I could feel his eyes upon me.  Two emerald orbs burning me with righteous anger.  Oh, I knew why Harry was angry with me, but I didn’t care.

I shifted my gaze to the man next to him.  Ron’s blue eyes traveled between the two of us, carefully gauging reactions.  It was Ron that had been forgiven first.  In that way of men, a fistfight, a broken nose, split lip and some manly bonding over Ogden’s Firewhiskey had solved their problems.  As a woman, I wasn’t allowed that luxury.

Nathaniel, my date for the evening and a perfectly predictable boy three years my junior but a freshman at Cambridge with me, leaned close.  He rested a hand on my leg just below the hem of my skirt, and when I didn’t protest, slowly slid it higher.

Ron rested a restraining hand on Harry’s arm to prevent him from jumping out of his chair and storming across the pub.

Twisting the knife, I bent toward Nathaniel and pressed my lips to his in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.  His fingers flexed convulsively on my thigh.  He tangled his other hand in the hair at the back of my neck and held my head to his, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

For as much as my body enjoyed the contact of a man’s hands on my body and the taste of a man’s mouth on mine, my mind did not enjoy Nathaniel.  All I could think was that it wasn’t Ron or Harry.

And there was the reason I was tormenting Harry.

Nathaniel suddenly broke off the kiss and began laughing uncontrollably.  Confused for a moment, I then glared at Harry.  He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he finished tucking away his wand.  How dare he hex my date.  I reached into my bag for the wand inside it.  Pointing it in Nathaniel’s direction, I whispered, “Finite Incantatem.”

He began to apologize profusely, not knowing what came over him.  I dismissed his apologies, kissing him quiet.

After a moment, I heard a scuffle from the boys’ direction, then a few exclamations of disgust from the pub patrons.

Breaking off from Nathaniel, I looked over at Ron and Harry.  What greeted me was not what I expected.  In fact, it rather excited me.

I made my excuses to Nathaniel, telling him that I had seen friends and that I would see him in class the next day.  When he still would not leave – of course, having led him on and teased him so mercilessly, he’s not convinced you want him gone, Hermione – I surreptitiously placed a Memory Charm on him.  I hated doing so, but I needed to get away from him and get to Ron and Harry.  It worked.  He turned to his right and began chatting up the woman there.

I had dated Ron.  I had dated Harry.  In fact, it was kissing Ron in manner that was leading to more while dating Harry that had those emerald eyes lambasting me at every opportunity in addition to a two-month silence.  Never did I suspect there might be something going on between the two of them.

What greeted me was the sight of Ron pressing Harry full-body to the wall and kissing the hell out of him.  Hence, the sounds of disgust from some patrons.  And the absolute thrill of lust that shot through me, making the hairs on my arm tingle and my breath catch in my throat.

I walked to the table they had vacated.  Or, rather, the table Harry vacated in another attempt to get to me and Ron vacated when he jumped up to stop Harry.  Melting into the chair, I watched.  By the look on Harry’s face, Ron was running his tongue over Harry’s teeth.  The back teeth.  I knew that kiss well and it had never failed to get Ron exactly what he wanted.

Ron pulled away from Harry and returned to the table with a grin on his face.  Harry looked stunned.  Maybe I had been wrong in the assumption that something had been going on for a while between them because Harry looked like he’d been hit by a truck.  Glancing over at Ron, I smiled.

“I thought you might not want your date interrupted by Boy Wonder,” Ron commented dryly.

Running my tongue over my upper lip, I answered, “Thanks,” ignoring the fact that Ron’s “distraction” was the final nail in the coffin for my date.  Turning to watch Harry as he brought his fingers to his mouth, feeling his kiss-swollen lips, I asked Ron, “Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

His chair squeaked as he leaned back to answer.  “Oh, yeah.  But you may have to shag him first.”

“What?” I exclaimed as I whipped my gaze back to Ron.  A lock of red hair fell over one eye, lending to the false impression of boyish innocence.  I leaned forward and brushed it back, delighting in its silky texture.  “Is that what you boys discussed?”

“Shagging you?” Ron grinned.  He brought both arms up to link his hands behind his head, pulling his shirt tight across his chest.  Those blue eyes had darkened.  Though teasing was in the look on his face and the tone of his voice, it was not reflected in his eyes.  They were darkening with want.

Before Ron could continue, Harry returned to the table and kicked the chair from underneath Ron.  He fell to the floor with a loud crash, annoying even more patrons.

Growling with furious frustration, both at their behavior and my own desire, I gave both of them a glare and stormed from the pub.  Probably just in time, too, as the barkeep strode around the bar and toward the table, presumably to ask us to leave.

I was nearly to the corner when I heard Ron call my name.  I stopped and turned.

Ron and Harry had always made an interesting combination, even more so now that we were adults.  Harry dark and brooding, finally gaining height during sixth year, but lithe, his Seeker’s frame not allowing any excess.  Ron light and exuberant, finally growing into his limbs like a Doberman puppy in seventh year, muscled but not overly so.  Both tall and handsome.  And, admit it to yourself, Hermione, sexy as hell.  Early-20’s had settled easily on the both of them.

Right now, I commanded their attention.  That power was going to my head.  I hitched my bag further up my shoulder, waiting for them to catch up.  Before they were within earshot, though, Harry held Ron back and whispered in his ear, a grin of unholy glee on his face.

I began to worry.  Harry never grinned like that.  He was usually too serious, if anything.  Maybe he was spending too much time with Sirius.  Or the twins.

When Harry released Ron, Ron continued to my side.  Harry stepped to the curb and flagged a taxi.  What in the world were they up to?

Hand on hip, I shifted my weight to one leg and demanded, “What are you two up to, Ron?”  He ignored the question, grabbed my arm and not-so-gently guided me into the taxi.

Ron had barely closed the door when the driver left the curb, the motion so sudden it threw me back against the seat and against Harry.  I swallowed hard.  He and I hadn’t touched or talked in several weeks.  I missed him, both as my friend and my boyfriend.

One sinewy arm slid around my waist and held me against him; his free hand slid into my hair and pulled it back from my ear.  I bit my lip to stifle a moan when I felt Harry’s breath soft against my earlobe.

“I forgive you,” he began, his voice a raspy whisper.  I felt my nipples harden with the shiver that ran through me.  Looking up at Ron sitting across from us, I watched him shift a bit in his seat, eyes locked on Harry and I.

What had these two talked about?  And did I really want to know?  When I felt Harry’s tongue trace the shell of my ear, I decided I didn’t care.

I slipped further down the seat when the driver braked hard at the next light.  I thought nothing of it until Ron, sounding choked, asked, “Are you wearing knickers, Hermione?”

The blush that crept up my cheeks could have rivaled that of any Weasley.  I had forgotten that I had left that particular item of clothing off this evening, hoping to give Harry a peek as part of his torture.

That strategy seems to have backfired.  I felt Harry chuckle and say to me, “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you, my little bookworm?”

Ron shot him an exasperated glance at the corny line, but I liked it.  I loved the idea of being thought of as naughty rather than nice.  Deciding to have fun with it, I twisted my head so I could see Harry, reached behind his head with my right hand and pulled his head down so I could lock my lips to his.

I kept my eyes open while kissing Harry, fixing my gaze on Ron.  Sweat beaded on his forehead as the arm Harry had wrapped around my waist traveled upward, his hand cupping a breast.  I sucked on Harry’s tongue and whimpered.

Ron shifted again in his seat.  He must be quite uncomfortable right now.  I was beginning to understand Harry’s unholy grin earlier.

I knew as soon as I began teasing both of them that this evening would become a threesome.  The idea wasn’t as disgusting or vulgar as it had been in the past – and I had thought about it several times, as I’m sure each of them had.  If they hadn’t, there’s no way Ron could have kissed Harry like that in the pub without getting punched.

The taxi stopped.  The driver called back the fare.  Harry and I disentangled ourselves while Ron opened the door and stepped out.  He helped me out of the taxi while Harry paid the driver.  I then realized I had no idea where they had brought me.

The realization didn’t worry me as much as it probably should have.  I trusted them.  It’s hard not to trust the two boys who saved you from a Mountain Troll at the age of eleven, even if they did tend to get you into even worse situations as follow-up.

I looked up at the building as Ron wrapped an arm around my shoulders.  It was the apartment building where Harry and Ron shared a flat.  They had tried to get me to move in with them after leaving school, but I wanted to travel.  So, I left them at the Burrow and went traveling across the globe.  After facing up to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, being a woman traveling alone didn’t faze me.

While they went through Auror training, they stayed at the Burrow, Harry teaching Ron (and Mr. Weasley) enough about the Muggle world that he wouldn’t completely embarrass himself.  Once their training was complete, they found a flat in Muggle London together.

With a nudge, Ron guided me toward the doors Harry was holding open.  Harry, so brooding and moody earlier, was now lit with a devilish streak.  This side of him didn’t come out often – and when it did, the Weasley twins were usually the instigators.

Ron led me to the lift, a hand at the small of my back.  As we waited there, I could feel the two men in my life standing behind me.  Harry to my left, smelling of grass and Firewhiskey.  Ron to my right, smelling of chocolate and rum.  Guess what they were drinking tonight, Hermione.  Their combined presence was almost overwhelming.  Harry usually larger-than-life and Ron just intimidating.  I felt tiny and protected between them.

The lift arrived with a small “ding,” its doors parting to let off a couple walking hand in hand.

Harry got on first, holding the doors again, then Ron and I got on.  Ron pressed the button for their floor as Harry took my hand and drew me toward the back of the lift.

We were halfway up when Harry nodded to Ron. I furrowed my brow in question.  What were they up to now?  Ron hit the “stop” button, jerking the lift to a halt between floors fourteen and fifteen.

Harry then turned his full attention to me, pressing my body against the back wall with the full length of his.  I had to close my eyes; the look in his was so feral I thought he might devour me.  My breath caught when I felt Ron press against my left side.  Don’t pass out, Hermione.

“Tell me, my little bookworm,” Harry rasped in my right ear as Ron began to trace the shell of my left ear.  “Have you ever done it in a lift?”