good, then we can dispense with this silly question and answer nonsense. I always have the most dreadful time thinking up new questions to ask."
"Mr. Weasley?" she interrupted tentatively. "Perhaps we should. Just to be safe."
"Oh," he said in some surprise. "All right, then. Let me think." Stroking his chin thoughtfully while he bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet, he cast his mind around for a suitable question while she waited nervously.
"That parchment was spelled for Ron's eyes only," Bill said in exasperation. "I performed the charm myself. Who else would they be? It's not like this has been a long standing engagement or anything. It was decided only hours ago."
"Exactly. And we don't have long before it'll be too dark to see," George added. "So get a move on."
"I know!" Fred offered helpfully. "Ask Ron why he was such a git to us when we showed up at his birthday party. With an expensive gift, mind. Or why none of them bothered to turn up when George and I had our twentieth. Oh, and ask Harry if he'll do those same wicked cool magic tricks he did then at our next party!"
"Shut up, Fred. You stupid prat," Ron shot back.
Beside her, Harry's shoulders shook with silent laughter, and his wand hand relaxed. The tension leaving him suddenly at the absurdity of the barbed exchange.
"I've got it!" Arthur exclaimed. "Where did you three go when you left Fred and George's shop under Harry's cloak the summer before you’re last year at school?"
"We followed Draco Malfoy down Knockturn Alley," Hermione promptly supplied. “To see what he was up to.”
"Correct!" Arthur confirmed happily. "Or at least that's where you eventually told me you’d gone. Now it's your turn. Ask me a question."
"For the love of..." George howled, throwing up his hands in frustration. "They know it's us... we know it's them. At this rate, we'll still be standing here asking each other questions at midnight."
"Hush, George," his father admonished.
"It's all right, Mr. Weasley," Harry interceded, his hoarse voice straining for composure. "I think we're good."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I trust you're who you say you are. I don't think anyone could’ve faked that."
"All right. Then let me ask another question," he responded in sudden seriousness, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "How are you, son?"
"I'm good, Mr. Weasley. Feeling much better," Harry answered shyly.
“And you two? Ron, Hermione?” he asked then, alleviating Harry's discomfiture as he turned to them.
“We’re fine, Mr. Weasley.”
“Yeah, no worries, Dad.”
"Wonderful! I'm delighted to hear it. Of course, we’ve been keeping tabs on you three, but Molly would have my hide if I didn't make sure. She frets, you know."
"I'm surprised she didn't insist on coming to see for herself," Harry replied.
"Actually..." Arthur hesitated, looking suddenly guilty. "To be honest, Harry, she doesn't know we've gone. She and Ginny made plans to visit the Lupin's to see their new addition almost the instant Bill arrived today with the news. They left loaded down with food, and knitted baby clothes and blankets. Well, you know how she is," he added with a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't expect they'll be back for several more hours."
"And if they're back early?" Ron questioned.
"Well. We will just have to deal with that eventuality if it arises.”
"Better to get forgiven than get permission?" Ron suggested dryly as Harry tried to suppress a snort of amusement.
"Precisely, Ron. Precisely," Arthur agreed, looking pleased with his youngest son's astuteness.
"Hmm," Hermione huffed irritably, realizing that Ron had employed that exact strategy today when setting this up. She’d have to have a word with him about that.
"If we've dispensed with the formalities?" Fred urged. "Let's play some Quidditch!"
“Wait,” Mr. Weasley insisted, holding up his hand to forestall Ron when he'd taken an enthusiastic step forward. “First, I need to give you these, and tell you how they work. I’ll explain the rest of the enchantments on the way to the pitch.”
Rummaging around in his pocket for a moment, he finally produced three small, flat, circular disks, like coins, but with holes in the center. They were washers, Hermione realized in some confusion.
“You can’t get through the barrier without one of these, you see? But in addition to that, they’re also a tracking tool in the event that something happens and we get separated,” he explained as he passed them out. “Press your thumb against it to spell it to you.”
Hermione did as he instructed. Beside her, the boys did likewise. The disk immediately grew warm against her thumb, the metal glowing briefly orange as the spell activated.
“There we go. Now, if any of us should get separated or lost, injured or incapacitated, the rest should be able to locate them. We’ve used a variation on the Four-Point spell for this. Let me demonstrate.” Laying his wand flat in the palm of his hand, Mr. Weasley said clearly, “Point Me, Bill!” The wand immediately spun in his hand, the tip pointing behind him to where Bill was standing.
“That’s really very clever, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione told him sincerely, flipping the dull, gray washer over in her hands in admiration before slipping it into the pocket of her jeans.
“Bill’s idea,” he said dismissively as he turned to lead them to the others.
“Thank you, Hermione,” Bill said proudly. “Told you I wasn’t totally useless.”
"That's not what Fleur says," George teased.
“Hullo, Hermione, Harry," Fred greeted them cheerfully before cutting his eyes to Ron and adding scornfully, "brother mine.” Then he slapped Harry on the back before throwing an arm around his shoulders companionably as they turned and headed for the clearing. “How’s it hangin’ then? Still curved slightly to the right, if I'm remembering it correctly from the Polyjuice potion?”
“Oh, Christ,” Harry groaned, looking mortified.
“No wonder you still had both your ears when we got back here, Fred,” George interjected. “You never said it was because you had your head stuffed down the front of your trousers to get a look at the Chosen One's goods.”
“And you might not have lost yours if you’d spent more time defending yourself with your wand instead of using it as a measuring stick.”
“Would you two leave him alone?” Ron barked threateningly, shoving George in the back so he stumbled on the uneven ground.
“What? We’re just asking after his well-being,” Fred explained innocently. “It’s only polite, and Mum frets, you know.”
"Not about that, I hope," Harry mumbled in embarrassment, the back of his neck deeply red.
“So, Harry, can you still make the whole room rattle when you’re mad?”
“Knock it off! Both of you!”
“Probably,” Harry admitted. “But I’m not doing it at your next party.”
“You sure? There’s good money in it for you.”
“No thanks.”
“All right. Then how about you fill us in on what’s been going on. A little birdie told us you three have been making plans recently.”
“A little birdie, huh? Does this songbird have a fang earing and wear his hair in a ponytail?” Harry asked wryly.
“Maybe,” George hedged.
Ahead of them, Hermione saw Bill’s shoulders hunch around his ears guiltily.
"So what do you say, Harry?"
“Sorry, boys. Not gonna happen,” Harry told them firmly.
“We can help, you know,” Fred argued.
“Not this time.”
“That’s what we thought you'd say. Right, George?”
“Right. So, we thought we’d help out by bringing you some fresh supplies from Weasley’s Wizard Weezes.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, George produced a tiny package, magically shrunk, and dropped it into Harry’s hand.
“Thanks, guys,” Harry said gratefully as they stepped through the magical barrier and onto the grassy clearing.
The moment Mr. Weasley finished explaining the boundaries and the magical protection around the make-shift pitch and then given the go ahead, Harry kicked off. He shot straight up from the ground going full out, letting out a whoop of delight as he got the feel of the borrowed broom. Zooming upwards to a dizzying height, he leveled off finally, likely near the upmost limit of the shield, then turned the handle downward and dove, pressing himself flat to the broom as he shot towards the ground again.
Hermione covered her eyes, feeling slightly faint with vertigo when he pulled up at the last minute and spun skyward again, his arms thrown out wide this time, spiraling into the air as he clamped the broom between his knees to remain seated.
"Merlin, he's good!" Bill exclaimed beside her. "Charlie told me about seeing him in the Tri-Wizard Tournament against that Horntail. He said it was some of the best flying he'd ever seen. I believe him now. Harry looks like a bird up there."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, nodding her head. And she did. Harry was like some exotic bird of prey. Rare and beautiful. Wild and untamed to whom the most unimaginable cruelty was to be locked in a cage. "I've always thought so, too. But you've seen him fly before, Bill... right here. You've played against him."
"Yeah, but he was just messing about then. I've never seen him fly with that kind of intensity before. Look at him," he said in admiration, pointing at Harry, who was now making laps around the pitch at an incredible speed, weaving in and out of the others. "That's my damned broom. It has a pretty significant drag. You have to fight it a bit to steer, but he's barely even touching the handle... like it's an extension of his body or something."
"It's been like that since the first time he ever rode a broom," she explained. "Well, actually, I say that, but I suppose it’s the first time I ever saw him or he ever remembers being on one. A few months back, he found a picture of himself as a baby, riding on a little toy one. He didn’t look much like a bird then, though, more like a little green-eyed cherub."
"Harry!" Ron shouted. "You warmed up and ready to play?"
Nodding, Harry banked hard and flew back down to meet them, looping Ron once effortlessly in a graceful arc before taking his place across from him. He, Ron, Fred, and George faced off against each other around a wide no-man's-land circle in the center of the pitch directly over the Quaffle that lay on the ground beneath them.
"That's my cue," Bill said, dismissing her then and running forward. Scooping up the red ball, he held it under his arm as he stared up at the four men hovering above him. "All right. Two-on-two. No Keepers, no Beaters, no Seekers, and no rules. With that being said—"
"Hear that, Ronnykins? No rules. No mummy to run to and tell on us when we aren't being fair!" Fred taunted.
"I don't run and tell,” Ron argued indignantly. “I've kept my mouth shut plenty of times. Did I tell her and Dad when you were blackmailing Ludo Bagman? No. Did I tell when you were testing your products at Hogwarts on first years, or when you two put beetles in Bill's soup in Egypt? No, I didn't."
"Wait...When you what?" Bill spluttered.
"Well, you have now, you git!" George said, outraged.
"What the hell, Fred?" Bill shouted furiously.
"What? It wasn't me, it was George!"
"Was not."
"But you told on me when I accidentally transfigured your teddy bear into a spider," Fred accused, continuing the argument with Ron.
"Yeah, and when we gave you that acid pop by accident," George added.
"Neither of those was an accident!" Ron shouted, heatedly. "That little prank scarred me for life, you bloody bastard. I’ve been terrified of spiders ever since. And you burned a whole in my tongue with that sweet you talked me into eating. I had to go to St. Mungo's!"
"Boys! Enough!" Mr. Weasley called impatiently.
"Right," Bill said, glaring up at the twins. "As I was saying. There are no rules, so play nice. Even though Dad’s already explained that no one can get in without a token and that there are warning spells that will alert us if anyone gets anywhere near this place, the three of us will be walking the perimeter just to be safe. So we're not keeping score. You play until you wear yourselves out or it gets so dark you're flying into each other and Dad makes us quit. Understand?"
All four of them responded in the affirmative.
"Then off you go," Bill shouted, throwing the oddly shaped ball into the air.
Above her, bodies crashed together in a violent scramble for the Quaffle. There were several grunts and the explosion of breath as the mass of limbs struggled to gain possession from one another. Finally, someone broke free of the pack. Hermione thought it must be one of the twins. They had red hair in any case, so she was fairly certain it wasn’t Harry. The rest tore after him, either shouting encouragement or instructions to their partner.
It was Quidditch like she’d never seen it played before. Well, in actuality, it wasn’t Quidditch at all. It was more accurately described as a fairly brutal game of keep-away. With no rules, there was a rather liberal amount of what would be considered cheating going on if this were a regulation game; cobbing, all manner of broom tampering, including blurting and blagging, along with a vigorous exchanging of verbal intimidation. It was unlike any of the casual games she’d ever seen them take part in over the summer holidays either. It had been so long since any of them had been given the chance to play that they were like a bunch of rabid animals broken loose from their restraints.
She stood and watched for awhile until her neck grew too sore to keep her head tilted up at that angle, but it was long enough to see both sides score at least once. Then she set off around the perimeter in the opposite direction of Mr. Weasley. Wand up and at the ready, she peered through the slight cloudiness of the magical shield that protected and concealed them and into the orchard that surrounded the clearing. She studied the dark spaces that clung to the trees for unusual, sinister shapes between frequent upward glances at the chaos going on above her. This was less in an effort to keep track of the game, and more an act of self preservation in the rather likely event that one of them got knocked off their broom and came hurling down from the sky to land on top of her.
“Hey! That’s not fair! You can’t use wands,” Ron bellowed sometime later after she'd made a dozen or more laps around the perimeter.
Hermione stopped and look skyward again.
“Quit whining, little brother. No rules, remember?” Fred called back gleefully as he zoomed off in the other direction.
“No wands, Fred,” Mr. Weasley said in sharp rebuke. “You’ll put someone’s eye out.”
“Tattletale!”
“Oh yeah? Do you want to see unfair? Harry doesn’t even need a wand, do you Harry? Summon that ball from him like you did that spatula from Hermione today and wipe that fucking smirk off his face!”
“Language, Ron!” Arthur warned.
“Sorry,” Ron grumbled in apology.
"Hermione? Do you let him kiss you with that filthy mouth?" one of the twins asked her, sounding scandalized.
"Every chance I get," she replied, smiling at their groans of disgust. "But who told you I'm snogging Ron in the first place?"
"A little birdie," one of them replied.
"Damn it, Bill! Bit of a gossip monger aren't you? What? Do you run over there every night after we leave to give everyone the latest scoop over Mum's tea and biscuits?" Ron snarled irritably. "The last thing I need is you giving these two any more ammunition against me."
Bill made no effort to apologize or reply, and instead, continued his circuit of the pitch as if he hadn't heard while George pulled faces at Ron as he flew past.
"Do it, Harry. Show them what you can do," Ron urged Harry. "That ought to give them something to talk about on Potterwatch besides my love life or estimates on the size of your prick."
"Ron!" Hermione, and Mr. Weasley both shouted in unison.
"What?" Ron bellowed. "Fred and George can discuss it all they want with impunity, but I can't?"
"For Christ sake! Can we all please stop discussing my manhood?" Harry barked in irritation. "And I'm not doing that, Ron," he added. "If you want the Quaffle, you're just going to have to take it from him."
"Some friend you are. Whose side are you on anyway?"
"George is right. You are a whiny git," Harry complained, but Hermione could still hear amusement in his voice. "I think I'd rather have Blabber-mouth Bill as a partner!"
Near her, Hermione saw Bill fling his arms up in exasperation.
"At least he might be able to score a goal," Harry added sardonically as Bill saluted him with a middle finger.
"Bill said we're not keeping score," Ron said defensively.
"I said we're not keeping score, Ron," Bill corrected, waving his hand around to encompass the three of them still on the ground. "You all can do whatever you like as long as it doesn't involve using foul language or poking each other in the eye with wands, apparently. And lay off me, all right? I'm just doing my job as the eldest brother. See if I ever tell any of you worthless sods anything again."
"Neither of you is going to score anymore goals if you don't stop bickering," Fred taunted. "You two sound like an old married couple, you know that?"
The Quaffle whizzed by Ron's left ear as he threw it to George, who blew Ron a kiss before tucking the ball under his arm and turning for the goal. Speeding forward, Harry grabbed George by the back of his shirt, nearly unseating them both and making George drop the Quaffle when he was forced to cling onto his broom with both hands.
"Catch that!" Harry gasped.
"Get off, you specky git!" George growled, yanking furiously on his shirt to free himself while Harry struggled to contain him, both of them grunting with effort and snorting with laughter as they grappled together while Ron scored, crowing in triumph.
“Thirty more minutes, boys," Mr. Weasley called up to them.
They all whined at this pronouncement. Pleading arguments and unsuccessful negotiations followed.
"Honestly," Hermione intoned under her breath and turned once again back towards the woods as Bill lapped her, having made a circuit while she watched the game progress.
It was a good deal longer than thirty minutes later when Mr. Weasley finally called a halt to the game. Darkness had fallen almost completely so that the shadows had all grown together and only the outline of the trees was still visible, slightly denser than the sky around them. She'd given up searching the woods for intruders and now searched the sky for the dark shapes still flying above her, silhouetted against the weak moonlight, as they reluctantly headed for the ground one by one.
She knew that Ron and Harry wouldn't agree, and tell her in condescending tones that she just didn't understand about Quidditch again, but she felt a bit relieved that it was finally over and that they had emerged safely. At least as far as she could tell. Neither was limping or sporting a black eye as they approached her, brooms slung over their shoulders.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Weasley," Harry said earnestly.
"It was my pleasure, Harry. A very welcome distraction."
"Really, I know this was a huge undertaking. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've done. I'll never forget this."
"Nor will I. Seeing you boys play tonight is something I will remember fondly forever. It was worth the effort and the tongue lashing I'll likely receive from Molly and Ginny if they've beaten us home. It's been a long time since any of us have let off a little steam and had a laugh. Too long." He hugged Harry then. Pulling him tightly against him and patting him firmly on the back before releasing him and hugging her and Ron in turn. "You three don't be strangers." he told Ron determinedly, cupping his youngest son's face. "I know you're all busy doing things you can't tell us about, but you could visit once in awhile or drop us a note to let us know you're safe. You're mother—"
"She frets," Ron supplied, grinning. "Yeah, I know. We'll try, Dad. Really. Give her my love, okay? And Ginny."
"I will, son," Arthur agreed, smoothing Ron's sweat damp hair affectionately. "You three head on out. The rest of us will dismantle these charms before we go."
"See you all tomorrow?" Bill asked.
"Of course," Ron confirmed, handing him back the borrowed brooms before turning to the twins. "Fred, George, you cheating bastards, It was a good game."
"Language, Ron," George teased, punching him good naturedly in the shoulder.
"That's as gracious as our little brother can be in defeat, George," Fred explained. "Losing sticks in his craw."
"In your dreams you won!" Ron growled as he grabbed Hermione's hand unexpectedly and pulled her to him before kissing her sloppily for their benefit, bending her backwards in his arms.
"Night," Harry said over the retching noises of the twins, his voice tight with embarrassment, shoving the side of Ron's face so they broke apart.
"Be safe," Fred and George called in unison as Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and turned on the spot.
Both of them looked thoroughly worn out as they hung up their jackets and trudged up the stairs ahead of her. That had been the point of this whole excursion, to allow Harry to let off a little steam. So mission accomplished, she supposed.
In the light of the stairwell, she could see scratches on both their hands. Searching for the Dittany, she dug around in her bag when they flopped down on the couch in the drawing room, their cheeks and lips red from windburn and their hair wild and damp with sweat.
"Oh, God. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow." Ron complained. "My arms already feel like jelly." He held out his rubbery appendages to Hermione at her prompting while she rolled her eyes at his whining and dabbed the potion over the small cuts to heal them.
"The two of you look like you've spent the last few hours locked in a trunk with an angry Crookshanks, and neither of you are going to be able to even lift your arms tomorrow, you know. So, was it worth it?" she asked, though she already knew the answer judging by the identical gleam in their eyes and the smiles on their faces.
"Hell yes," Ron confessed as Harry nodded in agreement. "I haven't had that much fun since... well, I don't know when."
"I'm good," Harry said when she'd reached for his arms that he had tucked up against his body.
"Don't be ridiculous," she argued. "It will only take a second." She tugged on his reluctant limb and Harry finally relinquished it, grimacing slightly when she touched his hand. "Harry?" she questioned sharply. "Is your finger broken?"
The middle finger on his right hand was bent, curled into his palm and it was swollen and purple around the knuckle.
"No," he denied, jerking as she tried to straighten it. "I think it's just jammed."
"Bad luck, mate," Ron said, wincing in sympathy.
"For heaven's sake, Harry! You could have said something."
"I didn't want to stop playing," he explained as she massaged the digit and knuckle, feeling for a break.
"Well you could've stopped long enough for someone to heal it at least, or fixed it yourself," she admonished. "Now it's so swollen I can't tell if it's broken or not."
"It's not that bad," Harry argued as she pulled out her wand.
"Episky," she intoned resignedly, tapping her wand against the damaged finger.
Harry grunted softly when the cartilage shifted and the finger straightened, gritting his teeth against the fresh rush of pain.
"I can't really do anything about the swelling, you know, besides put some ice on it, but you still probably won't be able to bend it for days. If you'd healed it straight away, it would've been fine. Instead, judging by the state it's in, it looks as if you let it go on for hours."
"Happened as soon as Bill tossed the Quaffle that first time," Harry confirmed sheepishly. "Otherwise I'd probably have scored a lot more goals."
"Idiot," Hermione growled, shaking her head resignedly before healing the scratches on his other hand.
"Is that the excuse you're going with for your abysmal performance tonight?" Ron asked, smirking at Harry.
"Yup. I was playing left handed after all, and steering with a damaged right. My aim was crap, yet I still managed to score more goals than you. So what's your excuse? Did you get a splinter or something? Maybe a butt cramp?"
Ron started laughing then. "Yeah, my left cheek was spasming like crazy, and I had a splinter the size of my thumb jammed into my thigh," he lied. "So, Harry Potter, the great Quidditch player, is ambidextrous eh? Can you write with your left hand as well?"
"God, no. It's not even legible."
"So, about the same as with your right hand then?"
"Pretty much," Harry agreed ruefully. "I can write with my feet, though."
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked with a snort of amusement. "You can't be serious."
"Well, not with a quill or anything small like that. It has to be a pretty thick marker or maybe a piece of chalk or something that I can pinch between my toes. What?" he asked defensively at their incredulous looks.
"Well, that's a really useful skill, I'm sure," Ron replied mordantly. "You know I'm going to make you prove it, right?"
"Under what circumstances did it even occur to you to try to hone that particular talent, Harry?" she questioned in amazement.
"You'd be surprised at the things you can think up to entertain yourself when you spend most of your time locked in a cupboard."
The smiles faded from both hers and Ron's faces at that statement.
"I really hate your relatives, Harry," Ron finally muttered angrily.
Harry merely shrugged dismissively before changing the subject. "So, did you see that one I scored that sailed right through Fred's hands?"
Ron nodded, the grin reappearing on his face again, and Hermione knew that she was in for another endless discussion about Quidditch where they enthusiastically described a play by play breakdown of the match as if they all hadn't been there to see it. She got up then to head down to the kitchen, intending to get a bag of ice for Harry's hand and make some tea because it looked like they were in for a late night. Yet Harry grew suddenly serious again.
"Ron, this really was the best night. I don't know how to thank you for setting this up and for insisting on going when I started freaking out."
"I told you everything would be fine," Ron replied smugly, before slapping Harry's knee, companionably. "I just hope it did you some good."
Harry nodded, still staring hard at Ron. "I uh... I think I'm just going to grab a quick shower," he announced somewhat nervously before licking his chapped lips self consciously. He got to his feet then, hesitating a moment before grabbing her bag off the table and heading to the bathroom.
Hermione smiled at his retreating back before turning back to Ron, eyebrow raised.
"What?" he demanded at her quizzical look.
"Nothing," she answered, waving her hand dismissively as she, too, headed out of the room.
She returned upstairs with the tea and ice pack before Harry had finished his shower, so she took his place on the couch and kicked off her shoes before placed her feet in Ron's lap.
"You two are probably going to be saddle sore tomorrow, but at least you had fun getting into that state. I on the other hand, spent the evening in a much less pleasurable pursuit. My feet are throbbing," she complained while blowing on her steaming mug of tea and wiggling her toes. "I must have made that circuit around the pitch fifty times tonight."
"And I truly appreciate it, luv," he replied, cupping her heal and rubbing his thumb firmly into her arch. "It sure made me, and Harry, too, feel safer knowing you were keeping an eye out. Having the three of you there was critical to allowing him to relax enough to enjoy himself tonight. Without you there, it would have been a wasted effort, you know?"
Feeling mollified by his praise, Hermione moaned, leaning her head against the back of the couch and closing her eyes in pleasure as he continued to soothe her aching feet. "That feels really good, Ron," she said on a sigh after a few relaxing minutes.
"It would probably feel better if I put that minty cream on your feet, but Harry has your bag with him in the loo."
As if on cue, Harry came back into the room at that moment, clutching her bag. He wore only a pair of pajama bottoms, his chest bare and hair towel dried, but not combed. His skin pink from the shower and his jaw shadowed with stubble as he hadn't shaved today gave him that roguish quality that she found so attractive on him.
"Come here," she said, pulling her feet out of Ron's lap when Harry hovered at the door. Sitting up, she placed her mug on the table and picked up the ice pack. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she patted the space beside her in invitation as Ron got up.
She expected him to meet Harry, to pull him into an embrace or take him by the ears as Harry had done to him earlier today before kissing him thoroughly. But Ron merely picked up the remaining two mugs before handing one to Harry. Then he took a seat in the chair across from her. Hermione stared at him in some surprise, Harry uncertainly before dropping her bag back onto the table and sitting beside her as directed. He had used the balm on himself she realized as the crisp smell of the mint-infused ointment hit her nostrils, but it wasn't overpowering. That clean smell of soap as well as his natural scent that always reminded her of rain clung to him too.
"Well, I'm pretty sure we can scrounge up some parchment, but I don't know what we're going to use for a writing utensil big enough to hold between your toes, Harry," Ron said with a smirk, easing the awkwardness in the room. "Maybe Hermione can transfigure or conjure up something so you can demonstrate this foot writing feat."
"It's no big deal," Harry said, rolling his eyes and grinning sheepishly as he relaxed his shoulders. "I didn't say I was good at it or anything. Only that I could."
"Yeah, but I have to see it to believe it."
"Maybe having nimble feet is a rare ability some people possess like curling your tongue or being able to raise one eyebrow," Harry suggested then.
"Actually, neither of those two things is that rare," Hermione explained. "About sixty percent of the population can curl their tongues, and you can train your muscles to raise an eyebrow if you don't naturally have that ability."
"Of course, you would know that," Ron said with a chuckle.
"So can both of you curl your tongues then?" Harry asked.
"Yes," they both acknowledged.
"I can't," Harry confessed. "I've tried."
"Really?" Ron asked, looking surprised.
"Nope," Harry confirmed. "But I'm not demonstrating that tonight either. I'm completely beat, and I need some help putting that salve on this arm," he added, lifting his left arm. "This is the one that's going to be sore, but I can't rub it in with this hand," he explained, waving his damaged right hand.
Well, that explained why he was shirtless. She'd been somewhat surprised to see his entrance from the bathroom. Harry almost never went without a shirt. He was simply too modest to expose that much flesh voluntarily unless the situation called for it. And it was always the first article of clothing that went back on again afterwards. Even if he thought that tonight was going to be a situation that would require it, which she believed he clearly did, he'd still never made a statement to that effect in advance. She would attribute his shyness to his reluctance to display the worst of the scars that covered his body, but even before he'd suffered most of those scars, he was never to be found in any state besides fully dressed unless you counted the rare occasions when he was barefoot.
"Here," Hermione said, reaching for her bag and handing him the ice pack. "I'll do it for you, and you can sit there like a good boy and let this ice work on that swelling." She found the ointment and dropped her bag back on the table before unscrewing the lid.
Harry had leaned back against the couch with his mug of tea in his left hand and his right hand resting on his knee with the ice pack over it, but Hermione urged him upwards again with her elbow when she'd scooped up a generous amount of the salve in her fingers. Obediently, he sat up straight again at her silent command and sat still for her while she massaged it into his neck and shoulder, down his arm and over the right side of his chest. He even managed to shiver only slightly without dislodging the ice-pack when the skin on his arm pimpled with gooseflesh and his nipples hardened from the chill.
"There," she said, rubbing the remaining cream into the soles of her still aching feet. "That's the best I can do."
"Thank you," he said, flushing slightly at the husky quality of his voice. His eyes were heavy with arousal, but also tiredness when he looked at her before quickly looking away again and taking another sip of his tea.
"You're welcome, Harry," she responded before turning to Ron. "Do you want me to do yours?"
"Nah, I'll be fine," he replied casually, waving off the offer for help.
Hermione stared at him. He was acting out of character tonight, deliberately ignoring Harry's signals, or what passed for signals. Though he would not initiate it, Harry was clearly indicating that he was willing to expend a little more energy tonight before bed, and neither she nor Ron were so obtuse as to not be aware of it. On any other night, Ron would have already had Harry underneath him on the couch, signals or no. And she didn't think it was that he was too tired tonight. Ron was never too tired for sex. The idea that he would pass on an opportunity to be intimate with Harry was simply absurd.
Still behaving as if nothing at all were amiss, Ron returned to the discussion of Quidditch and Harry joined him until fatigue had his eyes drooping. He couldn't have had more than a few hours of sleep last night. And while he'd managed a couple more this morning, it still wasn't enough to be considered restful. Yet he seemed reluctant to call it a night and head to bed, though she knew his body at least longed for sleep. Perhaps he feared a recurrence of the nightmare if he returned to his bed tonight. Whatever he'd dreamt had been terrifying enough to rattle him badly this morning. Even the suggestion of speaking about it had made him turn pale and then combative. All he would reveal was that what happened to them could have been much worse, which confirmed at least that it had been about what occurred in the Malfoy cellar. But what he'd dreamt could not possibly be worse than the reality of what they'd done to him. That realization had led her to surmise that the nightmare had been about them, about her and Ron.
Unfolding her legs, she patter her thigh in invitation while taking up the thread of the conversation. "So, let's discuss this forgiveness over permission strategy," she began, gently pulling on Harry's arm when he'd remained stubbornly vertical. "Is this something all the Weasley men learn at their father's knee or merely something your father learned during the course of his marriage to your mother?"
Smirking at Ron's unease, Harry finally gave in and lay down beside her. Once he's shifted around on the couch for a bit to get comfortable, he positioning himself so that his right arm could lie flat against the cushions, allowing the icepack to continue its work to reduce the swelling on his hand. Hermione carded her fingers through his hair when he'd settled his head on her thigh, absently stroking the fringe off his forehead and circling loose strands around his ear while he sighed in contentment.
"You have met my mother, yeah?" Ron asked.
"I have, but if you think that strategy will work on me, you're in for a rude awakening. I'm on to you, Ronald Weasley."
"Think it will work on Griphook tomorrow?" Harry asked before yawning.
"Not in a million years," Ron answered morosely. "That little bastard is going to want to make our lives as miserable as possible for ditching him today."
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that tomorrow, we're facing the prospect of a very long day of being shut in a room with an irate goblin."
"That's what I thought," Harry concurred. "Try not to murder him, would you, Ron?"
"I'll give it my best effort," Ron replied without enthusiasm. "Though it would solve our problem with the sword."
"Sword won't do us any good without a Horcrux to use it on."
"Maybe Hermione can hit him with a cheering charm straight off tomorrow," Ron suggested with a snort. "That'd be a laugh. Can you imagine Griphook cheerful? It's like trying to picture the twins not being complete gits."
"I'm not jinxing him, Ron."
"Well if you expect him to remain alive past lunch, you'd best hit me with one then, or give me that bottle of calming draught."
Harry smiled, and then closed his eyes, giving in to his desire for sleep at last. Still stroking him soothingly, Hermione watched the grin fade from his face as all his features slowly softened and he sank deeper, until his whole body was utterly relaxed and his breathing was deep and regular.
"So," she whispered once Harry was fully asleep. "What are you playing at, Ron?"
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently.
"You know what I mean. You're toying with Harry, and I want to know why."
"I'm not toying with him, 'Mione. I'm trying to be his friend. That's all."
"You're confusing him, Ron, and you know it. Any other night, you'd be all over him. He certainly expected it. Now he probably thinks you're mad at him or something."
"I'm not trying to confuse him, and I certainly don't want him to think I'm mad at him. I'm just trying to take a step back. Let him breathe, you know? That's what he said he wanted."
"Yes, but I don't think he meant for you to cut him off, Ron. You know as well as I do that he wanted you tonight."
"Did he really?" Ron questioned. "Or did he merely want to thank me for tonight by giving me what he thinks I want from him, as payment? To settle the debt or something."
"Well..." she said uncertainly. "He wants to please you, Ron."
"I don't want his gratitude, and I don't want him to give himself to me as a gift or something. I want him to want me as much as I want him. I want him to admit it, to show it and initiate it for once. I want him to be the one who asks for it. Just one time."
"Ron, I don't think he knows how," she explained.
"Of course he knows how. Everyone knows how. You're born with it, aren't you?"
"Perhaps. But if Harry was born with that instinct, he quickly learned after his parents died and he was left with his awful relatives not to expect it or ask for it from anyone, because I doubt they once showed him any affection, even as a baby. Imagine what that must have been like for him, how lonely he must have been. Loved and adored for the first year of his life, and then suddenly, some evil man takes all that away by killing his parents and trying to kill him. Then he's dumped on the doorstep of a new family to grow up unloved, treated like a pariah. He must have been so confused and frightened, surrounded by people that neglected and despised him. For heaven's sake, he'd smashed his finger tonight, and I don't think it even occurred to him to ask anyone to help him. He certainly didn't expect to receive any aid. It was probably a monumental task for him to ask me to put the ointment on him earlier and only resorted to it after he'd tried and failed to do it himself. Seeking affection, asking for it might have been a part of his nature once, Ron, but he's spent his formative years being utterly deprived of it. What happened to him in the dungeons was without a doubt the most extreme example of the cruelty he'd been taught to expect from people, but it was no accident that he was able to endure it for so long. You can't expect him to be able to reverse that level of conditioning overnight, if ever."
"So what you're saying is that I'm punishing him for it."
"I don't think you're punishing him exactly. I think you just expect too much from him sometimes, Ron."
"I thought this would be easier with him. I mean, I knew it wouldn't be effortless. He's Harry after all. I understand that he has a lot of things to overcome, that he's still badly damaged, but I just thought with us both being blokes and all that it would be less complicated somehow, that we'd have more common ground to work from once he'd finally accepted this, and we both got past the initial freak out of, 'Oh, my God! What the fuck is wrong with me? I want my best mate sexually' you know?"
Hermione smiled at that. She understood that it must have been a terrifying awakening for the both of them. The fact that they did share a greater measure of commonality wouldn't have been an advantage initially, particularly with someone who'd been through the things Harry had. It had taken an profound amount of courage on Ron's part to act on those feelings.
"What is it about him that makes him so damned alluring?" Ron asked. "I can't understand why I'm so obsessed with him all the time, why I want to consume him, dominate him. I'm wildly jealous of anyone that even touches him or he shows any affection to, including Ginny and you. Hell, I was jealous of the damn broom he was fondling this morning for fuck's sake! It's not like that between you and me, Hermione. I'm in love with you. I want you constantly, and I'd kill anyone who even thought to take you from me, but I don't want to smother you or control you. There's a balance between us because I trust you completely and believe that the feeling is mutual. That's missing with him. I can see how much he wants us, how much he needs us, but he won't give in to it. He merely accepts it, but doesn't seek it. It drives me mad."
"He just absorbs it, doesn't he? Like a dry sponge. But he never expects it. He always looks so stunned when it's offered, so sadly grateful. There is something incredibly beautiful and painful about that. I think we're both drawn to those qualities in him. We've both witnessed the damage and want to heal it. I think every person he's ever met senses it in him and feels the same desire, the same pull to heal him. We all see the wealth of potential in him, the abundant capacity he has for love and are desperate to be the recipient of it. Whomever learns the secret to unlocking it will be handsomely rewarded, indeed, won't they?"
"It's not going to be us though, is it?" he asked resignedly.
"I don't know, Ron. I honestly don't. But if he decides tomorrow that this isn't what he wants, or a month from now... a year, would you regret any of it?"
He shook his head. "No," he said with a sigh. "Not a single moment."
"Nor I," she agreed. "Then all we can do is offer it, give him freely whatever he'll accept from us, for as long as he'll let us, and then allow him the freedom to choose."
"You're right," he said, getting to his feet and coming over to her. He stared at Harry for a moment and then leaned down to her and kissed her, cupping her face in his large hands. "I'm not giving up on him though, you understand. I don't think I could if I wanted to. But even if it turns out it's not us he wants, we'll still have each other, won't we?"
"Yes," she agreed, smiling up at him, feeling suddenly tearful as if they'd made a solemn pact. "Always."
"I love you," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Come to bed with me so I can show you."
Gesturing down at Harry helplessly, she said, "I'll wake him if I try to scoot out from under him, and he's resting so peacefully."
"So are you planning to sit there all night like that?" Ron asked in amusement.
"Well, no. I don't suppose so. I just hate to disturb him. He needs to sleep, Ron."
"He isn't is he?"
"No, he told me as much the other night, and I think he was reluctant to return there tonight after his dream last night. He'd deny it of course if we asked and insist on sleeping in there if we wake him, but I don't think he'll actually get any rest. It's wearing him down."
"Right," Ron said decisively. "Let's try and fix that then."
"How do you plan to do that? He won't agree to move back in with us, Ron. I've already pleaded with him to."
"Maybe you're not asking the right way, or offering the right incentive," he whispered teasingly, grinning at her look of indignation. "Being a bloke like him still has some advantages here, you know."
"Oh really?" she said skeptically, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Let's see your effort, then."
"It's LeviOsa, not LevioSA," he mocked her playfully, pulling a face at her outraged expression. "Watch and learn," he advised confidently before adding under his breath, "God this is going to be embarrassing if it doesn't work."
Kneeling down beside the couch next to Harry, Ron slid his fingers into Harry's hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb to rouse him.
"Hey," Ron called softly to Harry when his eyes blinked open.
"Hey," Harry mumbled sleepily.
"It's late, and I'm trying to talk Hermione into coming to bed with me, but you're using her for a pillow," Ron explained.
"Oh... 'm sorry," Harry apologized, still disoriented with sleep as he looked up at her through the lenses of his glasses which sat crookedly on his nose.
"I would've conjured you a real pillow if I thought I could make the trade without waking you. But then I decided that I wanted to wake you anyway," Ron added before leaning down to kiss Harry.
However sleep clouded his brain might have been, it didn't stop Harry from reacting when Ron's lips made contact with his own. His left hand came up to grip the back of Ron's head, and he opened his mouth almost immediately, granting access to Ron's questing tongue. As the kiss intensified, his fingers curled in Ron's hair, holding Ron against him while his body arched under him.
"I thought you said that this wasn't what friends do," Harry murmured softly though his labored breathing as he stared up at Ron when they broke apart. His eyes were red rimmed and still heavy with drowsiness. Yet Hermione thought there was also relief there in his gaze, making her certain that Harry had been worried tonight that Ron was upset with him.
"They do in this house," Ron growled in answer.
Harry grunted in amusement which turned into a groan when Ron ran his thumb along Harry's lower lip before sliding the digit between his teeth and into his mouth. Staring down at him, Ron brushed the tip of Harry's tongue once with the pad of his finger before pressing down slightly to encourage him to open his parted lips wider. Swiping his thumb tantalizingly across Harry's lip again so that it glistened with his own saliva when he retracted it, Ron leaned down again and molded his mouth against Harry's once more.
Harry met him greedily. He was moaning desperately by the time Ron moved to his neck and began nibbling at his throat, flicking Harry's earlobe with his tongue before pulling it between his teeth.
"Do you want me, Harry?" he asked, whispering into Harry's ear which made Harry shudder and clench his jaw.
"Yes," Harry hissed, his eyes darting up to meet hers again when he tilted his head back to give Ron more access to his neck. They held hers while Ron's hand slid over his bare chest as it traveled slowly down to stroke him through his pajama bottoms, making her a part of this though she hadn't touched him, refusing to interfere in Ron's plan or help him along in any way. It was broken then when Harry bit his lips and closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose as the muscles in his stomach tightened when Ron's hand closed around his erection.
"That's good," Ron murmured seductively, pulling back to stare down at Harry again. "Then, I'd really like for you to come to bed with us tonight. In Sirius' room. I'm not asking for a permanent move," Ron added when Harry's eyes narrowed warily and he frowned slightly. "I just want you in my bed tonight. Would that be all right?"
"Yeah... okay," Harry quietly agreed after a moment of consideration, nodding his head at the terms of agreement.
Well, I'll be damned! Hermione thought in grudging admiration as Ron glanced up at her quickly and smiled. Getting to his feet, he removed the rapidly melting ice-pack from Harry's hand and dropped it on the table before reaching down and pulling Harry to his feet. Then he quickly turned and led the way up to Sirius' room.
Harry grasped her by the hand, and they followed Ron, but he hesitated at the threshold of the bedroom, seeming suddenly to be second guessing his decision. Hermione understood. There was something strange about the sight of this familiar space. It had been weeks since they'd last slept here. The room held memories, both good and bad for them all. Sensing Harry's unease, Ron gripped him by the elbow, pulling him into the room and into his arms. Hermione stepped past them, moving to the bed where she sat down facing them and began undressing. Not that either of them noticed. She didn't mind, however. Ron hadn't won yet. Harry needed more persuading to overcome his apprehension. Getting him in the room and getting him to stay there were two very different things. But while she would have used soothing words of encouragement to attempt to coax him into bed instead of waggling her arse as enticement, Ron returned to the method he'd employed so successfully earlier to override his objections.
Running his hands down Harry's back and into the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms at his hips, Ron didn't allow Harry the chance to change his mind. He took them straight to the floor in one swift motion, stripping his intended lover bare in a matter of seconds. Harry gasped in surprise, Hermione in grudging approval as Ron straightened back up.
Harry stood on the balls of his feet, the muscles in his calves bunching as Ron gripped him by the arse with both hands then, pulling Harry up to his own height as he pressed their hips together and reclaimed his mouth. Something about Harry's smaller size, him standing on tip-toes to be eye level with Ron, naked and exposed while Ron remained fully clothed made her tremble with arousal.
Part of her fascination was simply the witnessing of something so intimate between two people, but a larger part was in the still shocking novelty that the act was being committed by two men. Men that she loved. The image of them together was so damned erotic. Their bodies were just so foreign to her own. There was almost no softness in them. They were coarse hair covering scarred and freckled skin, pulled taut over bone and tendon and muscle. They were blunt edges and hard planes, reflected in the sharp angle of Ron's nose and the straight line of Harry's jaw while they kissed.
But mostly the attraction was in the way they engaged each other when their desires consumed them. Unlike how they touched her, there was very little gentleness in their interaction together. In fact, their foreplay was a struggle for dominance, a battle for control. The part she loved witnessing the most, though, was the moment when Harry finally yielded, surrendering himself to Ron. It was a foregone conclusion, but fighting against it aroused Harry. She suspected he also knew it aroused Ron just as much, granting him a rush of heady control to see Harry submit. But what he might not be as aware of was that when the moment arrived, and Harry relented, it always made her pulse pound, too, filling her with a potent aching need.
Harry certainly had the capacity to prevail, to have Ron on his knees and begging, but he never did. Outside of the bedroom, Harry might command control, but when it came to sex, he wanted to relinquish it entirely. It was the only time he could give up the mantle and the titles, relieving himself of the burdens of leadership he bore. Here he wanted to be told what to do. He didn't want to think, or take any responsibility of himself or them. For a little while, in this setting, he could let go of all of it, hand over all his power and place himself completely in their hands. It took an amazing amount of courage and faith to make himself that vulnerable to them. Yet he did it. Over and over.
Sensing victory at last, Ron turned Harry then, molding himself to Harry's back as he kissed along his neck and up to his ear. An arm around Harry's chest, he held him braced against him as his other hand reached down to wrap his fingers around Harry's shaft, claiming jealous ownership of the organ which had been the subject of so much teasing discussion tonight between himself and his brothers.
"Oh, God," Harry moaned, his eyes raking over her nude form as she sat watching them from the bed before locking on hers again when Ron gave him a firm stroke. He was gasping in pleasure. Lifting his arm to grip the back of Ron's head with his undamaged hand, his back arched, his chest and neck flushed with heat while Ron continued to slide Harry's cock between his tight fist, pulling on him persistently with an expertise born of long practice.
Pinching his nipple, Ron roughly twisted the nub of flesh between his thumb and finger with enough force that Harry groaned and his hips bucked. His eyes had gone completely black with lust as he continued to stare at her. Panting, he tried to bite his chapped and kiss-swollen lips to stop the rush of breath from his lungs and the groans he was unable to stifle tonight as Ron pushed him closer to the edge.
Hermione saw the complete trust he had for them in his eyes, as if she could see straight through him viewed from those black portals into his soul. All his thoughts and emotions laid bare, the steel core within him dissolving in front of her eyes as he gazed at her. To be offered that tiny, unguarded glimpse inside him when he looked directly at her in the grip of passion, so close to his own orgasm made her body throb.
"Do you want me?" Ron asked as his hand stilled around Harry's shaft, breathing the question into his ear once again, forcing Harry to confess his desire, to admit his need even though it was obvious.
Ron was doing some conditioning of his own with Harry. Forcing him to speak the words that were so difficult for him to articulate. Trying to break down the barriers he'd erected for protection, and asking him to willingly submit with the promise of reward if he would. Harry did.
"You know I do!" Harry growled in frustration, his skin flushing with excitement or embarrassment at the admission.
Whining when Ron circled his erect and sensitive areola again with his fingernail, his stomach tensed and his legs trembled in anticipation of the pain and ecstasy Ron was promising him. But Ron did nothing more. Perhaps unsatisfied with Harry's response, he withheld the reward Harry was due for his compliance, which surprised Hermione. He'd never pushed Harry this hard before. He'd never been cruel with the power Harry entrusted to him.
"Yes, Ron. Yes... God, please!" Harry begged, trying again for the right response as he pulled on Ron's hair pleadingly and pressed his hips forward into Ron's idle hand.
To her relief, she saw Ron's own eyes darken with desire as he smiled in approval and relented. Stepping forward, he slowly walked Harry towards the bed and towards her, leading him by the grip he had on his straining erection as he resumed stroking Harry.
"How about me, Harry? Do you want me?" she asked quietly looking up at them both when they were standing inches in front of her.
"Yes," he whispered, whimpering when she slid her finger lightly up the inside of his thigh and over his tightened scrotum.
Ron relaxed his possessive hold on Harry then, and Hermione trailed her finger over his fingers and along the underside of Harry's shaft. Following her progress with his hand, Ron slid Harry's cock through his fist a final time before tilting it up to her mouth in offering. When she moistened her lips and leaned into him, opening her mouth, Harry stopped breathing altogether. But he shuddered all over when her tongue slowly glided around the swollen glans Ron held steady for her, before licking the pearls of pre-cum that had gathered at the tip. When her lips sealed around him, Ron groaned in approval as if he truly had ownership over the cock in his hand, and could feel all the pleasure it was receiving. Telegraphed up his arm and into his own body by the nerves in his fingers as if the throbbing of Harry's erection was sending urgent pulses of electrical currents into him.
Crying out in a hoarse explosion of breath, still gripping Ron by the hair as his body convulsed, Harry came almost immediately when Ron gave his nipple another brutal twist while guiding him over her tongue and down her throat.

~ .~

A little lighter fare from me for a change :)
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What it comes down to