This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.
For the past few hours, those two phrases repeated over and over again in Harry’s mind like some sort of sick self-damming mantra. And no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise or actually attempt to rationalize his actions; he always came to the same terrible conclusions.
This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.
He should have never been in the position he currently found himself to be; lying warm, cozy, naked, and completely and utterly content between his two equally warm, cozy, and naked best mates Ron and Hermione.
He should have never been granted with the intimate knowledge of knowing what they both tasted like, or listening to the way Hermione's breath would hitch every time that special spot deep within her soft velvet core was touched. Or watching the look of ecstasy wash across Ron's face as he experienced his third orgasm in a row.
He knew what happened between them was a complete mistake, but the thing that made the situation even worse was it was supposed to be their wedding night. Less than 10 hours ago, Harry was standing by their side as they vowed to love and honor each other for the rest of their days. He was their best man for Merlin’s sake. He helped Ron plan his proposal, and tagged along with Hermione and her mum to taste wedding cakes. He handed Ron the ring to slip on her finger before their “I do's", and gave a teary speech about the testament of their love and hopes for their bright future together. He never would have dreamed in a million years that just a few hours later he’d not only defile their wedding bed, but thoroughly enjoy doing so.
Fuck he was sick. As twisted and freakish as his Muggle family purported him to be because there was no excuse for what he did. Ron and Hermione were both tiddly at their wedding reception and Harry was tasked with getting them home safely. He Side-Along them to their new cottage, and intended to leave once he settled them down. But, Ron had grabbed a bottle of Firewhisky and asked him to take a few shots with them before he left, and Harry obliged. Sat between them on the sofa, a few shots later Harry felt himself get a bit tiddly as well.
After giggling about how Bill and Mr. Granger had to help convince a drunken Percy that dancing on a table was not a good idea, Harry did something that was so out of character that it frightened him. He didn’t know if it was because the alcohol or that his inhibitions were down but he reached right over and drew Hermione into a passionate kiss. It was so sudden and abrupt, that he didn’t realize the imminent danger he put himself into with her very large and very jealous new husband sitting no less than half a meter away. All he could think about was how beautiful she looked, and how good she smelled, and how he had always wanted to do this ever since he witnessed her walk down the stairs looking like an angel during the Yule Ball in Hogwarts. He had always been secretly smitten with her since then, and to finally be able to kiss her, and feel her kiss him back was everything.
Suddenly, when Harry felt Ron grab his shoulder and pull him back, he cowardly closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the storm of fists and feet he rightly deserved to smash up his body and leave him in a bloody heap because what he had done was a severe act of betrayal. He knew his selfish actions lost him his best mate forever, and a sound brutal beating was much less than he deserved. Harry braced himself for the first blow, but when that didn’t happen immediately, he dared to open his eyes to see something that sobered him up quickly. Instead of a look of anger or anguish on Ron’s face, Harry was met with a look of confusion and possibly… lust? He didn’t know for sure; he just used the opportunity to smash their lips together and hope for the best.
Through the years, Harry had noticed subtle hints and signs of Ron not being as straight as he thought himself to be, and now as he fiercely kissed him back, Harry was so glad his suspicions were correct.
However, that was the major problem. Harry should not have felt triumphant in seducing his best mates on their wedding night, should not have helped Hermione out of her wedding gown, or unbuttoned Ron’s trousers as the gingered man pulled his own shirt off over his head. He shouldn’t have been responsible for the matching red and purple love bites he left on their necks and chests, or the reason for their collective moans when he used his tongue to tease the joining of their lovemaking.
Harry should have been ashamed at how good it felt to sink into Hermione’s tight and quivering depths, or how fast he came when they both kissed each other around his bell-end while one of Ron’s massive fingers played with his desperate and needy hole. This entire situation was not right.
So, what, he’d been in love with them since he was 15 years old, and so what, if being with them on such an intimate level was everything he could have ever hoped for, dreamed for; he should have had more restraint and never crossed that forbidden line. What kind of fucked up best mate was he? Now I've gone and ruined everything he thought to himself.
As he laid with them, Harry could feel himself start to panic. Soon they would wake up and be horrified at what they had done. Ron would definitely be disgusted with the homosexual acts they committed. Sure, he had a feeling that Ron might have been into the lads as well, but he didn’t give the man the chance to figure that out for himself. He went down on him the first chance he got, and practically begged him not to stop when he returned the favor. Ron was a fucking poof now because of him and would probably go on to hate himself for it as much as Harry had.
And Hermione would probably feel violated because he made love to her. He never had any inkling that she was interested in him in any way other than being a best mate, and now he had seen and experienced her in every way a man could intimately know a woman. Hell, he even finished inside her when she rode him-. A wave of nausea hit Harry so hard at that thought that he almost got sick right there in the bed. The entire time they had sex, he never used protection, never even fucking thought about it. What if he’d gotten her pregnant?
He felt the nausea return when a small deranged part of him became happy at that prospect. Happy at thought of the three of them raising a pretty little girl that was a ginger like her father, had beautiful curls like her mother, and the same green eyes as him.
BUT THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN YOU FREAK, reality screamed at him and snapped him out of his reverie. THEY WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE. YOU TAINTED THEIR HAPPY EXISTENCE WITH YOUR GREED. HOW COULD YOU SHAG YOUR BEST MATE’S WIFE, THEN DAYDREAM ABOUT GETTING HER UP THE DUFF!?
Harry jolted up and frantically shook Hermione awake. “Hermione wake up! Quick! I forgot to use protection last night. Are we too late? Is there anything we can do? I promise I wasn’t trying to get you pregnant. I’m so sorry!” Harry cried. His face was wet with tears that he didn’t even know he was shedding.
“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione said sounding confused and alarmed. She sat up and pulled the sheet around bare chest. Harry knew she was covering herself from him.
“Hermione, I’m so sorry I did this to you. I’m so sorry I violated your trust in me.” He said openly weeping now and trembling.
“Harry mate, what’s wrong?” Ron said groggily sitting up, and when he put a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder, he lost it. Harry broke down crying and begging for forgiveness. He apologized for taking advantage of them when they were drunk, and for possibly robbing them of having their first child together. He was repented for loving them more than a best mate should, and regretful for destroying their marriage before it even began. The whole time he talked, the less he felt that he could breathe. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt like he was going to pass out. Eventually everything started to fade.
Harry felt hurried movement around him, and someone gently moving his legs over the side of the bed until his feet touched the floor.
“Harry.” Hermione suddenly said to him in a strong and firm voice. She was standing in front of him with a dressing robe tied tightly around her. “Harry, I need you to calm down. You are having a panic attack.” She announced to him. Harry’s mind was so clouded that he could barely understand what she was saying.
“You are breathing way too fast, try closing your mouth and breathing through your nose, like this.” Harry watched her demonstrate how she wanted him to breathe, and he tried to copy her but he nerves were just too shot to do it. Suddenly, Ron slowly walked up to him only wearing a towel tucked around his hips. He kneeled down next to him and held one of his hands. “Harry, I need you to try again. The only way out of this is to calm yourself down. Now, take slow breaths and through your nose.” Ron said preforming the same actions his wife was currently doing. Harry tried harder this time, and he was able to get his mouth to close. With each deep breath he felt himself getting looser and more relaxed.
“That’s right Harry, you are doing a great job.” Hermione encouraged him. “If you can get your breathing a little more under control, we can give you a calming draught.” Harry nodded, and focused on his breathing, in, out, in, out. Eventually, Hermione handed him a familiar little silver vial that was uncorked. Harry took it and tossed back the bland-tasting liquid, and in seconds he could feel the tension draining from his body and his mind and thoughts began to clear. The calming draught had always helped him come out of his panic attacks.
When he took a deep breath, and re-corked the vial, Hermione and Ron visibly sagged.
“Merlin, you had us there for a minute mate. It’s been ages since you’ve had one of those. I nearly panicked myself, until Hermione told me to grab the draught.” Ron panted as he sat all the way on the ground. Harry noticed that he was still holding his hand.
“Harry, I thought you were still taking daily sips of the draught to help you avoid these kinds of attacks.” Hermione said gently as she took a seat next to her husband on the floor. Harry rubbed his face and sighed. Honestly, he had not taken it for weeks. With all the busyness of getting ready for the wedding, he had forgotten. He was so grateful that they remembered how to help him get through those terrible fits.
Anxiety, severe panic attacks, and racing thoughts were lovely little tokens his mind healer told him he had gotten from the war. When they first started to happen, he thought he could handle them in secret. He never wanted to worry anyone about it, and would go off on his own to get through it when one flared up. But of course, Ron and Hermione noticed and convinced him to seek a healer for help. It was one of the best decisions he ever made, and was attack free for years thanks to his daily regimen of Calming Draught. But that streak was gone now due to his forgetfulness.
“I am,” Harry assured her, “I just forgot to do it for a while.” He said lamely. Then the room became quite.
As the three of them sat in silence, Harry’s mind began to race will all the possibilities that could develop form the situation. Would they ever be able to get over this and just carry on like it never happened? Or, now that he was fine, would they tell him to get the hell out of their home and out of their lives forever?
Harry hoped and prayed they wouldn’t choose the second option because they were his everything. His best mates, his confidants, his real family. However, he was the one who fucked up, and greatly deserved any decisions they made.