Rounding Complete Grace
They are too old for this, Hermione thinks as they wait for Ron to return. Harry is pressed up against her, chest to chest, beneath the invisibility cloak. They no longer fit comfortably beneath it as they once did, and sometimes Hermione wishes they were still eleven, and things were still simple.
Ron is the tallest, able to reach old, long-forgotten (if the dust is anything to go by) scrolls on top shelves that she and Harry can only dream of reaching, so they sent him off into the stacks.
Right now, though, she is not thinking of parchment or books. Harry's body is lean and hard, not at all like Ron's and yet oddly similar. He shifts, his breath sliding over her ear like a warm breeze, sending shivers down her spine. His thigh, strong and hard, presses between hers. She gasps at the sensation, heat flooding her veins, and he silences her with a kiss. He's sloppier than Ron, and more tentative, as if afraid she's going to push him away.
She should push him away. She knows this. She and Ron are together now; she loves Ron, and this is a breach of her promises to him that he is the only one.
But she loves Harry, too, so she lets him kiss and touch her in secret, in silence, beneath the invisibility cloak, his hands on her body, hot against the bare skin beneath her clothes, his tongue in her mouth, thrusting and sucking, until they hear Ron's careful footsteps coming toward them.
Each time, she tells herself it's not going to happen again, but she can't seem to tell Harry. Whenever he looks at her with doubt and fear in his eyes, she just wants to make him happy, and she wants to believe Ron would understand.
Hermione feels guilty after she's been with Harry, and so she tries to make it up to Ron. She surprises him sometimes, sneaking into his bed, waking him slowly with soft kisses and touches. She licks him to hardness, loving the feel of his cock, hot and hard, on her tongue. He groans her name, long fingers threading through her already-tangled hair.
She smiles around him, holding his gaze as she swirls her tongue over the slit, then licks the vein on the underside before sucking on his balls, hand still slowly stroking his shaft.
"Hermione," he growls when he's able to speak, "you bloody tease."
She laughs at that, feeling him quiver as the vibrations roll through him. The thrill of knowing how much he wants her, loves her, always sends a rush of heat through her body, centering in the wetness between her thighs, the deep, inexorable pulse of desire. She gives in to his pleas, taking him as deep as she can and sucking hard until he comes. She's always excelled at learning, and she has learned how to do this for him, pleasure in knowledge gained for once outpaced by the pleasure of putting it to good use.
Ron has learned a lot, too, learned how use his fingers and tongue to make her writhe and moan his name, to make her whole body vibrate in bliss, learned how to kiss her gently into sleep, make her feel safe in the circle of his arms.
Harry is learning as well, and sometimes she wonders what it would be like with both of them, if Harry were with her and Ron, instead of a secret she's beginning to think she can't keep, and can't tell.
But when Ron whispers, "Love you," as he kisses her eyelids, thinking she's asleep, she realizes she doesn't want to lose him, not even to make the sadness in Harry's eyes disappear for a few minutes.
It's not unusual for all three of them to skip trips to Hogsmeade these days. Hermione is devoting a great deal of time to studying for N.E.W.T.s, and Harry is often occupied with unofficial Order meetings; during the week, he and Ron make sporadic trips through the tunnel to Honeydukes to get what they need from town, though as Head Girl, she pretends not to know about those.
But they hadn't told her they weren't going, and she misses them amid the forced frivolity of the trip, everyone pretending there isn't a war going on in the outside world.
She heads back to the castle early, and up to the seventh year boys' dormitory, thinking to surprise them.
It is she who is surprised when, on pushing the door open, she sees Harry and Ron sprawled on Harry's bed, trousers shoved down to their ankles, bodies locked in a rhythmic surge and flow that might have passed for wrestling had they been clothed.
They're beautiful in the soft, gold afternoon light, strong and hard, fair skin flushed and red mouths swollen, Ron's hair as mussed as Harry's normally is.
Harry's arse flexes as he thrusts, and Ron's hips arch off the bed, his cock rubbing against Harry's, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief as he strains toward climax.
Hermione gasps in shock, in desire, her body responding to the sight of her beautiful boys.
They fumble, aware of her presence, and Harry falls off the bed with a thump, his hair wilder than usual, his eyes hazy without his glasses.
Ron attempts to look casual, lying back against the pillows, legs spread, cock still rising hard and slick from his body, an invitation without words.
She swallows, attempts to get a handle on her breathing, which sounds ragged and harsh to her ears.
Harry rises slowly, face twisting with regret, but before he can speak Ron extends a hand to her and says, "Hermione?"
She nods, all the pieces falling into place.
"Yes," she says decisively, moving forward to take Ron's hand. "I think so." She turns back and smiles at Harry over her shoulder, mimicking Ron's gesture. "Harry?"
Harry stares at them wide-eyed. "Are you sure?" he asks hoarsely.
"Utterly," she replies.
At the same time, Ron says, "Absolutely."
"We love you, Harry," she continues, sinking down onto the bed next to Ron, who sits up and begins unbuttoning her blouse, strong arms wrapping around her from behind.
"And we want to share everything with you," Ron adds, as he slips Hermione's shirt off her shoulders.
Harry hesitates for a moment, but Hermione continues to reach out to him. "Come on, Harry."
He grasps her hand, and she pulls him close for a gentle kiss, enjoying the feel of being cradled between them, completing the circle.
There is no safe haven for any of them anymore, but for a little while, in the warm embrace of each other's bodies, they can find some peace.