Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 47
- 48
- 49
Epilogue 4. Anniversaries and Endings

Bill was their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He’d decided not to go back into curse-breaking for Gringotts after the war, saying he didn’t fancy a desk job with the bank, either. As he and Fleur were starting a family, he explained to Mum and Dad over dinner one evening before term started, he needed a job that was more suited to family life, and though they loved the cottage by the sea, they planned to search for a home in Hogsmeade.
Ron thought Bill was quite good as a teacher, actually. It suited him. Almost anyone else would’ve probably been intimidated at having The Harry Potter in his class. A lesser man might have been terrified of trying to teach defense to a classroom full of students, most of whom had been taught by, and fought in, the final battle with the famous star pupil. Harry was the legendary wizard, after all, who’d defeated the most powerful dark wizard in a hundred years, a man who had stared Ron’s eldest brother down in the back garden of his own home and refused under no uncertain terms to capitulate to Bill’s threats and demands regarding their plans on the bank.
Yeah, he finally heard the truth about that little conversation, but not from either Harry or Hermione. He’d heard it from Bill himself as he'd begged Ron for details on what had really happened at Gringotts amid all the rumors and speculation swirling while Harry lay asleep and recovering in the hospital wing after the battle.
All these reasons might have intimidated a lesser man, but not Bill. He had a healthy respect for Harry, certainly, but not fear of him. Perhaps because he already knew Harry, perhaps because The Chosen One sat quietly at the back of the class to avoid attention, and only commented when asked to do so, to answer a question, or to demonstrate his command of a spell. Whatever the reason, Bill held his own. He was certainly knowledgeable about all sorts of dark curses and creatures from his time with Gringotts, and he parlayed that training and experience into his lessons, teaching his students all sorts of methods for disarming and defending against them. It was a bit weird for Ron though, having his brother as a Hogwarts Professor. Still, it could have been worse. It could have been Percy.
Percy had left the Ministry and joined George at the joke shop, handling the books mostly. It was another odd choice that left Ron scratching his head. Percy had always been so ambitious. Ron was sure he’d had his sights on one day becoming Minister of Magic. But his few years at the Ministry had been marked by scandal and betrayal. The people he’d admired, worshipped even: Fudge, Mr. Crouch, Umbridge, had all failed him. It must have left Percy questioning himself and his choices. Perhaps abandoning the Ministry and his ambitions was his own form of penance for his years estranged from the family. Maybe it was punishment for the guilt he felt for having been there when their brother died, for being the cause of Fred’s distraction, for not being able to prevent it or save him from it. Ron didn’t know. He thought it kinder never to ask. God knows they all carried their own burden of guilt for the lives lost that day, deserved or not.
Ron couldn’t understand what the dynamic of George and Percy working together must be like, though. The two of them were such polar opposites, always having a go at each other when they were younger. But maybe the war and Fred’s death had changed them both, had worn down the edges that grated between them so there was less friction between them now. Percy was certainly much more humble, much less arrogant and George, sadly, much less full of mischief. Voldemort had done that.
Ron missed Fred terribly, but it was nothing compared to George’s grief. George looked so lost without him, diminished without his twin, his partner. Ron knew that his brother would be forever crippled by the loss, would never be whole again. Sometimes the magnitude of that grief would put George on the ground for a bit before he could struggle back up. Seeing that fight was painfully familiar to Ron because he’d seen Harry battle it almost daily, devastated at the loss of so many for which he blamed only himself.
Ron had great empathy for George’s terrible loss. He knew how much it would hurt to lose Hermione, or Harry as if a part of himself had died. He remembered the feeling of devastation, of thinking Harry was truly dead when he saw him hanging limp in Hagrid’s arms after being struck down by Voldemort in the forest.
Harry had come so close to death so many times before, in the dungeon, and at Grimmauld place after they’d escaped. Seeing him that night, his lifeless body being carried out of the forest by the half-giant, though, had left Ron numb with shock and grief. It was an aching so profound, that he didn’t know if he could survive it. The damned dolt had just walked out to meet it. Calmly, willingly, Harry had surrendered his soul to destroy the last vessel that contained a piece of Voldemort’s, the Horcrux that was inside himself.
He didn’t even say goodbye. Harry had just left them behind, deserting them, and Ron didn’t know that he’d gone, helpless to stop it happening. Grieving over Fred’s loss, he’d failed to protect Harry and had lost him, too.
The ache of that failure and the betrayal of Harry’s abandonment took his breath away as he'd stood watching Voldemort crowing triumphantly over Harry’s death while Hagrid placed his body gently on the ground. Ron had listened through tears, devastated and in shock, while The Dark Lord told lies about his best friend’s courage, displaying his lover’s body as proof of his power. Then his pain had turned to fury, his devastation to revenge when his eyes found Avery and Bellatrix in the crowd. The last living people on Harry's list besides Voldemort himself. Ron meant in that moment to cross them off that list for Harry. He would not suffer them to live while grieving Harry's loss.
Killing Avery had not brought him satisfaction, however. It didn't quench his desire for vengeance. It could not staunch the bleeding in his own heart. He'd already suffered a mortal wound. But then Harry returned as suddenly as he'd left and granted him a reprieve. Yet, it had taken Ron a long time to get over that betrayal, to forgive Harry and trust him again. Even now it still sat like a stone in his gut, his mistrust and anger never fully healed.
After Defense, they headed immediately down to dinner because they had a meeting with Professor McGonagall at six. Hermione decided that they should take private Animagus lessons from the Headmistress, mostly to satisfy her curiosity about what form Harry would take. She’d badgered McGonagall until she finally relented, and the three of them, and Ginny (Hermione insisted there be four second generation Marauders, or that was her excuse to Harry, at least) began twice a week lessons with her in the evenings once they’d returned from the Christmas break.
Harry achieved the transformation first, Hermione two lessons after him, and then Ginny several weeks later. Naturally, Ron was the last to master it. Hermione had always been better at Transfiguration than either Harry or himself, but Harry, of course, had already done it on his own, even though he didn’t believe it. It was an ability, like his wandless magic, that obviously came naturally to him, almost intuitively. Ron, on the other hand, struggled with the theory. It was very complicated magic, but if Wormtail had managed it, Ron was damned if he would fail.
Harry might have imagined himself as that fluffy bunny, but Ron had always pictured Harry as a cat. He saw him as a scrawny little black cat with green eyes and a lightning shaped patch of white fur on its head, on account of the nine lives and all. Turns out, Hermione was the cat instead, with bushy brown fur who looked an awful lot like Crookshanks, but mercifully without the smashed face or the bottle brush tail. They all teased her about it. Ginny was a beautiful red fox, and he was a squirrel, which was cool, he guessed. He was just glad he wasn’t a bat like he suspected Snape was, or worse, a rat like Peter, though technically he was still in the rodent family. If he’d turned out to be a rat, though, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry had simply stomped on him as soon as he’d transformed, killing him on principle. Hell, Ron might’ve asked him to.
Harry, of course, was a Phoenix, a fucking magnificent Phoenix. The tosspot! He was sleek and black, with red and gold at the tips of his wings and tail. It was the same gold color as those flames he could produce, the same gold color that Polyjuice potion turns when his hairs are added. It made Ron want to start crying every time he witnessed the transformation, every time he saw Harry spread his wings and take to the sky, phoenix song filling the air. It was where he’d always been most at home, where he’d always been happiest. Harry had always been a natural flyer, Ron should have known.
It wasn’t really a surprise, of course, to him and Hermione. They had seen a glimpse of it before. It made sense, really. After surviving the killing curse as a baby, and then escaping Voldemort so many times, then surviving those terrible days, and finally letting Voldemort strike him down in the forbidden forest, sacrificing himself again and again, and yet still he came back. Harry just kept coming back, literally rising from the ashes. He was definitely a phoenix in Ron’s mind if there ever was one.
That day, when he pulled the cloak off himself and returned to life in front of everyone in the Great Hall, he became a legend. People would probably write songs about it, tell their grandchildren that they were there, that they’d witnessed the great Harry Potter come back from the dead to defeat the most powerful dark lord the world had ever seen. Of course, Harry had only been pretending to be dead, though he had let Voldemort curse him again, an act which should have killed him, so Ron couldn’t take much umbrage with the tales of his miraculous rebirth. The boy was certainly special.
The last thing Harry wanted to be, however, was anyone’s messiah. Ron thought it could be useful, though. At the very least, it ought to help him in his future career as an Auror. Surely, just knowing that the indestructible Harry Potter was after you would strike fear in every criminal’s heart and mind. Hell, if the bad guys knew Harry was pursuing them, they’d probably just lay down their wands and come quietly, which was going to take all the fun out of it for Ron.
They all registered their forms, except for Harry. McGonagall agreed to keep it a secret, like his father and godfather before him, carrying on the Marauder tradition. All of them agreed that it should be kept a secret from the wizarding world, as well. The Headmistress told Harry that there was only one other wizard that she’d ever known who could transform into a Phoenix, which was Dumbledore, naturally, and he, too, kept it a secret.
Heading up to McGonagall’s office after a quick dinner, they passed Malfoy at the entrance to the Great Hall. Harry and Draco glanced at each other, but otherwise made no acknowledgement of one another as they passed. Still, Ron balled his hands into fists, pushing past the Slytherin and into the corridor. Turning back quickly, Ron glared at Malfoy and was gratified to see his shoulders slightly slumped, looking a bit forlorn.
There was something going on between Harry and Draco, or there had been, at least. Ron knew it. He knew that Hermione knew it too, sanctioned it even, though she never admitted it. She and Harry thought they were so clever trying to keep it from him, afraid of his reaction. Ron may not be the most astute of them all, but he wasn’t blind either. And he did hate it, there was no question. Part of it was just plain jealousy, and being envious of Malfoy left a very bitter taste in Ron’s mouth. But more than that, he loathed what the ferret was doing to Harry. What Harry was allowing the bastard to do to him.
Ron knew it was something Harry craved, though, a certain degree of violence that Ron just wasn’t capable of giving his best friend. He also knew it was completely voluntary. Harry wasn’t being forced, but it still made him want to punch Malfoy in the mouth every time he caught site of that white blond hair in the corridors. He wanted to knock out a tooth every time he caught Ron’s eye and smirked at him in that knowing way. The little prick!
What the hell did Harry see in him, anyway? He knew Harry didn’t fancy Malfoy, and frankly, that was worse. He knew, but he didn’t want to know it, that Draco had been a Death Eater. Not one who had actually taken part in Harry’s torture and rapes, but the closest thing to it Harry could find. Malfoy was a willing participant for Harry to rage against when he had to let it out.
It sickened Ron when he’d seen a bruise or cut that hadn’t quite healed. His imagination filled his brain with horrible images of the two of them together, doing things that made him burn with jealousy and anger as he listened to Harry’s lies. Because he knew what they did together, knew that Draco had caused the injuries, that he’d struck Harry hard enough to break the skin or mar the flesh. It made him shake all over with rage, actually. He’d witnessed enough damage on Harry’s body to last a lifetime, and he would never understand his best mate’s desire for more of it.
If he thought for an instant, however, that Harry was just letting Draco beat the hell out of him, or worse, he’d put a stop to it. But he’d seen the ferret limping sometimes, favoring a side or nursing a torn lip. Harry was giving as well as he got. And, of course, he also knew that with or without a wand, Harry could kill their Death Eater classmate without much effort. Malfoy knew it, too. Harry could handle himself if need be, so Ron stayed out of it and feigned ignorance for all their sakes.
Things between them seemed to have cooled off though, now, anyway. Especially after the Christmas Holidays when Harry had spent so much time in Ginny’s company and with his godson. Ron hadn’t seen any evidence that Harry was still seeing the blond pillock for months now.
Things were changing with Harry, Ron thought as they gathered their things after their lesson, said goodbye to Ginny, and prepared to use McGonagall’s floo to go to Grimmauld Place for the Easter holiday. Harry was slowly pulling himself back together, needing less and less of what Draco could offer him, but also, less and less of what Ron and Hermione offered him, too, which Ron wasn’t nearly as pleased about. Their times together were becoming more infrequent, and Ron was finding it harder and harder to let go.

Ron stepped out of the hearth in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Harry had gone through the floo first and was standing in front of him, his back to Ron, dusting soot from his hair. Coming up behind him, Ron slid his hands around Harry’s waist and then ran them down the front of his thighs, pressing his hips into Harry's bum. Harry grunted, sounding almost exasperated at being tipped off balance, before turning in Ron’s arms to face him.
“Eager much?” Harry asked with an annoying smirk, his eyebrow cocked.
“Shut up and give me your mouth,” he growled, squeezing a handful of Harry’s arse.
It had been too long since they’d been together, too long since Harry had last come to them, and Ron wasted no time. He’d been jonesing hard for his best mate. Stepping forward he backed Harry into the table so that his arse hit the edge and he was forced to sit.
“Let me in,” Ron demanded, capturing Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth. But Harry didn’t need to be asked. His mouth opened automatically for Ron’s exploration.
In an instant, he had Harry leaned back, his hands braced on the table for support. Ron’s hands were at Harry’s waist, while he stood between his parted legs. His tongue was reacquainting itself with the contours of Harry’s mouth when Hermione finally stepped through the fireplace. She let out a little squawk of outrage that they’d started without her, but Ron knew it was all for show. She loved seeing him and Harry together, loved watching them like this.
Harry was never the aggressor, not with either of them, but he was so damn responsive to them both. He’d allow Ron almost free reign over him, willing to submit to him, letting Ron do to him sexually, whatever Ron wanted which excited him to no end. And with Hermione, Harry gave his complete control and unwavering attention. When they were together, Harry was at her command, and Hermione, of course, loved being in command.
Sometimes when they got together like this, they played with toys or with a bit of Polyjuice potion to take on one another’s appearance. They were usually blindfolded, and no one was allowed to speak on those occasions to keep from revealing their identity, the element of mystery a part of the game, though it was usually quite easy to figure out, for him at least.
Having two Hermione’s or two Harry’s together with you, or all three of you as the same person or each other was mind blowing and utterly bizarre at the same time, but totally hot, too. They learned so much about each other in those encounters, discovering each other’s secrets. Still, nothing beat just having both Hermione and Harry as themselves with him like this.
Their play had unspoken rules, of course, boundaries that no one crossed. Bondage for instance, or really any form of BDSM was unacceptable besides the occasional spanking that Harry sometimes begged from Ron. Harry wouldn’t have minded the pain, would have enjoyed it even, but not the elements of letting someone have complete control over him, both physically and mentally. It was simply nothing any of them ever even considered or had a taste for at all, not after what they’d been through. Ron knew Harry had some kinks, though, some self-destructive kinks at that, which worried him, but he never acted on them or asked Ron to fulfill those desires anymore, even though Ron knew he still wanted it occasionally.
Harry sometimes needed the pain, craved the punishment, especially if he was stressed or it was near the full moon as it was now. He could still be quite difficult at those times, aggressive, surly and irritable, but Ron just wasn’t capable of truly harming him. The sex was rougher on those occasions, more explosive, like the first time, but he couldn’t wrap his hands around Harry’s throat and squeeze, or take him without ample preparation. He couldn’t allow Harry the knife play that always seemed to bubble to the surface in the days leading up to the full moon.
Ron watched Harry closely during those times for signs he was harming himself again, secretly cutting, but they were getting fewer and farther in between. He credited these escapes from Hogwarts, these brief sojourns to Number Twelve for Harry’s declining dependency on that form of relief. They spent every possible weekend here they could in the beginning. Staying holed up here from Friday evening until Sunday, when Harry left to pick up Teddy before joining him and Hermione again and the rest of Ron’s family at the Burrow.
“God, I’m horny as fuck,” he panted, pulling away from Harry’s mouth to pull him by the hips instead and grind against him.
“Get off me, you damn brute,” Harry protested. “At least let me get my coat off first, blimey.”
Ron ignored him, running his hands up Harry’s sides, un-tucking his shirt to get his hands on that warm skin he craved, but Harry fought him off. Pushing Ron so he staggered backwards, Harry stepped away from the table and shed his coat. His hair was mussed, his shirt tail hanging out now as he dropped the jacket in the nearest chair and scowled at Ron. Then he lunged unexpectedly. Catching Ron off guard, Harry threw an arm around his neck and spun him, wrenching Ron’s arm behind his back. Harry had him pinned, his face smashed against the wall so quickly, that Ron hadn’t even had a chance to react.
Damn Seeker reflexes! The little shit was fast. It was a skill that would suit him well in his chosen career.
“You’re always horny. It must be a Weasley trait,” Harry taunted, panting into his ear as he struggled to hold Ron, who was trying to twist out of his grip.
Apparently, deciding he was about to lose when Ron managed to push himself off the wall, Harry shoved Ron again and then released him. Harry may have had lighting reflexes and the element of surprise on his side, but he was no match for Ron’s strength and size, and he knew it.
“I think I understand now why your parents had so many kids,” Harry continued to taunt, grinning wickedly and dancing backwards out of Ron’s reach when he’d spun around, snatching at him. “You were just a byproduct of all that rampant fucking.”
“Eww, gross!” Ron said outraged, too stunned to continue his pursuit. “Don’t make me think about my parents having sex, Harry. That’s disgusting! Don’t say fucking and my parents in the same sentence, either. Christ!” Shuddering with revulsion, Ron tried to shake off the mental image. “Horrible. And my parents love me, by the way. I’m not just some byproduct,” he insisted, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. “Come here. You’re gonna pay for that!”
“Leave Harry alone, Ron,” Hermione admonished, stepping between them, and then giggling as she deposited her coat in the chair on top of Harry’s.
“Me?” Ron whined incredulously.
Harry gave Ron a rude, one-finger salute, smiling triumphantly as Hermione turned to him. Moving forward into his arms and ending Ron’s bid for retaliation, she pulled on Harry’s shirt to finish the job Ron had started.
“Git,” he growled as Harry slid his hands into her hair, the playfulness gone from his face, and it was Ron’s turn to watch now.
They looked good together, beautiful to Ron’s eyes as their lips met. While Harry might have roughhoused sometimes with Ron, a game they both enjoyed, with Hermione, he was always as docile as a lamb. She wasn’t made of glass, and Harry knew it, but you couldn’t tell by the way he touched her, always with such gentleness.
Half the time when Ron watched them, it was through watery eyes. He would feel his eyes stinging, threatening to tear up. It was embarrassing, really, but God, it was stunning to see the two people you loved most in the world together like that. He couldn’t help it. It simply took his breath away. It was the image that cursed locket had shown him in the forest, this, the two of them together locked in a passionate embrace. Ron didn’t know that it was a lie at the time, though, couldn’t see that it was a distortion of the truth. Riddle had hidden that part from him to torment him, but he understood now that he’d been standing there with them. Not realizing that he was behind Harry all along, that it was actually a vision of Ron embracing Hermione with Harry between them, an image of Harry sharing himself with them both that he’d seen.
Hermione’s hands began working on Harry’s tie, trying to undo the knot, and Ron stepped forward again, unwilling to sit out any longer, taking his place in this triad.
Feeling Ron coming towards them, Harry turned with Hermione, presenting his back to Ron to shield Hermione from him, keeping her for himself with his hands still in her hair and his lips still locked on hers. Ron growled, but without any heat. Then he smiled, molding himself against Harry’s back once more to rub his erection against him. He fumbled with Harry’s belt, back to the task at hand, while nipping at his lover’s neck.
It was a spot right behind his ear that Harry couldn’t resist. An erogenous zone Ron had discovered early on that always bought Harry’s complete compliance, his total submission. Ron’s cock throbbed in anticipation. Another spot was on his spine, right in the hollow of his back. Of course, if someone were licking their way up Harry’s spine, it was likely he was already theirs and well past the point of persuasion. His nipples were also extremely sensitive, as was the inside of his thighs and behind his knees. The last place was the arch of his foot, but he and Hermione had learned that spot before Ron had any thought of having this kind of relationship with Harry, of ever planning on using that knowledge against him so effectively.
Leaning his head back on Ron’s shoulder then, Harry let Ron bear his weight while they labored to undress him. Hermione worked on the buttons of his shirt, kissing every new expanse of skin she’d revealed with each button while Ron slid Harry’s belt through the loopholes of his trousers.
“Why am I the only one getting naked here?” Harry asked in mock indignation as Ron tossed the belt to the floor and ran his hands back up Harry’s sides, under the flaps of his shirt to get at that skin, keen to run his hands over Harry’s chest.
“You’re just the only one not helping,” Ron breathed into his ear, pinching Harry’s nipples hard, making him gasp in pleasure.
“Well… I didn’t know the plan… was to toss me on the kitchen table and do this in here… where we have breakfast,” he replied breathlessly.
“It’s not, I just couldn’t wait.” Ron stepped back then, and Harry gasped, nearly falling over backwards, his arms wind milling comically to keep from landing on his arse. “Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Ron said, chuckling as he placed a hand at Harry’s back to steady him.
“Prat,” Harry muttered, though he grabbed Hermione’s hand before following Ron out of the kitchen.
When they entered Sirius’ room, Harry was holding Hermione by the arms he had pinned at her sides, ducked down behind her. Positioning her out in front of him like a shield, Harry peered at Ron over her shoulder playfully. He led her towards Ron, who was sitting, waiting patiently for them on the bed, his shoes already kicked off.
When they were within Ron’s reach, Harry stood up fully and spun Hermione around to face him again. Leaning down, he brushed his lips softly against hers. “I’m helping now,” he announced in a hoarse whisper, kicking off his shoes and working to get Hermione undressed while she carded her hands through his ebony locks.
Ron stood, unbuttoning her shirt from behind, pulling it open to expose her to Harry’s eyes which were dark with desire.
“God, you’re beautiful, Hermione,” Harry breathed, taking a step back and running a finger down her neck, and then out across her collar bone, with that same characteristic gentleness he adopted with her.
Ron agreed, of course. There was no one in the world he would ever think was more beautiful than this creature standing between them. He still had no idea how he’d ever gotten so lucky as to have her. Ron could feel heat pooling in his own gut, watching this private moment unfold, the intimate expression on Harry’s face, the naked desire in his black eyes as he watched her skin flush in embarrassment at his words.
Harry slid the fabric off her shoulder, and then repeated the process with the other shoulder while she shivered in anticipation at his slow deliberate movements. Revealing her to him finally, the shirt slid down both arms and then silently to the floor while Harry savored her.
Ron felt like he was watching in slow motion until Harry’s shirt joined hers a moment later, when Hermione had slid it off his shoulders with much more haste than Harry had shown and tossed it away. Harry’s tie had already been stripped off and discarded somewhere, maybe on the stairs on the way up. In a few more minutes they were both standing in just their undergarments and socks while Ron was still fully dressed, but that would be quickly remedied, Ron wasn’t worried.
Harry appeared to be the only one of them that wasn’t in a hurry, unwilling to rush this as he stepped in close to Hermione, and she tilted her head back to look up at him, backing into Ron.
“Here, tire him out a bit before he gets hold of me,” Harry told Hermione with a salacious grin, pushing them both onto the bed.
Hermione let out a tiny gasp of surprise before they both fell side by side. Ron slid a hand under her neck. Then, pulling her onto his chest, he fumbled with the clasp of her bra one handed while Harry slid the fly of Ron’s dark school slacks down.
It was his turn. Finally!
Hermione kissed him, working his shirt open while Harry ran a hand over his bulging erection. Ron moaned into Hermione’s mouth while Harry tugged on his trousers, trying to work them down his legs. As Harry was making quick work of what remained of Ron’s clothing, Hermione snogged him until he was dizzy. Then Harry knelt in front of them at the edge of the bed, like an obedient servant, awaiting instruction. But Harry needed no direction tonight, Ron quickly discovered.
Hermione let out a moan of satisfaction when Harry leaned down to her and placed his mouth at her still knicker clad center and grazed her with his teeth. Teasing her with his hot breath on her inner thighs, he ran his tongue along and under the elastic edge until she was whimpering and the cotton fabric was damp with her desire. Then he hooked his fingers in the lace trim at her hips and pulled them slowly down her legs before giving her what she really wanted. Running a hand over Ron’s throbbing cock to stroke him simultaneously, Harry worked them in unison. He had them both panting, squirming under his ministrations while they continued their heavy petting of each other, before he finally pulled away from them.
“Come here,” Harry said, helping Hermione up by the hand. “Ron, you stay there, but scoot back a little,” he ordered, motioning with his hand before looking back at Hermione. “I want you on him, but facing me, all right? Just like that first time I watched you two together.”
She nodded enthusiastically, and Ron quickly pushed himself farther up on the bed before Hermione straddled him as instructed. Ron was trying to hold back his excitement at the power in Harry’s voice. He’d hardly ever given instructions before. It was totally uncharacteristic. Ron’s heart pounded frantically at the change, at the thrill of the unexpected. Hermione, too, seemed eager to obey, following Harry’s request without hesitation.
As Hermione sank down onto him, facing Harry, Ron moaned at the feel of her surrounding his straining cock, at the beautiful sight of the globes of her arse parting as she took him inside her. Harry moaned too, at the image of them joined together with the intimate view he had of them.
“That’s it, now lay back,” Harry continued instructing, his voice lower than normal, heavy with desire.
Still on her knees, Hermione slowly lay back against Ron, her back arched up off him, slightly awkwardly to keep him inside her in what was probably a fairly uncomfortable position, though she didn’t complain. While Ron held her by the hips, he began rocking slowly up into her as they found their rhythm. Harry watched them a moment before he knelt again in front of them.
“Oh… Harry,” Hermione gasped as Harry kissed her stomach and then returned his mouth to her folds.
Ron could feel Harry’s tongue sliding against his cock as he rocked in and out of her. She clutched at Harry’s head with one hand, holding him to her by his hair, the other arm over her head, pushing against the bed to brace herself, arched up off Ron so that only her shoulders dug into his chest.
Fuck! Ron wished this room had mirrors so he could watch.
Harry ran a hand up her belly and over her breasts, rolling a distended nipple between his fingers while he continued working his tongue over her. Then he placed the other under Ron’s balls. Cupping them, he massaged them in his palm and dug his trimmed fingernails into the flesh before rubbing Ron’s perineum with his thumb, making Ron moan as wantonly as Hermione now.
God damn, he had talent! It took only a few minutes of that kind of attention for both Ron and Hermione to come.
Harry lapped at her, and around the base of Ron’s cock as they came down, his tongue sliding against and between the skin where they were joined to taste the mixture of their release, before sucking Ron’s testicles into his mouth one at a time and rolling them against his tongue.
Then Hermione pulled gently on his hair, and he got to his feet to lean over them, kissing Hermione as Ron eased his softening length out of her. Straightening her legs, she relaxed against his chest, pulling Harry down onto her and squashing Ron underneath them both. He grunted under their combined weight as the air was forced out of him, and Harry rolled to his side, pulling Hermione with him and off Ron.
Hermione was sandwiched between them then, and they both gave her their full attention, taking turns snogging her, stroking her, suckling and nipping until no part of her body had been neglected and every inch of her skin was damp from their tongues. Then Hermione pushed Harry onto his back and draped herself over him, kissing his face, his neck, working her way down his chest while she fondled him through his boxers.
Sitting up, she grasped the waistband to slide them off, and Harry lifted his hips to help. Then she took him into her mouth while Ron pulled up, propped on his elbow to watch for a bit. Collecting her hair, which was sweeping against his stomach and tickling him, Harry tried to pull it off of her face, holding it in a loose fist spilling over with curls while he watched, too. Then Harry couldn’t anymore, closing his eyes and relaxing back against the bed, totally boneless. Ron didn’t want to just watch anymore, either. He was ready again, his cock filling with blood once more at the sight and sound of them together.
Rolling off the bed, Ron stood and reached for Harry’s arm. Interrupting Hermione, he pulled Harry sideways so that he lay crossways on the bed now, his head tilted back and hanging slightly over the edge of the mattress. Harry looked up at Ron standing over him with his full erection jutting out from his body once again. Smiling, Harry opened his mouth in invitation as Hermione took him back into hers.
Bending at the knees and leaning forward, Ron slipped his cock into Harry’s waiting mouth, sliding easily down his throat at this angle with Harry’s neck stretched out until his balls were pressed against Harry’s nose and then back out again. Harry took his full length easily, without much effort, swallowing him whole while Ron ran his hand over Harry’s chest. Harry had one hand in Hermione’s hair the other over his head, braced against Ron’s thigh as Ron lazily fucked his mouth.
Before Ron or Harry came, Hermione sat up, apparently deciding she wasn’t getting enough out of this and straddled Harry, instead. Biting down around the base of Ron’s cock to stop his movements, Harry groaned when she slid down onto him, the sound vibrating around Ron’s cock. Then he released his teeth around Ron, relaxing his throat and mouth again, but gripping Ron’s thigh more tightly when she started to move.
Though both Ron and Hermione loved the position of her on top, it was Harry’s least favorite if he was flat on his back, and he rarely tolerated it for long. Sure enough, Harry pushed away from Ron when he and Hermione had both just really gotten started again. Grabbing Hermione’s hand, Harry pulled her down onto him. One hand at her head as he kissed her, one at her back, Harry rolled with her, abandoning Ron as he positioned her under him. Burying his face in her neck when she wrapped her legs around him, Harry sank into her.
Watching as they made love, Ron stood, stroking himself. He watched the muscles flex under the scars on Harry’s back and across his shoulders as he worked himself in and out of her slowly, both of them sighing with contentment. He watched Hermione dig her fingers into Harry’s hair and stroke his back with her nails, gripping him with her thighs. Then, aching with desire, Ron crawled back onto the bed with them. Running a hand down Harry’s spine and over his arse, Ron felt the muscles clenching under his palm as Harry pumped into Hermione, but he stilled when Ron positioned himself behind them.
Harry kissed Hermione again before getting to his knees without prompting. Pulling pillows and tucking them under her to elevate her bum and scooting them both closer to the head of the bed, Harry readied himself for Ron. Planting his hands on either side of her then, his elbows locked, Harry penetrated her again slowly, leaning forward and arching his back as Ron ran a finger between his cheeks slick with his own pre-cum to rub his finger against Harry’s entrance.
Ron slid the digit inside to the first knuckle, knowing that Harry would already be ready for him, casting the charm without a word, even before Ron had touched him. Harry groaned, but remained still, his head falling forward as Ron prepared him while Hermione ran her hands over his back.
“Oh, God, Hermione, stop!” Harry moaned, tilting his head back. The muscles clenched in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, fighting against the temptation to thrust into her with the sensation of what Ron knew was the contracting of her inner walls as she tightened her muscles around Harry’s idle cock filling her.
Ron circled the tip of his finger against Harry’s prostate to tease him further, and Harry growled in frustration, squeezing his own muscles around Ron’s fingers. Then he leaned down and pressed his forehead into Hermione’s so that they were nose to nose, starring into each other’s eyes. Brushing his lips against hers, Harry held his breath as Ron removed his fingers and spread Harry open, grunting softly as he entered him slowly.
“Oi, Potter! Quit giving my girl the eyes” Ron complained when he’d fully seated himself inside Harry. He heard Harry give a weak chuckle as Hermione smiled up at Ron in approval, stroking Harry’s arm as he adjusted to the intrusion. “Save ‘em for the fan girls, lover boy,” Ron told him, trying to sound annoyed, but not really pulling it off.
He thrust into him instead, and Harry’s chuckles turned into a grunting sigh as he forced Harry further into Hermione. Then they rocked lazily like that for several minutes. Ron balls deep in Harry, Harry balls deep in Hermione, feeling utterly content with the world before picking up the pace as the urgency grew.
“You fucking show off, come on!” Ron gasped after a few minutes of relentless pounding, the sounds of their combined pleasure filling the room. “You’re making me look bad.”
Harry was getting nailed from both sides, and still he hadn’t climaxed. It was damn embarrassing, but Harry was apparently retaliating for their teasing of him earlier. Still, Ron probably would have lost his load the minute he sank into Hermione if Harry was filling him at the same time. But Harry could hold on almost indefinitely, it seemed. It was as if he wanted to make Ron and Hermione work as hard as they could to bring him off, to challenge them to break him, a game for control Harry appeared to enjoy and they had played often. It never failed to make Ron even wilder for his best mate, even more eager for the fight.
The wanker never came when all three of them were together like this, until both Ron and Hermione had at least once, making sure they got all the pleasure out of him they wanted before he let himself go. Harry may have appeared to be the submissive one in this relationship, but nothing could be further from the truth. He submitted to Ron and Hermione because he wanted to, because he allowed it, but he never gave up his control of himself. He held all the power when they were together, power over his own mind and body, over when and how he would relinquish it to them.
Just once, just one fucking time, Ron wanted to beat him at this game, to make him lose that control, to make him come without having to tell him. He’d been close before, nearly succeeded, but Harry was so damn strong willed. It was as if he could simply shut it off, turn his mind off to the pleasure until he was ready to release it.
They hadn’t been together in so long that it should have been easy to bring him to orgasm. But Harry apparently had other plans, which clearly didn’t involve climaxing anytime soon. Ron wanted to hear him scream, though, to come undone, just one time, and then he’d be satisfied. He didn’t know how, however, without resorting to violence, inflicting the pain that Harry so enjoyed, or strangling the little prick nearly unconscious, and he refused to resort to that.
“Come here,” Ron growled, determined now.
Pulling Harry by a handful of his hair so that he was arched up off Hermione, Ron forced his head back so only his fingertips touched the bed. Then he placed his free hand on Harry’s chest and pulled, helping to brace him and keep from actually hurting him or yanking the hair free.
Clamping down on Harry’s neck then, Ron sucked hard on his pulse point, his teeth pressing into the tender flesh hard enough to leave marks, but not break the skin while he drove into Harry with renewed vengeance, hammering his prostate over and over as he forced Harry to pound into Hermione with the same force.
“Fuck, oh fuck!” Harry panted, completely at Ron's mercy and unable to control the ruthless pace as Hermione wrapped her legs around them both, digging her heals into the back of Ron’s thighs and pushing against the headboard to brace herself against the assault.
“Ron!” she cried, “God, yes!” She was keening in pleasure as he continued to ram Harry into her relentlessly, the sound of their bodies slapping together and their grunting cries of pleasure echoing in the room with their vigorous lovemaking.
Ron’s own orgasm was rushing towards him, his balls tightening into fists, his cock swelling while sweat dripped into his eyes, but he was nearly there if he didn’t pass out from exertion first. He almost had him. Harry was moaning open mouthed at the ceiling, his arms shaking uncontrollably, trying to hold himself up, but unable to gain enough purchase. Ron released his hair then, letting Harry’s head fall forward a moment before sliding the hand braced against his chest up Harry’s neck to grip him by the chin.
Forcing his head back again, Ron reached down with the other, touching Hermione where she was joined with Harry and she shrieked, arching up off the bed, held suspended in a violent orgasm.
“Nnnnngggg… Fuuuuuuckkk!” Harry shouted, and joined her, growling as his whole body shuddered violently, and he contracted around Ron.
Ron exploded then, too, finally, his cock jerking powerfully inside Harry with the victory of its hard won release. Dropping his arms to grasp Harry’s hips to him, he pressed his forehead between Harry’s shoulder blades, curling around his sweat slicked body as he emptied inside him, letting Harry hold them both up by his arms to keep from crushing Hermione. He gasped for breath and lights winked in his vision as he throbbed inside Harry while his orgasm went on and on, until he thought he might pass out.
All three of them were panting, their bodies heaving as he keeled over sideways, pulling Harry down with him and off of Hermione to collapse side by side on the bed. Ron couldn’t breathe. He thought he was having a heart attack. Drenched in perspiration, he struggled for oxygen, but it had been worth it.
“I think I’m actually going to die,” he groaned, wheezing with the effort to draw breath.
“I would think so. Christ! Now who’s the show off?” Harry panted. “You just made all three of us come singlehandedly. I’d give you a standing ovation, but I don’t think I can actually stand up. Maybe not for a while after that buggering. Goddamn, Ron!”
Hermione hadn’t said a word. Lying sprawled on her back, a hand across her stomach, completely boneless, she mewled weakly on every exhale. Then she groaned. Rolling over and pushing Harry onto his back, she collapsed onto his chest. Stroking Harry’s face once, she slid the damp hair off his temples and his forehead, wiping the sweat from his face and neck.
“My poor darling,” she said pityingly. Then she leaned down to kiss Harry. Harry!
“Hey, I’m the one who did all the actual work over here,” Ron grumbled petulantly, still breathing hard, his heart still thrumming erratically. “I’m the one who ought to get all the post coitus cuddling… Oh, God! I think one of my lungs may have collapsed.”
“Hush,” she whispered against Harry’s lips.
Harry chuckled breathlessly, lifting his hand to make that same rude gesture at Ron as before.
“Prick,” Ron gasped, slapping Harry’s hand away. “You always get all the glory, you know.”
Turning his head to face Ron then, Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, you were fucking her through me. Hard, too. Did I mention that? I think I deserve a little coddling after that kind of abuse.” He ran a hand down Hermione’s back and over her bum, brushing her lightly with his fingertips while he pouted at Ron, his lip stuck ridiculously far out for effect, those damn eyes twinkling.
“Pathetic.”
“Yeah? I’m not the one moaning about dying over here, and you won’t be the one trying to sit down for the next few days without wincing and having everyone look at you funny. If you even think about suggesting a pickup game of Quidditch after Teddy’s birthday party at the Burrow on Sunday, I’ll murder you.”
“Whatever,” Ron said dismissively. “You know you loved that.”
“I did, actually,” Harry admitted, grinning at him while Ron pushed Hermione’s bushy curls back over her shoulder and off Harry’s face. “You were bloody brilliant, mate.”
Ron rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow and leaned into Hermione, kissing her then with Harry lying sandwiched between them.
“Through me… once again,” Harry complained.
Ron released Hermione. Leaning down, he kissed Harry once, briefly to shut him up, before turning to flop face down on the mattress, with one arm and a leg dangling off the side. He was completely exhausted.
“You want the middle, Ron?” Hermione asked him, teasingly. “I promise Harry and I will cuddle with you.”
“No thanks,” he grunted into the pillow. “Harry can have the wet spot, and besides, I hate the middle. You two carry on. I’m just going to have a little kip over here. Wake me up if anything interesting starts happening… or, you know, if you want any more of this.” He gestured to himself waving his hand to indicate his limp, prone form.
Harry snorted.
“For heaven’s sake, Ron,” Hermione chuckled.
Harry ran a hand over Ron’s arse then, and squeezed once before beginning to alternately rub and pat him lightly on the bum in a steady rhythm as if he would with Teddy to get him to sleep. It was oddly comforting.
“Feels good,” he mumbled into the mattress.
“Night, Ron.”

He woke up once in the night to Hermione and Harry whispering, probably having just finished making love again. They did that a lot, the whispering. He was too groggy right now to listen, but sometimes he would for a while, silently eavesdropping on their quiet conversations, but he never joined in. It was something that belonged only to the two of them. That special bonding, the moonlight sharing of secrets, was a sacred trust that Ron would never dare intrude upon.
While the three of them might be together in this relationship, they also had completely separate relationships with each other, too. To the public, of course, it appeared to be only between him and Hermione, but privately there was also the relationship between him and Harry and between Harry and Hermione, and then, between all three. Ron had no idea how they managed to make it work. But it did, harmoniously.
He woke up a second time much later with Harry's mouth around him. His head was under the blankets, the warm wetness and suction of his lips pulling on Ron’s already firm cock. Groaning, Ron slipped his hand under the sheet to stroke Harry’s head, not too groggy this time.
“God, Harry. Don’t you ever sleep anymore?”
“Huuhh uhmm,” Harry replied around Ron’s cock, the vibrations of his voice going straight to Ron’s balls. Moaning, Ron arched up into Harry’s mouth.
Their times together were becoming increasingly far apart, and Harry appeared to be making the most of it. School and family and the Ministries demands on their time were partly to blame, but it was also due, in part, to the fact that Harry was finally healing from all that had happened during that terrible year. Ron was grateful, glad for him after all he’d been through, but it also made him long for the days they’d shared together in the tent, and here at Grimmauld Place after they’d escaped the Malfoy’s, knowing that these kinds of moments were drawing to a close.
Hermione simply referred to their captivity and the days after, when Harry was clinging to life as, ‘those terrible days’ if they referred to them at all. Even if they rarely spoke of it though, the events of those days would forever be in their minds, shaping their thoughts, their futures. It had fundamentally changed them all, forever, altered the course of their lives permanently. But Harry relied on them less and less for support now. He no longer needed Ron to hold him up, or the both of them to hold him together. The broken pieces were finally fusing back into place. But that was okay. Ron could let him go now if Harry wanted to, if he was ready.
One day soon, they would leave Grimmauld Place, never to return like this. This old house would grow dormant and dusty again with their departure, locked away, preserved only in their memories, the good ones and the bad. Ron would miss the sex, certainly, and he would always ache for Harry, but they could go back to being best mates with him instead of his lovers if that’s what he wanted. Ron could live with that, could give Harry up to Ginny. It was where he truly belonged if he would just allow himself to have that, if he would just stop punishing himself and open himself up to it. The two of them were slowly working towards it again, and soon Harry would break free, to stand on his own once more.
Actually, he may already be doing so.
“You’re saying goodbye, aren’t you?” Ron whispered, his chest starting to ache with the sudden realization.
Harry stilled a moment before sucking hard again, sliding all the way down Ron’s shaft and back up before releasing him to crawl back out from under the blankets. Then he lay down next to Ron, his head on Ron’s chest, still stroking him slowly with his hand. Ron held his breath and waited, preparing for the words he was afraid to hear and wasn’t quite ready to accept, his blood starting to pound in his ears.
Finally, Harry spoke. The words were relayed softly, the admission gentle, but no less painful for Ron to hear. “I’m not really leaving, Ron. You know that, right? I’m never going to be far away, but this… I love you both, and our time together has been so wonderful, but it has to end. We can’t keep doing this. You and Hermione need to move on, to have a relationship and be with each other without me in the middle, anymore. I need to move on, too. I think I finally can now.”
No, God, please no! It was too soon, Ron thought desperately. He wasn’t ready to let Harry go just yet, hadn’t seen it coming so quickly and hadn’t fully prepared himself for it. The pain was like a knife between his ribs.
“I… I’m going to miss you,” Ron said haltingly, his eyes burning. Blinking to stop the tears forming, Ron clenched his jaw to keep from begging Harry to stay with them because he knew if he did, Harry would, forever. Denying himself what he truly wanted, Harry would sacrifice himself again to keep them happy, and Ron didn’t want that either.
Foolishly, he’d harbored a glimmer of hope that things between them could continue, even after Harry went back to Ginny. But that wasn’t fair to Ginny and Ron knew Harry would never compromise her like that. It’s why Harry had held her at arm’s length for so long while he gathered his courage to do this. It’s what made him the right choice for Ginny, the only man good enough in Ron’s eyes for his baby sister, his parent’s youngest child and only daughter. It wasn’t because he was Harry Potter, wizarding hero. It was because he was simply Harry, the best man Ron had, and would, ever know.
“You’ve already told Hermione, haven’t you?” Ron asked then, but he knew the answer, knew that this had been what they were discussing in whispers in the dark earlier.
“Yes,” Harry admitted quietly.
Ron nodded sadly. “Yeah, I thought so,” he replied miserably.
Lifting his head at the distress in Ron’s voice, Harry rolled onto Ron’s chest, his hands sliding into Ron’s hair as he looked down at him. “Don’t be sad, Ron,” he whispered when Ron sniffed, unable to hold it back.
Christ! He was going to start weeping like a child, but damn it hurt to let him go. Ron could see Harry’s brow furrowed in concern, worried that he was hurting Ron.
“I’m not sad, Harry… I’m not,” he lied.
“That’s exactly what Hermione told me,” Harry whispered. “But she said it more convincingly.” Then he leaned down to Ron and kissed him, hoping, perhaps, to soothe the pain of his departure with soft lips, a wet tongue and warm skin.
Ron wrapped his arms around him, crushing Harry against him, inhaling his lover’s minty scent into his nostrils. He filled his lungs with it, hoping it could numb him against this agony.
“Thank you for taking care of me, Ron,” Harry breathed against Ron’s lips. “For making me endure all of your stupid damned therapy. Thank you… thank you for not giving up on me.”
Tears slid from both of Ron’s eyes into his hair at his temples, and he actually grunted as if that sucker punch he felt at Harry’s words had truly been delivered by his fist.
“You fucking sneak bastard!” he growled.
“What?... Why?” Harry asked, pulling up to stare down at Ron in fearful confusion.
“At least you told me this time. You didn’t just sneak off and abandon me.”
“I didn’t abandon you, Ron,” Harry argued with a weary sigh. “I did what I had to do. You never would have let me go alone if you’d known where I was going and what I had planned. I know I was a coward for leaving without saying goodbye, but I just couldn’t face it if I first had to face you. There was no other way. I would have crumbled at the sight of you and Hermione, begged you to stop me, clung to you for dear life. I understand what I put you through, how angry you are that I betrayed your trust, but I came back, Ron. I came back for you, and I always will.”
Ron remained silent, absorbing his words. It was the first time he’d said them out loud, the first time he’d truly explained how he’d felt having to make that wrenching decision alone, the first time Ron had understood and felt shame for his anger over it. Harry hadn’t just calmly walked away from them, happy to let Tom finally end his life. He hadn’t been out of his mind, gripped with sudden suicidal madness. Harry hadn’t wanted to die then as Ron had believed. He’d fought with his decision, struggled with his choice, and went to face The Dark Lord with grief in his heart for them.
“Please, Ron,” Harry begged. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry—”
“I love you,” Ron blurted, gripping a startled Harry by the head and devouring his mouth. Ron clutching at Harry, desperate to touch him everywhere, to feel Harry against him for however much longer they had, hoping the heat of Harry’s body would burn a permanent imprint onto his own.
“Oh, God! This isn’t going to get weird, is it?” Harry asked when they’d pulled apart.
“Shut up, you prat,” Ron snarled.
Harry grinned down at him.
“Are you too sore?” he asked then, desire raging in him. “Because I’d really like to fuck you again right now, if you’ll let me.”
Harry snorted softly in surprise before laying back down and pulling Ron onto him. “No, I’m not too sore.”
“Liar,” Ron breathed into his mouth, wedging a knee between Harry’s legs to settle himself between them.
Chuckling, Harry ran his hands over Ron’s arse. “Well, I think I definitely am going to be by Sunday, if we keep up this pace unless you’re willing to give me an opportunity to finally fuck you for a change.”
Ron’s eyebrows darted upward. He felt breathless with shock at the request. Harry had never once asked him.
“I… I think I can probably do that,” he replied. “But you know, I’ve never done it before,” he added nervously. That wasn’t entirely true, however. Both Harry and Hermione had fucked him on the occasions when he was Polyjuiced as Hermione, but never when he was Harry or himself. He’d even fucked his own likeness once when one of them was Polyjuiced as him, which had been utterly mind blowing. But somehow, Ron didn’t think this would be quite the same thing.
He had always been the more dominate of the two of them in bed, always the one giving, not receiving in this department. It wasn’t that he was against the idea, exactly. It’s just the role they’d both naturally fallen into.
“Don’t worry,” Harry whispered, rolling them both back over so that Harry was on top again. “I know what to do.”
“So you’ve said before, but aren’t you also the one who said it’s supposed to hurt?” Ron asked worriedly.
Harry smiled sheepishly at him. “Yeah, well, I was wrong about that. I don’t remember what all I said then. I was a bit distraught, but didn’t you tell me it’s not supposed to?”
Ron nodded, smiling as he spread his legs so that Harry now settled between his thighs. He was nervous, but not afraid as Harry started humping him, rolling his hips against Ron’s and burrowing his face into Ron’s neck to nip at his throat while Ron stroked his back. He knew Harry wouldn’t hurt him. He would be as gentle with him as he always was with Hermione. And Harry did know what to do. Ron was sure of it.
“Are you going to show me, finally, what it is you do to Draco?” he asked, whispering the question into Harry’s ear.
Harry froze for a moment before slowing pulling back to stare at him in shock. He swallowed, hesitating as if he were trying to decide whether or not to lie and deny it, or admit the truth.
“I haven’t seen him for months, Ron, and I’m not going to again,” Harry said, finally settling on the truth.
“I know.”
“How long have you known?” he asked suspiciously, sitting up fully to stare down at Ron with narrowed eyes.
“From the beginning, I think. Please, did you really think I wouldn’t?” he asked at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, and Hermione isn’t much better. Even I’m not that thick.”
“Well… then I hope you also know that the things I did with him were never like the things I do with you. But I won’t deny that I’ve had sex with him, Ron.”
“Did the little ferret like it?” Ron asked, strangely even more turned on by the thought and at the sudden image that sprang to his mind of Draco on his hands and knees with Harry behind him, taking his revenge for all he was worth.
“Yes, he did.”
“And did you?”
“Yes, Ron,” Harry admitted softly.
Ron’s cock jerked at the admission and at the submissiveness in Harry’s tone as he confessed to it.
“But I’ve never cared for him like I care for you. It was never like that between us. You know that, right?” Harry added quickly.
“I know.”
Harry reached down and grasped Ron’s cock then, squeezing as he pulled on the shaft and milked the pre-come from him before sliding his thumb over the slit to collect the moisture and spread it around over the swollen head in lazy circles.
“Did he scream for you, Harry?” Ron asked breathlessly, arching his back slightly when Harry ran his thumb around the sensitive rim, feeling as if the skin tingled where ever it had touched him.
“He did, but not as loudly as you’re going to scream for me,” Harry whispered hoarsely, leaning down and flicking Ron’s nipple with his tongue.
The husky and slightly boastful quality in his voice made Ron’s whole body throb, his nipple now tingling like the head of his cock. Harry’s normally submissive tone had taken on dominate note, and Ron’s was starting to feel slightly nervous again, yet excited at the same time.
“Really?” Ron asked with false skepticism. “You think so?” Panting slightly as the tingling intensified, he thrust his hips up to push his erection into Harry’s hand. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve never fucked him the way I’m going to fuck you,” Harry replied with absolute certainty. Pushing Ron’s leg up to rest against his chest, Harry smiled while he slid a hot finger, tingling with electricity into Ron’s mouth to wet it before running it around Ron’s scrotum, making his balls draw up and tighten. Then he charted a path down Ron’s perineum and across his exposed entrance, leaving that tingling sensation in its wake as Ron’s mouth opened, and he gasped in stunned surprise at the realization that the sensation was Harry’s magic.
Casting a whispered silencing charm around them wandlessly, Harry followed it with a lubricating spell as he got to his knees between Ron’s spread legs. Ron shivered, staring up at him wide eyed, not knowing what he’d agreed to. Ron had never seen this side of Harry before, didn’t know who this man was, and he was aware, suddenly, that he was totally at his mercy.
“You mother fucker! What the bloody hell has Flitwick been teaching you in those lessons?” Ron asked incredulously, moaning when he felt the heat and tingling now starting in earnest in the hand wrapped around his cock.
“Don’t worry, Ron. I’m not going to hurt you. If it does, we’ll stop,” Harry assured him, smiling mischievously at Ron again, who began to whimper in anticipation and more than a little fear while Harry stroked across his entrance again with the tip of an electric finger.
“Oh, God! What did you do to Hermione, you tosser? Is she unconscious?” He gasped, throwing back his head and clutching at the sheet.
“Jesus, Ron! She’s only sleeping. Calm down. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“I think you’re going to make me beg,” Ron confessed, panting as he stared up at Harry wide eyed.
Harry slowly smiled as he arched one eyebrow. His eyes were glowing with power. “Oh, well in that case… you’re right.”
Ron whimpered again. He couldn’t help himself.
“Are you afraid?” Harry whispered, leaning down to him.
“Fuck, yes!” Ron admitted shakily.
“Good,” Harry breathed against his lips.
Ron realized then, that without a doubt, Harry was right in his certainty of Ron’s pleasure as he felt a long and tapered finger, still wet with his own saliva and sizzling with magic enter him slowly. It made contact with his prostate almost immediately, sending a jolt of electricity surging straight up through Ron’s cock.
Stars erupted into Ron’s vision, and jets of his own come splashed onto his stomach as he ejaculated without warning. Bowing off the bed, Ron howled as the powerful unexpected orgasm consumed him.
Oh, fucking hell! he thought disgracefully as he was left gasping and dizzy. He wasn’t just going to beg, he was going to scream for Harry tonight.
They were both going to be hoarse and bandy legged at the Burrow on Sunday, Ron realized in dismay, still moaning against the pleasure continuing to course through him from the potent aftershocks of his release while Harry's tongue traveled over his stomach and chest, licking him clean again. He blinked the spots out of this vision before squeezing his eyes shut to keep from seeing the annoying, self-satisfied smirk on Harry’s face.
Harry’s hands, full of his magic, stimulated Ron, keeping his cock hard while relaxing the muscles of his anus simultaneously, allowing Harry to patiently stretch him open without pain. And only when Ron’s whole body was tingling, and he was begging like a man dying of thirst, did Harry finally take him like that for the first time, facing each other on Sirius’ bed with Hermione asleep next to them, oblivious to Ron’s screams of pleasure.
The boy had talent. Ron couldn’t deny it. Harry had made him come twice more. Flipping Ron onto his stomach, Harry took him from behind for the last one before he was finally finished with him and allowed himself to finally orgasm, too, leaving Ron totally exhausted and completely spent. God only knew what he’d done to Hermione earlier in the night! He was certainly ensuring that he wouldn’t be forgotten when he departed. Always had to make an impression, that one.
God, Ron was going to miss him!
Harry lay on top of him, sprawled across his back, both of them slick with sweat, and sticky with their release, breathing hard, and limp with exhaustion.
“That beats your record, right?” he wheezed, struggling to breathe with the weight of Harry flattening him against the mattress.
“Sorry, Ron. Not even close,” Harry said, amusement in his voice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. Not kidding.”
“Fucking hell, Harry!” Ron moaned hoarsely. “How do you expect us to let you leave after that? Hermione’s never going to be satisfied with just me anymore. I know you fucked her like that, too. Didn’t you?”
“I gave it my best effort,” Harry admitted, lifting up slightly and biting Ron lightly on the neck. “I’ve been trying to talk her into throwing you over and running away with me from the beginning, but she won’t leave you.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet you have,” Ron replied with a chuckle, which made him groan. “Oh, God. I’ve pulled muscles I didn’t even know I had.”
Harry ran his hand down Ron’s side, stroking him and murmuring sympathetically at his plight.
“Stop,” he groaned, shifting under him. “That tickles.”
“Sorry,” Harry apologized.
“And you’re a liar, too. You’ve never wanted us the way we wanted you,” Ron accused.
“I’ll always want you,” Harry argued, returning his lips to Ron’s neck. “Both of you. And you will never stop being the thing I'd miss the most.”
Then don’t leave us, Ron thought desperately. He closed his eyes, fighting the selfish urge to try and talk him out of this departure, to beg him to stay with them until they all grew old together. But he wanted Harry to be happy. It was all he’d ever wanted.
“Ginny’s a lucky girl,” he finally whispered.
“Shut up, Ron.”

Harry had finally fallen asleep, but Ron lay awake in the early light of morning, staring down at him. He watched Harry sleeping on his back nestled between him and Hermione with her hand curled on his chest, his head tilted towards Ron to keep her hair out of his face. He watched Harry’s chest rise and fall with his steady breathing, watched his heart beating rhythmically in the vein at his neck, around the imprint of Ron’s teeth and purpling of the skin from where he’d marked him during their earlier lovemaking.
Harry was going to be pissed when he saw it today, Ron knew, but he didn’t much care right now as he swallowed and winced, trying to lubricate his dry, scratchy throat. Let him wear it around for a few days like a souvenir, he thought. The wanker.
It had been just over a year since they first came together like this, almost as if this was a marking of the anniversary of that event. Of course, the circumstances had been much different then. It was just after Dobby died, and Harry had been mad with grief and self hatred, completely wild and frighteningly aggressive from the full moon, violent and suicidal. Ron had thought they were going to lose him that day, right there in front of them with neither of them able to stop it.
Harry looked at home now, though, peaceful, completely relaxed, comfortable and safe, like he belonged here between them. But he’d never fully given himself to them, never wanted an equal part in their relationship. He’d always saved a part of himself for Ginny, and Ron understood that, accepted it. It was actually the ray of hope Ron always had for Harry’s recovery in those dark days. That the tiny sliver of hope Harry saved for himself meant that he’d keep fighting to get better, that he actually saw a future for himself, however unlikely he thought it might be.
Harry had always been, and would always be the thing that both he and Hermione would miss the most. But him leaving their bed wouldn’t diminish the closeness they all shared, or the love they had for each other, and that’s what it came down to for Ron.
This man was more than his lover, closer than his best friend. They were woven together too tightly, the ties that bound them too strong to ever be broken. Ron was once jealous of Harry, wanted to be him, wished for his fame and wealth. He never did anymore. Now he just wanted to be with him, near him, to be by his side in whatever capacity Harry desired. It was so much more than he ever thought he’d be given.
Their door would always remain open for him if he ever needed to come in and curl up between them like this, though, to take comfort from them. No matter what, they would welcome him without a word, shelter him from the storm, no explanation necessary, and Harry knew it.
They would always protect him, just as fiercely as he had protected them in those terrible days. Always.

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What it comes down to