Dec. 14 for @watermelonwolf , Krysania, @rachelletwin2, and mlraven

They’d decided to try for a baby months ago, but couldn’t quite figure out how to go about it.

Hermione had looked into ancient spells, of course, and Ron had thought about making an old fashioned ‘cauldron baby,’ but Hermione had wanted to carry to term—for research purposes. Harry, for his part, just said, “I don’t mind if it doesn’t have all three of our genes in it. I mean, maybe this time Ron could go, and Hermione, if you’re up for it again in a few years, we could have another with my DNA.”

“That’s sweet of you, Harry,” Hermione said. “But I’m determined that any child of ours will have all three of our DNA in it. It’s only fair.”

And so, she’d researched and researched, while keeping all three of them dosed to the gills in contraceptive potions to make sure she didn’t get pregnant before everything was in place. Harry and Ron were quite fine with this because, for some reason, the potions made Hermione randy as a Niffler in a bank vault.

And things continued apace all through the autumn, with everyone quite sated and clear-headed from all the sex. In fact, Harry directly contributed it to the successes each of them had had in that time:

Ron figured out the problem with the scented fireworks that had kept him and George from selling them for 3 years; Hermione finished and published her first academic paper in the Journal of Love and Empathic Magic to much talk and acclaim; and Harry got a promotion to Deputy Head Auror in October. So things were going well.

“I’ve got it!” Hermione said, one December morning as Harry was pouring the coffee and Ron was plating the French toast. 

“Got what, love?” said Ron.

“Polyjuice,” Hermione said smugly. She held up two small vials and shook them enticingly. 

Harry tilted his head, squinting. “What now?” He handed Hermione her cup of milky coffee and then passed Ron’s to him. “Why do we need Polyjuice?”

“For a baby, of course,” Hermione said. “Head Unspeakable Graves has let me take on a side project into the genetic changes effected by a dose of Polyjuice, and this week, I finally proved it!  A person under a fresh batch of Polyjuice, a ‘Taker,’ assumes about 50% of the DNA of the person whose bio-sample was in the Polyjuice—the ‘Giver’.

“Which means,” Hermione continued, before either of them could interrupt, “that if you, Harry, for example, are Polyjuiced as Ron and one of your spermatozoa successfully reaches one of my ova, then the baby will have 25% of your DNA, 25% of Ron’s DNA, and 50% of my DNA. In effect, a baby from all three of us.”

Harry and Ron shared a look, then turned as one to look at Hermione. She was still sitting there all smug, waiting for them to tell her what a genius she was.

“You’re a fucking genius, Herm!” Ron said. 

“We’re going to have a baby?!” Harry said, not sure if he was excited or fucking overcome with happiness at it finally happening. “Really?”

“Mum’s going to be so chuffed!” Ron continued, and then began to eat his French toast at great speed out of happiness.

“Yes, and I’m at peak ovulation…oh, what do you know,” Hermione said, smugly, “today.”

They looked at one another again, and then Ron said, “What are you waiting for?! Eat your breakfast and get your strength up!”

Which was how Harry nearly choked on his French toast trying to scarf it down, but fortunately, Hermione had always been quick with a Heimlich Spell since that time Ron had nearly asphyxiated after accidentally taking Harry’s ejaculate down the wrong pipe.

Not a situation any of them wanted to repeat.

But fortunately, today was turning out much better. They’d finished breakfast at a respectable pace, then fairly dragged Hermione from the table (she’d paused to drain the rest of her coffee) and tugged her back to their bedroom.

It was a obvious mix of all three of them, with Ron’s glow-in-the-dark Chudley Cannons posters on the ceiling, Harry’s collection of famous Snitches on the windowsill, and Hermione’s recreational reading bookshelves taking up an entire wall and, recently, even beginning to encroach on the part of the ceiling where Ron’s posters were. But their bed was huge and soft, with sheets and goose-feather duvet in a compromising shade of lavender (they had compromised to Hermione), and their wardrobe was expanded so that each of them had the equivalent of a large walk-in, and they rotated where they slept so no one was always stuck in the middle—so life had really been very nice for the most part since they decided to give this three-way relationship a go.

Hermione doled out their Polyjuice doses and they quickly chugged them back. Harry laughed as he felt his feet and hands getting bigger, his legs growing longer, his eyesight getting better.

“This is what it’s like to be you?” Harry asked. “This is brilliant!”

Ron scowled at him from Harry’s face. “I’d forgotten how shit your eyesight was—gimme your glasses so I can find your cock and Hermione’s cunt at some point today.”

Harry cackled, very much enjoying not needing an accessory to see properly, and handed his glasses over. “What do you think, Hermione?” he said, striking a pose, jutting his groin outwards.

She raised an eyebrow, rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she said, on a sigh.

But then she started shucking her dressing gown and they both snapped their eyes towards her, watching one creamy inch of terra-cotta skin after another appear. She dropped the dressing gown and turned around for them to shimmy her bum and slowly pull her silky knickers down her legs. She bent over to pull them from her feet, giving Harry and Ron a lovely view that had them both groaning in one another’s voices.

Harry reached blindly for Ron, tugging him closer and pressing a kiss to his mouth, his strangely large hands tugging at Ron’s too-long joggers. Ron reached to pull Harry’s t-shirt over his head and toss it in the self-sorting laundry basket Hermione had charmed up.

She came up to them, her body warm and naked as it pressed against them, her hands pulling them into her as she kissed their necks and shoulders. Harry turned to kiss her, and Ron began pushing them both toward the bed. Hermione fell back first, giggling, her hair splaying over the duvet.

Harry fell on top of her and kissed her face, her chest and the pert peaks of her breasts. He moved lower and lower, his tongue parting her folds as Ron reached around and slid a finger in. It was so odd, Harry thought, watching himself finger Hermione when he wasn’t the one actually doing it. But he didn’t much mind because she tasted amazing and he could just sit here licking her all day. He nearly did, but then Ron’s fingers sped up, pumping firmly into her, and her hips started writhing. Harry held them down with his hands while he licked her clit in the precise method she’d instructed both of them on early into their relationship.

“Harry, Ron, yes!” Hermione moaned, her hips bucking and then stilling abruptly. She fell back, panting at the ceiling and the Chudley Cannons’ lead Chaser winked at her as he zoomed overhead. 

“Ron, come here,” she said, but she pulled Harry to her. 

He found he didn’t much mind. Somehow, hearing her call him Ron had turned him on even more. His freckled cock was hard and aching, and she guided him into her. He groaned as he slipped right in. She was dripping wet.

Harry started a slow rhythm, trying to keep himself from coming too soon, but Ron wasn’t making it easy for him. He’d whispered a few cleaning and lubricating spells and was beginning to work a finger into Harry’s arse, which was, well it was quite nice. He groaned, his hips stuttering as Ron finally got him read and slid inside.

“Fuck, yeah, mate,” Ron groaned, in Harry’s voice, which was a bit weird, but not weird enough to make Harry want to stop.

“Yes, yes, fuck him, Harry,” Hermione moaned. “He loves it.”

That was very true, but Hermione had seemingly already fallen into such a lust-crazed haze that she’d forgotten they were both Polyjuiced, which was fine, because Harry was getting more and more turned on hearing it. And it was true; Ron really did love it when Harry fucked him.

Ron angled his hips and the change pressed his cock against Harry’s prostate, sending a flare of sparkling pleasure through his body. He slammed into Hermione, his cock throbbing, and she grabbed his hips to pull him in, her head falling back on a moan.

“Fuck, yes, fuck me Ron,” Hermione said.

And that was really all it took for him to obey. He slid back, making Ron’s cock rub against his prostate again, and thrust forward, Hermione’s tight pussy sending waves of pleasure through his whole body. Again and again, Harry fucked Hermione while fucking himself on Ron’s cock, the pleasure building and building until all he could do was succumb to the frenzy.

“Yes, god, that’s it, I’m so close,” Harry moaned, his eyes scrunched tight.

“Come on, mate,” Ron whispered in his ear, his breathing rapid. “Come on my cock. Fill her up.”

“Unfff,” Harry moaned, his hips shuddering as his orgasm ripped through him. He pumped himself into Hermione while Ron fucked him, feeling as though he’d died and become a spirit by the end, because he was so boneless. Ron slipped out, and Harry fell to Hermione with an ‘Oof’.

Harry rolled to the side, his cock slipping free, and kissed Hermione. Behind him, he heard Ron whisper another cleaning spell and then Hermione arched up, moaning as Ron entered her, too.

“Fuck, you both feel so good,” Ron babbled. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Come on, do it,” Harry told him. “She feels so good, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron groaned, his head lolling back as he grabbed her hips and thrust into her.

Harry reached down, pressing two fingers to her clit and circling expertly. Hermione began to whine, her hips coming to meet each of Ron’s thrusts, her moans getting louder and louder.

“Yes,” Hermione moaned. “You’re going to make me come again.”

“Fuck, yeah,” said Ron, his thrusts going deeper, harder than ever before. Harry continued rubbing Hermione’s clit and he knew when he had her—she seized, her mouth falling open as she screamed her pleasure. 

“God, yes, you both fuck me so good,” Hermione panted, hips still rolling. “I love it when you fuck me.”

That was all it took for Ron. He slammed in, his body arching into her, screaming their names as he emptied himself in Hermione’s pussy.

Ron slowed his thrusts, catching his breath, before he slowly pulled out and rolled to her other side. The three of them lay there panting for several long moments. Long enough that the Polyjuice began to wear off and Harry got the uncomfortable feeling of his body changing again. Wordlessly, Ron handed him his glasses.

Hermione conjured a glass of water for each of them. “Hydrate, please,” she reminded them. They dutifully drank, then fell back to the bed, happy smiles on all three of their faces.

“We really gotta try this with Hermione Polyjuiced into us so she can try it, too,” Ron said, absently flicking his wand and sending ghostly Quaffles at his Cannons poster for the players to toss around. “And I want to try as Hermione,” he added.

“Me, too,” said Harry. “This was brill. You have the best ideas, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said.

He and Ron laughed, reached over simultaneously to tickle her, but it somehow turned into absently rubbing her breasts and pussy again, which she never seemed to mind.

“You think it worked?” Ron asked. 

“If not this time, there’s always next month,” Hermione said. “I made several batches of Polyjuice in preparation.”

“Smart girl,” Harry said.

But it turned out that while they did indeed use those other batches at later dates, they didn’t need to. For, six weeks later, they woke to Hermione puking in the loo.

Harry and Ron brought her two bouquets of roses to cheer her up, and it seemed the only smell she could tolerate, so they high-fived over getting that one right. Mrs Weasley was indeed quite chuffed. She fussed over Hermione constantly, sending her broth and more roses and even picking up murder mystery books for Hermione to read on the days she felt too ill to work—which, admittedly, were few because Hermione insisted on working right up until the day she gave birth.

In fact, Harry found out about it from an inter-office memo she sent up from the Department of Mysteries.

‘In labour,’ it read in her precise handwriting. ‘Planning to finish this experiment and then heading to St Mungo’s. See you soon. xoxo Hermione. PS please tell Ron, as I my contractions are coming quickly and I appear to be 8cm dilated already and I really want to finish this before I leave.’

Harry took the lift straight down to Mysteries, took the revolving door to their front desk person (whose face Harry could not see due to the thousands of layers of secrecy spells they wore) and demanded they send Hermione out immediately.

“I cannot confirm a Hermione works here,” said the front desk person. “If I could take your name, Deputy Head Auror Potter?”

“Yeah, it’s Deputy Head Auror Potter, and the person who may or may not work here named Hermione is currently in active labour and refuses to go to hospital until she finishes her experiment so if you would rather not have a baby born in the middle of your department—and I’m sure you can imagine the exposure and lack of privacy that would bring on your department—you will fetch her at once.”

The faceless person contemplated this, then nodded. “I see your point. I will attempt to send such a person, should she exist, to meet you post-haste.” Then they left through the revolving door again.

A moment later, Hermione stomped out—well, wobbled out, really—and huffed at Harry: “Harry, this is so like you. Everything is fine, and you were supposed to get Ron, as I told you—”

She broke off, wincing, as a contraction came.

“You know I don’t listen,” he said, already guiding her back to the lifts. He pressed the button for the Atrium. Hermione bent double as another contraction came. “You should’ve sent the letter to Ron in that case.” The lift opened into the Atrium and he led her to the Floos. “St Mungo’s. Not that he would’ve listened either.”

They stepped out of the Floo at St Mungo’s and Harry said to the Welcome Witch. “My wife’s in labour, at least 8cm, contractions seem to be about 15 minutes apart. I need you to take her to Labour and Delivery while I Floo my husband.”

Hermione gave him a glare, but it was somewhat ruined by the contraction she got in the middle of it that left her panting and clinging to Harry to stay upright.

“Right away!” the Welcome Witch said, and sent a spell flying from her wand that zoomed up the stairs. A moment later, two Labour Mediwitches popped into the lobby with a stretcher between them. 

“Up you get, Mrs Granger.”

Hermione scooted onto the stretcher, glaring at Harry the whole time. “If my experiment is ruined, I’ll make sure you hear about it every day for the entirety of my maternity leave, Harry Potter!”

Then they rushed her off to Labour and Delivery and Harry rushed to the public Floo bank to call Ron at the shop. Unfortunately, George answered and spent valuable time exclaiming in joy before he’d go get Ron, but he finally did, and then Ron stumbled out of the Floo, face white with shock.

“It’s happening?” he asked, clinging to Harry’s forearms.

“Yeah, really soon. She’s nearly fully dilated, so we need to—”

Ron had already taken off for the lifts, stabbing at the door open button as if that would make the lift come sooner. “She’s going to be fine,” Ron told Harry and himself, nodding assuredly. “Hermione’s smart and she knows what to do.”

“Right,” Harry said, but that didn’t make him any less nervous. In fact, now that the ‘action’ part of this quest was over with and he was just left with the ‘sit around waiting’ part, he was getting more and more nervous. He didn’t do well with the sit around waiting part.

They burst out of the lifts and the station Mediwizard took one look at them and said, “Down the hall on the left. Room 12.”

From which they could currently hear screams. They took off at a run, skidding into Hermione’s room and getting annoyed glances from the Healers currently bent over peering into her vagina like they had any right.

“Next one, you’ll push, love,” the first Healer said. “Moving right along at a nice clip here. A few good pushes and you’ll be on your way.”

Hermione panted, gave them a wobbly smile. They rushed to each side of her bed, each taking one of her hands. She bent forward, her face scrunching, and screamed, and that was basically all that Harry remembered from that point forward because he was pretty sure his brain disassociated from his body to keep him from fainting. It was not okay to faint right then, as Hermione was the one doing the hard part.

And that was how they ended up with Rose, who had bright green eyes, curly red hair, and lovely tawny skin with a dusting of freckles.

Hugo, on the other hand—well, Ron came to regret suggesting they try him Polyjuicing into Hermione and Hermione Polyjuicing into Harry and Harry Polyjuicing into Ron. Especially when Hermione was ovulating. For all her research, she’d never considered that her being currently in ovulation would carry over to Ron if he drank Polyjuice with one of her hairs in.

But she was, at least, a very good birth coach.