Day Eight
Hermione is still giving him potions at night, letting him sleep through the night in his dark and cozy void. Despite that, he still wakes early this morning. His racing mind is too active for even the most potent sleeping potion.
He wakes to the soft morning sun filtering through the window. He feels warm and heavy, which makes him realize that Hermione’s lying on him, her hand clutching his shirt. She must have snuggled herself in at some point because his arm is around her and her leg is tossed over his. He turns to his left to see Ron, still pressed close but not on him like Hermione. His arm crosses Harry’s chest, his hand just beneath Hermione’s. They must have been holding hands.
He takes a moment to study how their faces look, not morphed by worry or tension. It fills him with determination. They had promised each other they would get better for each other… and he was. By some miracle, he actually feels better today. His mind still races, though, when he thinks about yesterday. About what Ginny said. About how…how she’s right.
Somewhere along the way, he fell in love with them and it was starting to manifest in some very real ways.
He thinks back to every moment that maybe felt a little funny. Like the Yule ball, where Harry had been just as hurt as Ron when Hermione showed up with Krum, he just hid it better. But he also remembers how annoyed he had been that they weren’t just going together. The three of them. It had felt so simple and obvious he hadn’t even felt the need to mention it.
Or when they started the D.A. and Hermione made that enchanted sign-up list. How he and Ron had looked at each other in genuine terror and then not spoken about their silenced bed curtains that night when they would usually chat before going to sleep.
Or in sixth year when he insisted that Draco was up to no good and how much it hurt that they dismissed him. Or how he had felt guilty spending time with Ginny when it meant forfeiting time with Ron and Hermione.
And that’s not even to mention the bloody tent. How Harry and Hermione both sobbed together on the ugly carpet floor for what he thought were very different reasons, but maybe they were the same.
But what about me?
He loves them, he’s pretty sure, even though he’s not quite sure how that’s possible. And they love each other. But him? He tries to bite back the vile memories of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, telling him how unwanted and unloved he was.
Instead, for a moment, he tries to be hopeful. He thinks about the last week… all those little moments where everything felt a little more intense, a little more intimate. Maybe, just maybe…
He takes a deep, shaky breath, which startles Ron. Harry winces, annoyed he woke him.
“Mm, Harry?” he mutters, looking at him sleepily.
“I’m okay,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep,”
“You should, too,” Ron mutters.
“My arm is asleep?” he says, trying not to let the panic creep into his voice. Ron lifts his head up to peer at Hermione’s sleeping form.
“She’s so pretty,” Ron sighs affectionately. “Roll over this way. She won’t wake up. You can free your arm,”
Harry grunts and does as recommended, rolling on his side. Hermione stirs a little, just enough to roll over and rest her head on the pillow instead of his shoulder. He stiffens when she snuggles further into the blankets, her butt pressing right against his.
“Mmm, better?” Ron mumbles, casually throwing his arm over Harry’s hip, making him very aware of some… other… body parts pressing against each other.
Oh my god, Harry thinks to himself, frozen in embarrassment. He’s just had a life crisis about being in love with his best friends, and now every inch of them is pressed against him. It makes him feel hot and squirmy, though he doesn't dare to move.
His inability to relax clearly concerns Ron, though. “Wha’s wrong?” he grumbles, propping himself on his elbow.
“Nothing,” he whispers, staring at Ron’s shirt, refusing to look up.
“You sure?” Ron asks. Harry’s breath hitches when he reaches up and brushes a stray curl off Harry’s forehead. He nods, praying Ron will go back to sleep and roll over. Instead, Ron studies his face, looking for clues about what’s bothering him. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs with the same reverent affection he used on Hermione.
“Ron,” he whispers, not sure what to say. He knows Ron is a little loopy first thing when he wakes up, but this is… it feels different. He finds himself leaning into his touch, aching for more. Hermione shifts behind him, pressing back, forcing him closer to Ron, and he gasps.
“Well, morning to you too,” Ron laughs quietly.
“It was ‘Mione,” he mutters. He tries to pull away, but he can’t. Hermione is seemingly determined to take up the entire bed now.
“It’s okay,” Ron assures him, his hand now on Harry’s hip, tugging him closer. “One morning, I woke up, and we were practically inside each other. She had taken up so much room,”
Harry’s face turns bright red at the phrase. He buries his face in Ron’s chest. “Please don’t say that right now,”
“What, why?”
“Ron,” he groans. He has to be messing with him. He has to be.
“Harry,” he replies in a sing-song voice. Then, Harry feels it, Ron’s hand gently sliding off his hip, further back. He bites back a moan when he cups Harry’s behind, gently tugging him even closer. He’d never noticed how big Ron’s hands were.
“Ron,” he repeats again breathlessly. He looks up at his best friend in terror, waiting for him to say he’s kidding. Ron grips his ass a little firmer, and Harry squeaks. Bloody squeaks. They’re so close now. All it would take is the tiniest movement for something to happen.
“Tell me to stop, Harry, and I will,” he murmurs.
“I- I- I don’t want you to stop,” Harry whispers, not even believing the words coming out of his mouth. “But Ron- Hermione-”
“Is fine with it,” he replies, his lips barely ghosting against Harry’s. Then, as if she’s listening, she shifts again, pushing Harry closer, and Ron seizes the moment, crashing their lips together.
Harry suddenly feels like there is real air in his lungs again. This is ironic, considering Ron is kissing him so hard that he shouldn’t be able to breathe. He moans against Ron’s lips, clutching his shirt for dear life. He holds them tight together, not letting Harry move an inch to not disturb Hermione.
“Fuck, Harry,” Ron gasps when they finally break for air.
“Ron,” he whimpers. Their lips crash against each other again. Harry experiments by thrusting his hips gently against Ron's, making them both moan.
But then Hermione stirs and they both freeze. She makes that little moan she makes when she wakes up, the one that goes straight to Harry’s groin, and he pulls away from Ron, reality crashing around him.
Ron had just kissed him.
His chest tightens again, and he fights off the impending panic attack.
“Harry, don’t,” Ron panics. “Don’t do this. Stay with me, love, okay?”
“Ron- wha- you-” he starts to hyperventilate.
“Harry?” Hermione’s gentle voice says. “What's wrong with him?”
“I kissed him, and he’s having a bloody panic attack,” Ron’s voice sounds far away.
“Oh, Ronald, honestly,” Hermione sighs. “I told you to take it slow,”
“Wha- what?” Harry splutters in shock. Then, Hermione hovers above him, smiling at him like he’s her whole world.
“Hello, love,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re okay,”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t- Oh, Hermione, I didn’t mean to-” he stammers. He had just kissed Ron, who he had clearly seen kissing Hermione. But then it’s Hermione kissing him. Her lips are softer than Ron’s, gentler but with just as much passion. He arches up into her touch, his mind going hazy.
“There we are,” she laughs softly. “Nothing to worry about, see?”
He looks between them frantically, and they smile back at him as if everything is perfectly normal and not like they just kissed him. “What is going on?” he asks in a strangled voice. Ron groans in annoyance, and Hermione frowns.
“Did you not like it, Harry?” she asks. Always Hermione, getting straight to the point.
“No, I- I did it,” he chokes out. “But- I thought, you two, together, I mean,”
“We are,” she says as if that settles it.
Harry sits up, feeling the need for space. Every brush of their bodies against his makes his mind go numb. “I don’t understand,”
“I thought you knew Harry,” she sighs. “You broke things off with Ginny and told me what she said. And then the way you were looking at us last night… I mean, I was going to wait a few days to be sure,” she says the last bit with a pointed look at Ron, who shrugs.
Suddenly, his brain starts working, and the pieces start clicking and… “You’re in love with me?” he asks stupidly.
“Erm, yes?”
“Course, mate,”
“Aren’t you?” Hermione frowns.
Harry nods. “Except I figured it out twenty seconds before Ron decided to snog me,” he mutters, feeling his face flush hot.
“Oh,” she says, her mouth dropping open in surprise. Harry watches the way her face turns pink. “Well, um, I suppose maybe you need a moment then,”
“A bit, Hermione, yeah,” he laughs. “Is that even an option?”
“What is?” Ron asks.
“The three of us,” Harry murmurs, hardly daring to speak it for fear of losing this beautiful idea forming in his head. Of comfort and love and never being left behind because it's them and… Merlin’s pants. Why has he never thought of this before?
“Of course it is,” Ron says, and even Hermione looks at him a little bit confused. “Ah, right. Polyamory is pretty normal for wizards,” he shrugs.
“It is?” Hermione asks, straightening up, her curiosity taking over.
“Well, yeah,” Ron laughs. “I mean, all those arranged marriages and stuff? People have side partners and third partners and all sorts of things. It’s muggles that are all determined about one partner and all that,”
“Really?” she asks, a curious glint in her eye. “How come-”
“Can we get back on track here?” he asks before she can start down one of her rabbit holes. “I’m still in shock, thank you very much,”
“Sorry mate,” Ron blushes.
Harry sighs shakily, running his hands through his hair. “Is this really happening?”
“If you want it, Harry,” Hermione says a bit breathlessly.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, leaning his head against the wall. “I’ve never been good at it,”
“I don’t think it’ll be that much different,” Ron shrugs. “Just what we’ve always been, with more kissing,”
Hermione hums in agreement, staring at the sheets as if she’s suddenly found them very interesting. “I’ve never been good at it either, Harry,” she whispers.
“What about-”
“I’ve never dated anyone, really,” she shrugs. “Viktor was a date, but I didn’t consider him a boyfriend. It’s always been you two,” she sniffs, tears pooling in her eyes. “I never realized why it hurt so bad when you two would talk about girls,”
“Oh, Hermione,” Harry says softly. He reaches for her, pulling her into his lap because he can’t stand it any longer. She straddles his lap and buries her head in his shoulder. She’s never felt this small before, never this vulnerable. “Okay,” he says softly.
“Okay?” Ron asks.
“I’m terrified,” he whispers. “But for once, I’m going to let myself be selfish and be positive. I want this. I want this so bad, and if you’re both on board, then-” he takes a shaky breath, “-so am I,”
Hermione looks up at him, her big brown eyes full of hope. “Oh really, Harry?”
“Really,” he assures her.
He turns to Ron (have his eyes always been that blue?), waiting. Ron lets out a shaky breath and a smile. “I’m really glad you said yes because I don’t know what I would have done had you not,”
Harry reaches up and grabs the back of Ron’s neck, intent on returning to their previous activity now that he isn’t panicking. Ron grins at him widely, leaning in and kissing him firmly. Hermione makes a contented noise, and Harry can feel her soft lips against his neck.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
“I’m going to hex whoever is on the other side of that door,” Ron mutters.
“Go answer it,” Hermione says. She rolls off Harry’s lap and he looks at her concerned. “Let’s keep this between us for a few more days, okay?”
“Okay,” he nods even though he wants to shout it from the rooftops.
Ron opens the door once they’re all decent and reveals Ginny. She looks between the three of them before making eye contact with Harry. He grins at her sheepishly, and she smirks, but then her face falls.
“Um,” she sighs. “Dad wanted to come up, but I figured you would take it better from me,”
“What’s wrong?” Ron asks, worry tinting his voice.
“Fred,” she says simply. “George is ready,”
“Oh,”
“We want you all to be there,” Ginny says. “And mum’s promised not to ask anything of Harry,”
“I’ll be there, of course I will,” Harry says urgently. “Even if she does,”
“Okay,” Ginny nods shakily. “Half an hour,”
Then she’s gone in a flash of red hair and tears, leaving a shell-shocked Ron.
“Ron?” Hermione asks tentatively, but Harry is already on the move.
He gets out of bed as fast as he’s able and reaches around Ron to shut the door, giving
them privacy. He steps in front of him and smiles at him gently. “I got you,”
And Ron cries.