It never occurred to me until very recently that I might be in love with both my best friends.  Ron...well, he’s always been first in my mind and his odd relationship with Lavender last year, the one that made me crazy, just sealed that attraction in my mind, as was evidenced by the canaries.  But we aren’t talking about those, we’re talking about Ron and Harry.

I don’t know when I became aware that I might feel something similar about Harry.  Was it when Ginny closed the door behind the two of them on his birthday, a look of triumph on her face?  Was I jealous?  No, not then.

I think I really began to feel something different when we were at Grimmauld Place.  It wasn’t his treatment of Kreacher, though that helped.  It’s more than Harry has this thing about him, some sort of aura of confidence and control that make people want to help him, want to follow him.  I understood the messages on the sign at Godric’s Hollow even if they baffled him.  What it boils down to is that Harry is just Harry, a boy caught up in things beyond him and trying desperately to be worthy of the confidence and lives people place in his hands.

He doesn’t know he doesn’t have to try.  He is already worthy.

I watch my boys sleeping.  They’re physically separated, but with the locket Horcrux destroyed – and I wish they’d tell me how that happened – there isn’t the emotional separation that was there before.  I’m still angry with Ron for leaving but I’m also greatly relieved that he returned.  The story he told makes me worried.  It all sounds very much like Germany in the 1930s, though the boys wouldn’t know that and would shrug it off were I to tell them.

A noise like an animal brushing against a snow-laden bush sounds just outside the tent.  We’re nearly invisible to magical and Muggle people, but not animals.  Grabbing my wand from the box we’re using as a table, I pull the tent flap aside just enough to point the tip of my wand outside as I look.  A fox looks up from its foraging, briefly meeting my eyes before it runs off.  I let the flap fall and resume my seat.

Harry shifts and sits up.  Our eyes meet silently until he cuts his gaze to Ron briefly and smiles.

When I shiver and pull the blanket more tightly around myself, Harry whispers, “Come over here.  I think the worst is over for tonight.”

I should stay on watch no matter what.  Just because one thing has happened doesn’t mean something else won’t happen, but I’m exhausted.  I crawl between Ron and Harry, fluffing my pillow a moment before settling.

When I wake in the morning, the first thing I’m aware of is sunlight is falling on my face.  The next is the heavy arm over my hip...and another over my shoulders.

A quick adrenaline shot wakes me fully, making me twitch involuntarily.  I open my eyes to a sea of raven-colored hair.  The arm over my shoulders is freckled.  I’m not sure what to think, lying between them like I am.  Should I be embarrassed or grateful?  After all, I’m not cold for the first time in days, weeks even.

Relaxing slightly, I end up leaning back against Ron.  And freeze.  He’s hard, his erection pressing against my backside.  I don’t know if he’s awake and aroused or if he’s asleep and this is a completely involuntary physiological reaction.  I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

Easing away from Ron, who sighs into my hair, presses me against Harry.  I’m mortified to discover Harry is in the same state.

I’m trapped between my best friends, both of whom I’m attracted to and both of whom are hard.  My face flames.  It’s one thing to intellectually know your best friends are male with typical male physical responses, but it’s completely different to be presented with the blunt evidence, so to speak.

I feel frozen in a state of indecision.  It’s not panic, it’s not.

“Mmm,” Ron nearly purrs, his arm tightening briefly to draw me closer.  Harry follows my warmth, leaving both of them pressed against me chest to knees.  Damn, it feels good.

Should I wake them?  Should I let them sleep?  Or should I be devious and see just how far this will go?  Am I ready for that?  Would they be interested?  Am I reading more into this than is there?  I mean, this could just be ‘morning wood’ and would have happened even if they were alone with each other.

I can’t prevent a soft moan from escaping at the thought of watching Harry and Ron together.  Perverse?  Probably.  I should be ashamed of myself but now that the image is in my mind, I’m having a difficult time banishing it.

Shifting restlessly, an ache deep in my abdomen, I inadvertently brush against both boys.  Ron, in response, thrusts against me.  I bite my lip to stifle my moan, not surprised when I taste blood.  Closing my eyes, I try to will away my arousal.  I know it’s a pointless exercise because my arousal is being continually enflamed by their presence, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be in denial and make the attempt.

Harry thrusts softly against me as he shifts, his arm slipping until his hand is on my bottom.

Oh bloody hell.

The climax that rips through me shreds my control even as I flush red with embarrassment.  Trembling and panting between my boys, my release feels wonderful.

“Mmm...’ermynee,” Ron murmurs in my ear.

The shudder that escapes me is involuntary, a result of my over-sensitive nerve endings.  When Harry sighs, his breath skates over my neck and ear, sending another shudder through me.

I have to escape from them if I’m going to save my sanity and not embarrass myself completely.

That hope is destroyed when I open my eyes and find Harry looking back at me, a bemused expression on his face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, a soft smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

I don’t say anything – can’t say anything – and bury my head against Harry’s shoulder with a horrified groan.

“You can’t stay there forever,” Harry advises.  His voice vibrates through his chest and against my cheek.

I might have survived even that if Ron didn’t choose that moment to wake up.

“Hermione, why are you trying to burrow into Harry’s shoulder?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.  I want to moan at how that voice sounds across my nerves.

Even without seeing his face, I know Harry is grinning when he answers in my stead, “Because she’s embarrassed.”

“Oh?”

A hand strokes my hair, Ron’s hand I think.

“She...she enjoyed herself,” Harry hedges.  I blush.

There’s silence that lasts longer than is comfortable.  I resist the urge to squirm in discomfort only because I know they’ll read it wrong.

“And she’s embarrassed?” Ron finally asks, voice an octave lower.

Harry’s response is a conspiratorial whisper:  “Because she was writhing between us when she came.”

If I could kill Harry, I would.  When did he become so open about sex?  Is this how the boys talk between themselves in the dorms?  That thought brings me up short.  Lavender and Parvati weren’t much better, though they never invited me to be part of their discussions.

“Really?” Ron sounds much too interested.

“Mmm, yes,” Harry says.

I’m going to kill them if I don’t die first.

The hand stroking my hair stops, then tightens.  Given the direction of pressure, it is definitely Ron’s hand.  I don’t dare open my eyes.  I’m supposed to be involved with Ron – I think – so to be so attracted to Harry and have him know it is horrible.  Isn’t it?

Ron releases my hair and slides his hand down to my neck, idly stroking the nape of my neck.  I shudder again.

I manage to keep my eyes closed and mind detached until Harry slides down just far enough to press a lingering kiss to the hollow of my throat.  My eyes snap open, showing Harry’s tousled hair.

“Should...should you be doing that?”  My voice breaks, leaving me further mortified.

Harry lifts his mouth from my neck, but only slightly.  When he speaks, his breath skates across my damp skin, making me repress a shiver.  “Ron, should I be doing this?”

“Why are you asking Ron?” I demand, but they both ignore me.

“Has she said no?” Ron answers.

“Nope.”

“Then I don’t have a problem with it.”

What?  Ron would share me with Harry?  Wait a minute...they don’t get to pass me around like a party favor.  I should have a say.

I open my mouth and manage only, “Wait a – ” before Ron clamps a hand over my mouth.

“She’s going to talk, isn’t she?” Ron says.

I feel Harry’s sigh as much as hear it.  “I think so.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll try something.”  Ron moves his hand back to my hair, freeing my mouth only long enough to tug my head back and capture my lips with his before I can say anything.

Oh sweet Merlin.

A soft moan escapes.  Ron deepens the kiss.  I feel like I should be purring.

Then Harry kisses the base of my throat again, sliding his tongue along the skin there.

What am I doing?  I shouldn’t be doing this.  I shouldn’t be doing this with one of them, let alone both.  But it feels so good.

It takes a moment to realize Harry’s hands are slowly unbuttoning my shirt and Ron’s free hand is sliding under my jeans.  They’re feeling me up.  They’re feeling me up.

A guttural groan escapes despite my desire to stifle it.

“I think she likes it,” Harry murmurs against my skin as he parts my shirt.  More for modesty than any semblance of comfort, I’ve been sleeping in my bra.  It hooks in front, though, and it takes Harry only a moment to find the clasp.  He fumbles a bit, but manages to get it open much faster than I’d expect.

My gasp at feeling Harry’s hands on my breasts breaks my kiss with Ron.

“How does she feel?” Ron asks, voice husky.  The hand he has down my jeans and under my knickers covers a bit more than an entire cheek of my arse, his middle finger slowly snaking downward.  I’m embarrassed because I haven’t said no, haven’t tried to move away.  In fact, I really would like nothing more than to spread my legs wide, my left leg on Harry’s hip, and open myself for both of them.  I feel embarrassed and emboldened at the same time.

Harry shifts his hands so each is fully cupping a breast, almost weighing it, his thumbs gently brushing over my nipples.  Over my soft moan, he answers, “She fits perfectly.”

I can almost feel the look they exchange over my shoulder.

Voice lower yet, Ron asks, “How does she taste?”

I barely see Harry’s grin before he ducks his head.  His lips are gentle at first as he wraps them around my nipple, but then are more forceful when is first tug elicits a nearly primal moan from me.  Fire races through me from my nipples to the juncture of my thighs, pooling there in a dull, throbbing ache.

Then he does it again.

“Harry,” I hiss.  I never realized my breasts were so sensitive.  Then again, nothing I ever did to them compares to this.

“I think she likes it,” Ron murmurs.

It’s a measure of how distracted I am that I don’t notice Ron has shifted his hand over my hip and around to my front until one of those incredibly long fingers slides over my clit.  A shudder runs through me as I moan.

“Very responsive,” Harry says softly.

Please, just a little more.

“And very wet,” Ron adds.

“Really?”

Ron presses a kiss to the back of my neck.

That’s not what I want!  Why are they talking?

Harry shifts against me, moving down.  I whimper at the loss, making Ron laugh softly.  He shifts us so I’m lying atop him on my back as if he were a mattress.  Delight and mortification slams through me when I realize what Harry’s doing:  tugging my jeans and knickers off with Ron’s help.

I don’t know whether I should shove them both away or spread my legs and beg.

That dilemma worsens after Harry tosses aside my garments and settles between my knees.  Ron moves his hands to my thighs, pulling them apart, exposing me to both of them, Harry especially.  My face flames with embarrassment despite my arousal.

Harry presses his lips to my left thigh just above my knee.

A whimpering, shuddering sigh escapes my throat.

“Do you like that, Hermione?” Ron asks against my ear, his breath making me tremble again.  Before I can formulate a coherent response, he thrusts gently against me, his cock hard against the small of my back.

“Yes,” I hiss, not sure who I’m trying to encourage.

I’m still mortified, but my arousal and desire are stronger.  I want them, both of them, and they want me.  I move my foot, inadvertently brushing against Harry’s erection and eliciting a groan from him.  Yes, they want me.

Deciding against the slow seduction he’d intended – I assume that’s what the slow kisses up my thigh were – Harry moves up to the juncture of my thighs.  My first instinct is to fight the slow pressure of Ron’s hands pulling my legs wider, but I resist that impulse and allow my legs to be spread.

Ron groans heavily as, after time passes and Harry does nothing but look, I shift restlessly.

“Harry,” I finally beg.

“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.

I open my mouth to protest – a woman’s genitals are not beautiful – but moan instead when Harry bends his head and drags his tongue through my folds.

I’m not completely innocent – groping with a summer fling two years ago showed me how nice an orgasm induced by someone else is – but I’ve never had cunnilingus performed on me.  I know fellatio, know how to both control a man and pleasure him with it, but have never trusted a man to reciprocate, so to speak.  Therefore it seems only right when Ron shifts his hands to my labia to hold me open as Harry drags his tongue over my clit.

Desire, hot and sweet, and pleasure, demanding and mindless, claw their way to the forefront, leaving conscious thought behind.  My restless hands clutch Ron’s forearms, fingernails digging into his skin though he doesn’t seem to mind.  Harry, encouraged by my response, drags his tongue upward again.

My climax isn’t unexpected, but the suddenness of it is.  I arch backward hard, digging my head into Ron’s shoulder and my fingers deeper into his arms.  Harry’s name is pulled from me on a strangled groan.  Ron latches onto my neck, kissing and teasing the skin under my ear, drawing out my orgasm even further.

Eventually my tremors cease and I lie mostly still atop Ron, splayed open in reckless abandon.  That thought makes me smile.

Harry slithers upward, kissing his way up my stomach and breasts until he reaches my mouth.  I notice he glances over my shoulder at Ron before kissing me.  I don’t know how much sexual experience Harry’s had – thanks to Lavender, I don’t have to wonder about Ron’s – but he’s learned a few things about kissing since that first one from Cho Chang.  He coaxes my mouth open and I readily meet his tongue.

“What do you want, Hermione?” Ron whispers at the periphery of my consciousness.

Breaking Harry’s kiss, I have to swallow once before I can answer.  Even then, all I come up with is, “What?”

Ron laughs before repeating his question.

What do I want?  There are many things, but I’m sure he’s asking about the current situationand I doubt having Harry and Ron kiss is on their agendas.  What it boils down to, then, is that I want them.  I want them in every and any way they’ll have me.  I want a mindless respite from our quest, from the war, from Voldemort’s persecution of Muggle-borns.

I want.

“Both of you,” I respond finally, my voice harsh with arousal.

They exchange another look.  Ron shifts me onto the sleeping bag.  The boys then stand and begin to strip.  I lever myself onto my elbows to watch.  I desperately want them to strip each other, but that might be too much too soon.  I should feel grateful they’ve been this willing, that Ron hasn’t thrown any jealous fit, that Harry hasn’t raced off in horror.  It doesn’t assuage the feeling I’ve been cheated, though.

Next time, I promise myself.

Harry and Ron eye each other a bit warily once they’re down to only their boxers.  Then, with his thumbs hooked into the elastic waistband and a self-satisfied grin on his face, Ron jerks his boxers down and kicks them into the corner of the tent.  Harry laughs, somewhat nervously, before copying Ron’s action.  They’re both gloriously nude in front of me.

For a moment I can’t help but compare them.  I only have the chance to note that they’re very similar in size – close enough that without more up-close study I won’t be able to tell them apart – before they descend to kneel at my sides, Harry at the left and Ron at the right.  A delighted shudder runs through me at the idea of further study.

All those thoughts dissipate like fog under sunlight when they turn to me.  Oh my.  I lick my lips involuntarily, drawing a grin from Ron and a speculative look from Harry.

“You’re sure?” Harry asks.  Because I can’t seem to find my voice, I nod frantically.  That deep ache I felt earlier, that mindless arousal, is pulling me under again. “Did you have something in mind?”

My eyes widen.  Of course I had something in mind, but they’d never cooperate, I’m sure.  Instead, I ask shakily, “What do you mean?”

Harry begins trailing fingers up my leg from my knee.  “Fantasies?” Harry says.

Ron adds, “Plans?”

With a laugh, Harry comments, “Our Hermione always has plans.  And you’ve managed to get all three of us naked so far, so you have to have some plan.”

I’m distantly surprised my heart hasn’t beat right out of my chest already.  Plans and fantasies?  They want plans and fantasies?  Very well.

Licking my lips once to moisten them after my heavy breathing, a smile touches the corners of my mouth.  “Plan?  I plan for both of you to make love to me.”  Then I grin, making Ron shift.  “Fantasy?  I want the two of you to kiss.”

“Hermione!”  Their exclamations are almost in unison, creating an odd stereo effect.

I raise an eyebrow and smile.  Their continued feeble protests die when I move my hand between my thighs and stroke myself.  Arching upward at my touch because, after two orgasms, my clit is hypersensitive, I moan softly.

Ron whispers my name like a curse.

Harry glances down at me, a small smile slowly spreading his mouth.  “Very well,” he murmurs.

Before I can process that, Harry leans forward to hook a hand at the back of Ron’s neck and pull him forward.  Ron opens his mouth, most likely to protest, but Harry smothers any words by crashing his lips against Ron’s in a not-quite-brutal kiss.  Ron stills for a long moment, allowing himself to be kissed, before sliding a trembling hand into Harry’s hair.  Sharp arousal floods me once again.  I didn’t expect them to comply with that particular fantasy of mine, and the contrast is driving me mad.

I tremble underneath them, my fingers speeding on my clit.  At the first moan of my next orgasm, Harry and Ron part.  Ron’s eyes are still closed as he allows his hand to fall from Harry’s neck – but it’s when he licks his lips, tasting Harry and me there, that I’m fully consumed.

By the time my tremors slow and I can open my eyes again I feel like a damp rag all wrung out.

Then I open my eyes to see Harry watching me, something near a leer in his expression and Ron stroking himself as he scans my flushed body.  Were I not feeling utterly wanton, I’d be embarrassed.  Instead, astonishingly, my arousal builds again.

“I think she liked watching us kiss,” Ron says softly.

Harry grins wolfishly.  “Yes, she did.”

Ron shifts himself so he’s kneeling between my knees.  “Do you ache, Hermione?”

I nod frantically.  Harry grabs my hands before I have the chance to slide one to my clit again and the other to my breasts.

“I think she needs more, Ron,” Harry murmurs, glancing back over his shoulder.

Ron meets his eyes, quirks an eyebrow, then nods.  His hands slide up my thighs to hold them apart, then under my knees to lift them.  He drags me closer and wraps my legs around his waist.

I want to close my eyes and lose myself in what’s going on, but Harry doesn’t let me.  He bends his head to feast on my neck.  Shifting my hands so both of mine are gathered in one of his and lifted over my head, he uses his newly-freed hand to caress my breasts and gently pinch my nipples.

My lips are dry from panting.  Part of me wants to push Harry away so I can enjoy what Ron’s doing, but the rest of me is reveling in what both my boys are doing.

Someone’s fingers slip from my clit downward, thrusting inside me a few times before withdrawing again.  If I could concentrate, I’d know whose fingers they are, but my thoughts are completely scattered.

Ron pulls me closer, close enough that I can feel the heavy length of him against my slit.  I moan and arch upward, begging nonverbally.  Harry kisses his way lower until he’s suckling one breast just as Ron positions his cock and pushes inside me.

The combination brings me just shy of yet another orgasm.  My nipples harden further, a fact Harry exploits, as Ron withdraws and thrusts again.

I’m near-frozen under the onslaught of sensation.  Ron’s thrusts speed up causing me to whimper, actually whimper.  My hands flail, desperate to grab and hold something.  My right hand encounters nothing but the blanket.  I tangle my hand in it as if it were a handle to keep from flying away.

My left hand encounters Harry’s bare skin.  Without thinking, I sink my fingernails into his skin.  He hisses in response, blowing air over my damp nipples, but doesn’t protest.  He likes it a little rough, apparently.

That observation sends me crashing over the edge of orgasm again as all sorts of kinky bondage fantasies involving Harry flash through my mind.  Ron groans and comes, gripping my hips hard enough to pin me and bruise me.  I can feel him throbbing inside me with each pulse of release an all I want to do is roll my eyes back in my head and pass out.

I don’t get that chance.  Just as Ron pulls out and moves back, Harry rolls me onto my stomach.

“On your knees, Hermione,” he growls, positioning him self behind me.  When I don’t obey quickly enough, he smacks my arse once, nearly making me squeak.

I raise myself up on all-fours, arms trembling.  Something about Harry’s treatment is arousing, though I would never be able to logically explain why.  He grips my hips, making me wince slightly as he aggravates the bruising I have from Ron’s hands, positions us, and thrusts fully into me.

Oh God.

In a matter of seconds he has me on edge yet again.

Then he bends over my back to sink his teeth into the cord of my neck.

My resulting orgasm sends me tumbling into unconsciousness, though not before I hear Ron mutter, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

I waken later to a chill.  Shivering slightly, I shift to pull blankets higher when I’m stopped by a hand.

“Let me,” Ron says in a low voice in my ear.  He tugs the blankets higher and spoons me, nestling his cock against my arse.  “Harry will be back soon.”

I smile wickedly to myself.  I could get used to this change in our relationship.