It lays there tempting me.  Her journal.  The one she spells to hide from us when she leaves the cabin.  It taunts me with its label “Property of H. J. Granger” in the lower right corner.  Vastly amusing that we have the same first two initials.

Looking around, I see only Ron in the cabin.  He’s in the corner reviewing our surveillance notes.  No idea where Hermione is.  Actually, I take that back.  I think she and Ron had a fight again just after lunch and she slammed the door on her way out.

“Ron!” I call.

He looks up distractedly.  “What?”

“You fight with her again?”

He merely rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the parchments.  “Mental, that one.”

I can’t resist any longer.  I tell Ron that I’m going to be outside and he impatiently waves me away.  Snatching that leather-bound monstrosity from the table, I head outside.

Finding a tree with adequate shade, I settle underneath and debate reading the journal.  My angel’s voice, sounding entirely too much like Hermione herself, tells me:  she magically hides it from you, she doesn’t want you to read it.  My devil’s voice, sounding like Ron, urges me to open it, that she left it there in plain sight.

I have no idea how much time passes, but the shadows are longer, when I finally crack open the cover.  No hexes attack, there are no boils on sensitive bits.  I’m actually a bit disappointed.  I expected better of Hermione.

After I read an entry at random, the blush on my face could rival that of Ginny’s second year.

They were together today.  I saw Harry peering over Ron’s shoulder, the two of them looking at a map, and wanted to scream, “Kiss him already!”  Obviously I didn’t because I’m a coward.  Honestly, they’ll never do anything since they both say they’re straighter than arrows.

I blink a couple times, then read it again.  Yes, Hermione wrote that she wants Ron and I to kiss.

But I don’t like blokes!  A pause, a reconsideration.  Do I?

Shuddering with delicate distaste, I open to another entry, this one not long after we arrived here for our surveillance mission.

They’re going to kill me.  I’m going to keel over and die and they’ll never know why.

I saw Harry with only a towel around his waist coming from the nearby lake.  The water droplets that fell from his hair to his shoulders and slid down his chest made me want to do nothing more than lick his skin free of that water.  Tracing the one drop that slid into the top of the towel, then tugging the towel free.

I saw how Ron was looking at him too.  They’re so clueless.

I don’t know whether to be nauseous or aroused.  Hermione wants Ron and I to...to what?

Thumbing through several pages, I stop at one that appears to have been written in fury, all bold lines and hastily scribbled words.

I’m sure they have no idea why I stormed out of that damned cabin tonight.  None.  Not one clue.

And they’d be shocked to find out it’s because I had to get myself off.  Yes, Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, has finally succumbed to the walking temptation embodied in her two best friends and used them to...is it called wanking for a woman?  No matter.  I was so wet I’m surprised the prats couldn’t hear me when I walked out.  Well, stormed out.  Slamming the door behind me.

All because they were wrestling over some bit of chocolate.  Harry should know better than to get between Ron and food.  But the image of the two of them rolling about on the floor, finally ending with Ron straddling Harry, pinning him to the ground...it was too much.

I blink a few times, suddenly feeling quite warm.  After checking the date of the entry – about a month ago – I only vaguely recall the incident.  Ron and I often wrestle or are otherwise physical.  Just guy stuff.  Isn’t it?

Damn Hermione for making me second guess everything.  And for now knowing I make her aroused.  And Ron does.  And that she had to get herself off thinking of us.  Together.

Would Ron and I together be a bad thing?  I startle and check myself.  What the hell am I thinking?  I don’t like blokes.  Do I?

Growling in frustration, I thumb through several more pages until I find one written in an unsteady hand.  Checking the date before I read, I notice it was just last week.

This assignment is going to kill me.  How am I supposed to stay here another month?  Why did I ever agree to a three-month assignment in an isolated cabin with Ron and Harry?  I know they think I’m daft, permanent PMS or some other tripe.  If only they knew and I can’t tell them.

I had to pick a fight with Ron over the coffee grounds he left on the countertop so I could yell at him.  Because all I wanted to do was have him lift me onto that countertop and have him sink into me.  It didn’t help that Harry was watching...and that my imagination added that he’d be watching us have sex, then take Ron’s place inside me after Ron came.

I had to run away.  Because they’re driving me mad.  I’ve had two months of this tension and I don’t know how much more I can take.

Further down on the page is an entry that seems to be just a bit later in the same day.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boys have been reading my journal.  Ron had Harry pressed against that countertop tonight and was whispering in his ear.  I know it was innocent – Ron was putting something away on a shelf Harry couldn’t reach and they were discussing our assignment – but the images they provided my damned imagination with were too erotic.  I stormed out again.  They must think I’m the veriest bitch.

Though the temptation is there to read yesterday’s entry, I close the cover and set the book aside.  I’m torn between arousal, shame, desire and shock.  It’s not a pretty combination.

I don’t remember the scene she described, but it’s probably because they happen all the time.  Ron and I are constantly touching in some manner and think nothing of it.  Hermione obviously thinks of it.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head back against the tree.

We became Aurors together – McGonagall stepping in for both Ron and I to take N.E.W.T.-level Potions.  Most of our assignments, though small so far as we’ve only been out of training for a year or so, have either been two of us paired up or the three of us together.

This assignment was supposed to be routine surveillance of a suspected Death Eater meeting place near Sherwood Forest.  Yes, we got all the jokes about finding Robin Hood.  Then Hermione and I had to explain them to Ron, who merely laughed and shared them with his dad, who then grilled us.  I love Mr. Weasley, but I should buy him a book about Muggle myths and legends rather than spend three hours trying to explain them.

Being cooped up in an isolated cabin with my two best friends for three months wasn’t something I expected to be a hardship.  Then began Hermione’s mood swings.  Ron and I blamed it on PMS at first – which she rightly suspected we’d do – until they continued beyond a reasonable time.  Even Hermione wasn’t that cranky all the time.  Some of the time, yes; all the time, no.

But now I know why.  And I almost wish I didn’t.

When leaves crunch underfoot a short distance away, I snap my eyes open, wand at the ready.

“Harry?  You out here?”

I sigh and tuck my wand away again.  “Over here, Ron.”

Ron pushes back some tree limbs, then settles next to me.  He studies me, head tipped to once side.  And it makes me wonder how the skin under his ear would taste.  Groaning, I close my eyes again and bang my head on the tree.

“Oi, mate!” Ron proclaims, shoving his hand between the back of my head and the bark.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  You’re becoming as barmy as Hermione.”

“Speaking of which,” I whisper, then hand over the journal.  I tell myself he needs to know why Hermione’s been acting the way she has.  I tell myself it has nothing to do with wondering what his moan would sound like if I were to suck on the hollow of his throat.

Ron glances at the cover.  “How did you get Hermione’s journal?”

“She left it out,” I answer, closing my eyes tightly.

“She did?”  His voice rises on the last word, obviously as stunned as I was to find it unhidden.

I take it back and find the entry from last week.  “Read that.”

I know the second Ron reads that Hermione wanted him to lift her to the countertop because a noise somewhere between a groan and gasp escapes him.

“She...she’s mad!”

“She’s a woman,” I answer as if that should explain everything.  “If she wants us both, why did she never say yes when we each asked her out?”

Ron says nothing and I look over at him.  He’s reading a different page now.  A smile spreads across my face.

“She wants us to...” he trails off, a red flush covering his neck and cheeks almost instantly.

“Yes, she does.”

Ron shifts in such a way I would almost think he has an erection.  Don’t forget you had one, too, at Hermione’s words.  Would it really be that bad to kiss Ron?  Biting my lower lip, I shake my head at myself.  I don’t like blokes.

“I...we...you...bloody hell!”

“Succinct, Ron,” I tease, grinning.

He looks up at me.  “She wants us to kiss!”  I nod slowly, amused.  He skims down the page.  “Bloody hell!”

“She wants us to shag, too,” I comment.  The awkwardness I felt earlier is almost made up for by Ron’s flustered state.

He tosses the journal on the ground by my leg and stands.  With jerky, nervous steps, he paces.  I say nothing, merely watch him until I make the mistake of reading this morning’s entry.

I had to get myself off in the cabin last night.  Harry and Ron had been reading until Harry fell asleep with his head on Ron’s thigh.  That wasn’t such an unusual occurrence – it had happened all the time in seventh year when Harry had all that extra training; he even used my leg as a pillow a time or two.  What made lust surge within me was seeing a little smile on Ron’s face and watching him brush the hair back from Harry’s temple.  Just once.

But that smile and that simple gesture were enough to make me soaking wet once again.  I know they think I’m mental – and I am – but I can’t help it.  The sexual frustration at lusting after them both but not being able to scratch that itch is driving me insane.

Doesn’t help that it’s been nearly six months since I had sex.  Damn Ian for figuring out I was dating him because he looked a bit like Harry.  For that matter, damn Lucas for knowing he looked a bit like Ron.

I do miss the way Lucas gave head though.

“Bloody fucking hell,” I murmur.  When Ron demands to know why I’m cursing, I show him today’s entry.

His legs seem to fold under him, eyes glued to the page.  Then an incredibly wicked grin spreads across his face.  Looking up at me, I’m reminded of the unholy glee I’ve seen in his brothers’ eyes – the twins, Fred and George – more than once.

“She has an itch to scratch, Harry,” he begins.  I cross my arms over my chest, not trusting myself to say anything.  “What do you say we provide her the means to scratch it?”

The idea is intriguing.  “What did you have in mind?”

Ron sets the journal aside, then leans over to whisper in my ear.  “Let her find us.”

I’m not sure whether to curse the shiver that runs through me at Ron’s words and the manner in which he imparts them or not.  “Find us?”  I will forever curse the way my voice rises on the word “us.”

He laughs as he stands, grabbing the journal with one hand and my hand with his other.  We walk in companionable silence back to the cabin.

Hermione is sitting at the lone table when we get back, her bare feet drawing my attention since one leg is tucked underneath her and she’s swinging the other in the air.  Despite – or maybe because of – everything I read, I have no idea how to deal with her right now.  Gone is the image of my best friend of ten years, a girl/woman I wanted to date for a short time, and in its place is the image of a sexy, infuriating woman.

All of that leaves my brain in a flash when Ron slams the door shut and pins me to it.  I barely have time to lift my eyes to his before his mouth descends upon mine.

Maybe I do like blokes.  Ron runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, coaxing them open so he can drive his tongue inside and taste me.  I like Ron in any case, it seems.

When I lift my hands to slide them up Ron’s back, I hear a choked noise from the direction of the table.  I try to break the kiss to look over at Hermione, but Ron is having none of that.  He reaches up with one hand and grabs a fistful of my hair, holding my head still so he can ravage my mouth.  And I allow him.  And I’m enjoying it, damned if I’m not enjoying it, especially after I meet his tongue and taste him.

Until Ron shifts his hips and I feel his erection brush against mine.  Before that, it was an academic kiss; unusual in that it’s two men, but a kiss.  Now it’s my male best friend desiring me and, based on the lust my own arousal is sending through me, it’s mutual.

In the distance, I hear that choked noise again, followed by a whimper.

Ron finally breaks the kiss, sliding his hand out of my hair and leaning forward bit to bang his head on the door.

“Damn, Harry,” Ron groans.

There is another thud from the direction of the table.  I’m finally able to shove Ron to the side to see Hermione.

Her eyes are wide, her bottom lip bruised by the frequency and strength of her biting it.  And, if I’m not mistaken, that flush on her skin is arousal.

Slipping under Ron’s arm, I walk over to the table.  Hermione’s eyes track up my body – and I swear they pause at my erection, which twitches under the force of her gaze – until she finally meets my eyes.  Her hazel ones are dark with lust, the expression nearly feral.

Then Ron ruins it by walking over and tossing her journal on the table in front of her.  “Thought you might want this back.”

The lust turns to anger in a split second, so quickly I can almost see the switch thrown.

“You...you...he...you read this?”  Hmm, didn’t know her voice could reach that decibel.

Ron murmurs a “yes,” moving behind me and pulling me flush against his front.  Before I can protest or pull away, he has a hand in my hair again, pulling my head back to feast upon my mouth.  His free hand is roaming across my chest, lower and lower with each circle of his flat palm.

Hermione makes a strangled noise again, but with the way Ron has my head tipped back I can’t see her.  I hear someone moan and while I hope it’s Hermione, I’m afraid it’s me.

When Ron finally breaks this kiss, I’m panting.  Though he lifts his head, I can’t do anything other than rest the back of my head on his shoulder and try to catch my breath.

“You two...when...how long?” Hermione finally manages to ask.  She sounds a bit breathless as well.

Ron, the prat, laughs.  “Since we skimmed your journal.”

“Oh,” she says softly.  Then she laughs wickedly and repeats, “Oh,” in a very Hermione-like tone.

At her laugh – which does absolutely nothing to quell the lust rampaging through me – I open my eyes and look down at her.  She’s still flushed, but the smile on her face that says she’d love nothing more than to watch Ron and I consume each other is too much to take.

Pulling away from Ron, I reach down, grab one of Hermione’s hands and haul her upward.  She makes a protest, but I cut it off with a brutal kiss.  Much as Ron did to me, I do to Hermione:  reaching upward to tangle my hands in her hair, forcing her head back and opening her to my kiss.  Her hands push at my shoulders for a moment before gripping them tightly and trying to pull me closer.

After a moment Ron joins in by stepping behind Hermione and kissing her neck where my grip on her hair has exposed skin.  Her resulting moan sends a shiver through me and right into my cock.  I’m sure she can tell – it would be difficult to miss since it’s throbbing against her hip.

The need to breathe becomes overwhelming.  Reluctantly, I break the kiss with Hermione and gasp for air.  Hermione isn’t given that luxury because Ron captures her mouth, devouring her much the same way he devoured me.

I’ve never watched them kiss.  Oh, certainly, they did a few times in school when they said they were dating, but I know it never went further than that.  Watching them now is driving me mad.  Hermione seems so small between us.  I’ve never considered her short or petite or any of those other adjectives, but when sandwiched between Ron and I, she’s downright tiny.  And some part – okay, the majority – of me finds it incredibly erotic.

Curious, I move my free hand from her hip up her ribcage.  She wiggles a bit, giggling into Ron’s mouth.  Ticklish, that could be fun.  However, once I slide it up far enough to cup a breast, I don’t know which of us moans more deeply.

Ron slides his mouth away from hers, allowing her to gasp and moan freely, and trails his lips to her ear.  In a hoarse whisper, he says, “I know you’ve thought about this, Hermione.  We read it.”  He nips her earlobe, making her shiver and her eyes slam tightly shut.  I pinch her nipple lightly and a sort of sighing moan escapes her.  “What I really want to know, though, is if you’ve thought of three of us.”

My eyes fly to Ron’s, as do Hermione’s.  “Wh-what?” she stutters, a breathy catch in her voice.

A threesome?  I blink, feeling that same bolt of lust I did when I first opened her journal.  Ron and I taking Hermione at the same time?  The snarky part of me quips that it would be one way to solve the “choose one” dilemma.  Or them taking me at the same time.  My knees nearly buckle at that thought.

We’ve been isolated too long.  That’s it, that’s the reason we’re hornier than hell and even my best friends look good to shag.  Both of them.  That’s not entirely true, though.  I’ve wanted Hermione since seventh year, but after being shot down when I asked her out, I’d relegated that desire to the background.  Now, however, it’s burning through me with an even greater force.

The Ron thing is a different story all together.  I don’t like blokes, but the idea of taking our friendship – already so close – to a different level is appealing.  And if the way he kisses is any indication of how he would be in bed, it doesn’t matter that he’s male.

Ron trails his tongue down the cord of her neck.  “A threesome, both of us and you.”

Deciding to take advantage of her distraction, my hands find their way to the buttons on her lightweight jumper.  Ron looks up and grins.  I grin back even as I part the jumper and expose her bra.

I stare, dumbfounded.  Prim and proper Hermione Granger wears naughty knickers.  Her bra is barely adequate for the job it’s supposed to do, hardly anything more than scraps of black lace cupping the underside of her breasts.  A burning need to know about her knickers has me kneeling before her and stripping her trousers off before she can say a word.

When I step back to survey her it’s all I can do not to come in my jeans.  The black scraps of lace she calls a bra are more than matched by a tiny triangle of black lace posing as knickers.

Dry-mouthed, I watch Ron’s hand glide down her side and cup her arse.

“Thong, Harry,” he growls.

My eyes widen and I suddenly feel like a ten-year-old boy caught sniffing his older sister’s knickers.  I lick my lips and rasp, “Turn her around.”

Ron’s grin is feral, but he turns the incredibly pliant Hermione around.  My knees go weak and I fall to them on the floor.  There is the black band of her bra, but then hardly anything else except for a tiny band of black encircling her hips and outlining the crack of her arse.

“You’re trying to kill us, aren’t you, Hermione?” I demand.

She manages to free herself from Ron’s grasp, then gasps when she finds me on my knees.

The lust roaring through my head demands I do something.  So I do.  Before she can say a thing, I grab her hips to hold her still, then nuzzle that scrap of black lace between her thighs.  The husky moan that escapes her is too much.

With one hand, I rip the thong from her, exposing her to me.  I feel her hands in my hair until Ron pulls them away, pinning them behind her back.  Using my thumbs to part her folds, I have no second thoughts about then using my tongue on my best friend’s clitoris.

“How does she taste, Harry?” Ron asks, nearly breathless.

I pull her folds a bit further apart, swipe my tongue closer to her center, then straighten.  Using one slightly messy hand to pull his head closer, I kiss Ron, sharing Hermione’s taste with him.

“Yes, a threesome would be good,” Hermione murmurs.

Ron breaks the kiss, chuckling.  “I think Harry and I need practice before we can do anything to each other.”  He half-turns Hermione with a hand to her chin so that her shoulders are perpendicular to each of us.  “You, on the other hand, we know all about you.”

One sweep of his hand has the table cleared.  Hermione squeals a bit as he picks her up and sets her on it.  Grinning wickedly, he unfastens her bra, tossing it away, then takes her hands and stretches her upward on the table.

Laying her out like a feast for me.

“I think you were in the middle of something, Harry,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow even as I grab a chair to settle between Hermione’s thighs.  “You’re sort of scary sometimes, Ron.”

“Everyone has their forte,” he laughs.

Hermione’s laugh is half-hearted as she tugs, trying to free her wrists.  She stills, however, when I slide my hands up her thighs.

Part of me is glad this isn’t a new experience for her, that she had a skilled lover in the past.  The rest of me is blindingly jealous that I didn’t get to do this first.  Hell, you didn’t even know she wasn’t a virgin until you read her journal.

I bend and run my tongue up her thigh.  Her shuddering moan makes me grit my teeth.  I can’t take it anymore.  Instead of furthering the teasing, I go right for the prize:  nuzzling her clitoris with my nose, I drive my tongue as deeply as I can into her.

A keening sound escapes her, punctuated with broken whimpers.  She lifts her legs to rest them on my shoulders, urging me to continue.

I feel the trembles within her long before her breathing speeds and she tenses, arching her back, screaming her climax.  Once the initial wave dissipates and she melts back onto the table, I look up at Ron.

His eyes are dark and burning when they meet mine.  Silently, I ask him what next.  The longer we hold eye contact, the wider his grin is.

Finally, he says, “I don’t mind seconds.”  Hermione whimpers.

“Hermione?” I ask.  She lifts her head just enough to see me.  “Are you okay with this?”  Ron’s eyebrows shoot into his hair, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes,” she hisses.

My lips quirk and I try not to smile.  “Just making sure.”  I stand, allowing my jeans to rub the inside of her thighs, making her shiver.

“You read my...” she trails off as Ron snakes a hand down her body to toy with her, then captures her mouth with his.

I pause in the unbuttoning of my jeans to watch Ron’s pale, freckled hand between Hermione’s thighs, the contrast of his skin and hers making me realize quite belatedly that she doesn’t have a tan line.  Has she been sunbathing nude while we’ve been here?  And we’ve missed it?

Gritting my teeth, I finish unbuttoning my jeans, then push them and my pants down.  Ron notices the movement and lifts his head to watch.  He eyes my weeping erection hungrily, nearly as hungrily as he’d eyed Hermione earlier.  Have I been the only one oblivious to the underlying sexual tension between the three of us?  If so, I’m glad.  Didn’t have to deal with this for two months.

Taking myself in my hand, I move between Hermione’s thighs once again.  Ron doesn’t move his hand.  When I look up at him, he grins wickedly.  Looking down once again to Hermione’s center I see that Ron is holding her open.

Suddenly lightheaded by the sheer amount of blood now being diverted to what was my already-hard cock and is now my hard-as-a-diamond cock, I lean slightly forward, bracing my free hand on the tabletop.  Then I slide between Ron’s fingers and into Hermione’s wetness.

Her guttural moan drowns out mine.  As slowly as I can stand, I sheathe myself fully – well as fully as I can with Ron’s hand in the way.  Somehow, though, having Ron’s hand there just makes it better.  Kinkier, certainly.

Hermione’s body arches off the tabletop when I start to withdraw.  Ron bends his head to suckle her nipples, as if she had been doing nothing more than offering him a feast.  She whimpers once again when I nearly withdraw completely.  Looking down at where we’re joined, where Ron’s fingers straddle my cock as it disappears inside her, I have to fight back the urge to come without any other stimulation.

I slowly slide back in, concentrating on the sensation of Ron’s Quidditch-callused fingers and the wet, warm heat that is Hermione.

That heat lights a fire inside me.  My head drops down, resting on Ron’s, and I groan Hermione’s name.

“Please, Harry, please,” she pants, clenching around me.

I swear to Merlin my eyes roll back in my head.  Grabbing her hips with both hands, I piston myself in and out of her, barely noticing Ron at all.  Her broken whimpers increase in tempo, as do my thrusts, until we both fall apart.  One last, shuddering thrust leaves me spent.

Weak in the knees, I pull out and take a seat in my abandoned chair.  Hermione is still panting and trembling slightly with aftershocks when Ron’s fingers go to work.  He slides the two he was using to hold her open into her, then rubs her clitoris with his thumb.  Her breathy whimpers, moans with that little catch in her voice, fill the air.

Ron pulls his mouth from her breast to look up at me.  “Aren’t you going to participate?”

“Thought I already did.”

He grins.  That grin is beginning to frighten me.  Then he bends his head again and tugs her nipple one more time, making her shudder and moan.

Ah, that’s what he wants me to do.  Suckle her while he’s inside her.  I might be dense, but I catch on eventually.

Willing feeling back into my legs, I stand and move to Hermione’ side.  As I do, Ron moves between her thighs, still fingering her.  I watch with wonder and he makes her come undone in just a few minutes.

He pulls his fingers from her, holding them up.  I bite my lower lip hard when he slips them into his mouth and licks them clean – tasting both Hermione and I.

Yes, I’ve been the only one oblivious this entire time.  How so very like Ron to take advantage of that journal.

Bending, I capture Hermione’s mouth in a soft kiss.  She tangles her hands in my hair, mussing it even more than usual, and thrusting her tongue deep into my mouth.  I think the whimper I hear is mine, but I can’t be sure.

Then Hermione arches and gasps, breaking our kiss.  I look down and Ron is buried inside her, his jeans about a meter behind him in a pile.  Shifting my gaze, I watch Hermione’s face as Ron slides in and out of her.

It looks soft.  Her eyes are closed, but not tightly; her lips are parted slightly, her breathing deeper than usual but not out of the ordinary; her neck is arched slightly, chin tilted in the air.  Her face is nearly as familiar to me as my own, as Ron’s, but I never thought I’d be seeing either one of them in ecstasy.

A moan, then another whimper.  Ron has changed the angle of his thrusts.  A smirk on my lips, I capture a taut nipple with one hand, rolling it between my fingers, as I bend my mouth to her ear.

“Do you like that, Hermione?  Are we making your fantasies come to life?”  That elicits a shuddering gasp, her eyes now screwed shut.  “I know you wanted to see Ron and I together, but that may yet happen.”

“Oh...Ron...Harry...”  Her voice, so often heard chastising the two of us, is now just on the edge of breaking.  She has one hand tangled tightly in my hair, pulling it, and the other gripping the edge of the table.

Ron surprises me when he draws her legs up, her ankles on his shoulders, but Hermione seems to enjoy it, especially once he leans forward and drives himself into her hard.  She becomes completely incoherent.

So I continue talking.  “You should see the look on Ron’s face right now.  I didn’t think he could concentrate on anything that much.  You’re wicked, Hermione, for writing that in your journal.  Wicked.”

Between the two of us, she unravels, gasping and brokenly crying out our names.  Ron groans deeply, then empties himself into her as well.

Several minutes and several cleaning charms later, we’re in her bedroom since it has the larger bed.  Ron and I have been making due with one twin and a sofa.

Ron is kissing anywhere his lips can reach on her body; I’m nuzzling her neck; she’s lying between us, purring.

“Was it what you expected?” I ask, unable to stop myself from needing validation.  When you’ve been turned down flat by someone you don’t particularly expect to be shagging their brains out a few years later.  On top of that is the whole “best friend” thing.

There was some Muggle movie I got to watch a bit of before going to Hogwarts in which the male lead tells the female lead that men and women can never be friends because the sex thing always gets in the way.  As Ron, Hermione and I have gotten older, I’ve been thinking about that quote more and more.

I don’t think it got in the way at all right here – it sort of blew up like one of Fred and George’s Wheezes.

Hermione stretches her arms over her head and moans.  “Mmm, not quite.”

“What!” Ron exclaims.  Even I am horrified.

Eyes still closed, a smile widens her mouth, that beautiful mouth.  “I didn’t get to watch you two.”

Ron and I exchange a look before I lean forward to give him a kiss.  Yes, I could get used to this from both of them.

Backing away slightly, I murmur to Hermione, “Maybe tomorrow.  Today is yours.”  Ron and I, almost in unison, bend our heads to her breasts and each slide one hand down between her thighs.

Something else flits through my mind much later as I’m falling asleep with Ron spooned behind me and Hermione spooned in front.  Smiling, I whisper in her ear, “Careful, Hermione, what you wish for or you might just get it.”

She laughs softly.  “Promise?”