“No!  Don’t touch that!”  Ron sighed when his shouts to his nephew went unheeded and Emile caught his finger in the trap.

“Ron, you can’t shout at a one-year-old like that,” Hermione chided as she gathered the crying boy in her arms.

Ron turned to Harry.  “Why does she think she knows everything about kids?”

Harry stifled a grin as he shrugged in masculine support.  “Dunno.”  He left because she thinks she does unsaid.

They both sat back and watched Hermione extract Emile’s finger from the disabled Horcrux.  It was the only one they’d kept, partly because it was the only one that had stayed intact after removing Voldemort’s soul fragment and partly because it was the first they’d researched, hunted and destroyed together.

Hermione glared at the boys again before taking Emile into the kitchen for ice cream.  Emile’s tears dried up at the thought of ice cream.

“You reckon it’s a good idea to give him sugar?” Harry asked, taking a pull from his beer bottle.

Ron shrugged.  “We’re sending him home.  And I’ll be his favorite uncle.”

“Hermione’s giving him sweets,” Harry observed.  “I’m not so much worried about Bill as Fleur.”

Ron cocked his head thoughtfully.  “She’s pregnant again and doesn’t have the energy to yell.”

“Again?”  Ron nodded.  “That means all your sisters-in-law are pregnant?”

Ron nodded again just as Hermione reentered the room.  Emile smiled through his tears and a mouthful of ice cream.  His finger was bandaged with a plaster that looked like a dragon.

Harry gave his question, and the answer, some thought.  It meant every Weasley wife was pregnant:  Charlie’s Madeline was due in a month, Percy’s Penelope not long after that, Fred’s Angelina was five months along, George’s Luna – a pairing Harry still scratched his head at but it worked for them – was four months along and now Fleur again.  Even Ginny had even announced her pregnancy a month before, but refused to name the father, earning Molly’s displeasure.

Bill returned thirty minutes later to collect his moderately hyperactive son.  After rolling his eyes, he thanked the Trio for watching Emile, reminded them to be at the Burrow for Sunday dinner two days hence and left.

When the door shut and silence descended, so did the uneasy tension that had permeated their flat for a month.  Hermione was on edge, making Ron and Harry on edge as well.  Hermione leaned her head against the closed door, a picture of exhaustion.

Ron glanced at Harry before asking, “You okay, Mione?”

Her shoulders shook once and the boys realized they were in trouble.  They shared another nervous look between them.

“Mione?” Harry asked softly.

She turned away from the door, the angle of her head shielding her face.  “I’m going to bed.”  She hurried into her room and shut the door before Ron or Harry could say a thing.  One sob escaped before she threw up a silencing charm.

“She okay?” Ron asked.

Harry stared at Hermione’s door for a long time before saying, “I don’t know.”

Hermione’s mood changes got worse with the birth of Veronique to Charlie and Madeline.  Ronnie – as the new baby was quickly nicknamed – had sparse tufts of red hair and her mother’s olive complexion.  It made for an odd combination in the Weasley family.  Hermione was the only one who resisted holding her.  More than once, Molly took Ron aside to ask about Hermione and Ron could only say he didn’t know what was wrong.

When Harry and Ron began avoiding Hermione, making excuses for her at Weasley gatherings, and finding reasons to go out if she were home after the birth of Richard to Percy and Penelope, they knew they needed to talk to her.

Things didn’t come to a head until Angelina and Luna gave birth within days of each other to Andrew and Liam, respectively.

The boys declined childminding without consulting Hermione, knowing being asked would put her in a worse mood than speaking for her would.  Once a favorite “aunt,” she now was tetchy around children.

“We’re going out, Hermione,” Ron called through her door.  “Get dressed.”

“Go away, Ronald,” she returned.

“I’ll have Harry unlock the door.  Get your arse out here.”

She opened the door dressed in nothing but tap pants and a tank top, her hair done in a haphazard bun.  “Go.  Away.”

Harry, standing next to Ron, shoved a foot in the door before Hermione could slam it shut.

“We’re going out,” he said softly.  “All of us.”

She huffed, glared at each of them in turn, before growling, “Fine!  I’ll dress!”

After she closed the door, the boys looked at each other.

“Did you know she had a body like that?” Harry asked.

“You mean...?”  Ron mimicked large breasts with his hands.

Harry nodded.  “And those legs.”

Ron swallowed.  “Mate, we’re in trouble.”

That thought was brought home when Hermione appeared in the living room wearing a little black dress that revealed nearly every inch of that mile of leg and with spaghetti straps that enhanced her bare neck.  She’d added strappy black sandals, emphasizing her legs.  Her curls were pinned behind her ears but left to tumble freely down her back.

“Fuck,” Ron muttered loudly enough for Harry to hear.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.  “Well?  Let’s go.”  She went to the door and left the flat, presumably heading to their Apparition point.  The move revealed her back, left naked by the low cut of the dress.

“We are so fucking dead,” Harry whispered, smoothing his jeans after he stood.  Neither he nor Ron was hard to look at, but they’d not thought about Hermione in that way since school and made no moves since then, preferring instead to hunt outside their small circle.

“Well, are we going?” Hermione barked over her shoulder.

“Yes, but I’ll be coming as well,” Harry muttered, making Ron laugh and Hermione throw a glare at them for their sloth.

They walked to the Apparition point two blocks away – the closest Harry could tolerate people Apparating to their flat – keeping Hermione in front of them so they could admire the view.

“Keep up, boys,” she called cheerfully.

The club Ron had chosen straddled the Muggle and magical worlds though most of the Muggles there had at least one magical relative.  It opened a few months after the end of the war, the proprietor a Muggle-born a few years ahead of the Trio in school.  It was also one of the few magical places where Harry was treated like everyone else despite the fact he was given free drinks.

An hour after they arrived, Ron and Harry had finished off a pint of Firewhisky between them.  Hermione herself had drank a half-bottle of wine.  Despite their level of inebriation, they were still functional enough to dance.

After a tall blond returned Hermione to the table, Ron dragged her back out onto the dance floor.

“But you can’t dance, Ron,” she said.

He was having a hard time concentrating on her words because he was distracted by her.  He’d talked to Harry about it – talked about how though they’d both set aside their crushes years before, her appearance tonight was torturing them.  The alcohol they’d all consumed didn’t help matters.

“Ronald,” she barked.

“I learned,” he answered, turning her and nodding to Harry.

Harry broke off his conversation to join Ron and Hermione on the dance floor.  Hermione gasped when Harry moved behind her, sandwiching her between the boys.

“Harry!”

“We need to talk to you, Hermione,” he said in her ear.  When she shivered, Harry and Ron both rested their hands on her hips, briefly shuffling for contact and ending with Harry’s hands lower than Ron’s.

“Talk to me?” she hissed.  “Ambush me is more like it.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Ron said in response, a slight grin turning one corner of his mouth.

“You two planned this,” she spat, trying to wriggle out from between them.  Finally, when they wouldn’t release her, she huffed and settled.

“Yes, we did,” Harry admitted.  “Do you want to talk here or at home?”

“Home,” she finally answered.

Harry waved to the owner, who waved back, and the three headed out the door, Ron’s hand at the small of Hermione’s back.  The skin-to-skin contact was driving him crazy.

Hermione sat on the sofa, a pout on her face and an obstinate expression in her eyes.  She crossed her arms again, this time under her breasts.  Her narrowed eyes shot from Ron on the chair opposite to Harry as he entered from the kitchen with three butterbeers.

“What did you want to talk about?” she growled after taking a butterbeer from Harry.

Harry handed Ron his butterbeer, kicked off his shoes and perched on the arm of the sofa.  His stockinged feet were practically touching Hermione due to the length of his legs.

Ron propped his feet on the occasional table, crossed them at the ankles, and met Hermione’s stony glare with an amused expression.

“Well, Hermione, it’s like this,” Harry began.

Ron continued, “You’ve been a royal bitch for the last five months or so.”

When she would have jumped up from the sofa and stormed off, Harry moved both his feet onto her thigh to hold her even as Ron moved to sit on the table in front of her, his hands on her knees.

“How dare you say that,” she finally spat, taking in both of them with a glare.

“It’s not all the time, mind you,” Ron added, gently massaging her knees.

“Just when you’re around the Weasley children or pregnant wives,” Harry finished.

The tension seemed to leave her all at once.  She settled on the sofa, her head resting on the back of it with her eyes closed.

“If I say I don’t want to talk about it, you aren’t going to listen, are you?” she asked softly.

Harry and Ron shared a look before answered in unison, “No.”

Hermione sighed heavily.  The boys watched as she finished her butterbeer, sighed again, then met their gazes in turn.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

Harry thought it was a stupid question – they’d ambushed her with it already, so of course they wanted to know – but Ron merely said, “Yes.”

She swallowed audibly, ran a hand through her hair and glared at them both once again.

“Hermione,” Harry said, voice low in warning.

“Fine!” she spat.  “I’m jealous, okay?  I’m jealous.”  And, with that, she broke down into sobs.  Ron looked helplessly at Harry, who only pulled his feet from Hermione’s leg and shrugged.

“Jealous of what, Hermione?” Harry asked.  Ron handed her a tissue so they had to wait for their answer.

“I’ll never have children,” she whispered, voice clogged with tears.

Harry hopped the couch so he could stand behind Hermione while Ron leaned closer.  Harry bent to place his hands on her shoulders and Ron moved his hands to her thighs.

“Was it a curse during the war?” Harry asked, an edge to his voice even as he massaged her shoulders.  Anything to do with the war put him on edge.

“What?”  Hermione sounded confused.

“Why you won’t have children...was it a curse?” Harry explained.

Hermione snorted indelicately.  “If only it were that simple.”

Ron glanced up at Harry, confusion on both their faces.

“Explain it, Hermione,” Ron said.  “You’re good at explaining.”

When she finally spoke again, her voice was laced with self-recriminations and regret.  “To have children, you have to have sex.  Unfortunately, I’ve never had that pleasure and, because I live with you two, never will.  So it puts me in a foul mood to see the Weasley fertility.”

Harry and Ron met gazes again.  Hermione was a virgin?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry alone,” she said.  But when she would have stood, Ron and Harry held her down.

“Please let me up,” she said softly.

“No, Hermione,” Ron said even as Harry took matters in his own hands:  he tilted her head back and to the side so he could bend his head and kiss her deeply.

Just as Harry broke his kiss, Ron braced his hands on the cushions on either side of her and kissed her as thoroughly as Harry had.

Hermione sat back, gasping.  She touched her lips with a trembling finger before asking, “What was that?”

Ron answered before Harry and went straight to the heart.  “If you really want to sleep with someone, there are two willing men right here.”

Harry added, “And if you won’t get shagged because you live with us, the least we could do is make it up to you.”

Hermione seemed almost as stunned by the statements as the kisses.  After a moment, though, she narrowed her eyes, temper returned.  “I don’t want a pity shag.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Harry said.

“Then it’s because you’re drunk,” she retorted.  “I don’t like being the punchline to a joke.”  She turned her temper on each of them in return.  “Let me go.”

“No, Hermione,” Harry said, his voice low and commanding.  He noticed the shudder that ran through her at his tone of voice, as well as how she licked her lips.

“It wouldn’t be a pity shag or something just to get you out of your bitchy mood,” Ron began.  “Bloody hell, Hermione, I’ve wanted you since I was 13.  You were the subject of my first wet dream and the last time I wanked.”

Harry laughed.  “So calling out  Oh, Oliver!’ last night was a mistake?”

“Bastard,” Ron said without heat.

Harry’s comment had broken some of the tension, but not all.  It even brought a half-smile to Hermione’s face.

“What about you, Harry?  Faking it to appease me?”

He met Ron’s eyes before answering, saw the understanding there, and felt relieved enough to tell the truth.

“You’ve been the subject of dreams for many years.  Maybe not as long as Ron, but long enough that I don’t remember when I first dreamt of you.”

She sat silent and still on the sofa for several moments, leaving Ron and Harry in torment.

“It’s not just pity?”

The boys answered no.

“And it’s not a joke?”

The boys answered no.

“Why now?”

“Why not?” Ron retorted.  Hermione glared.

Harry took a deep breath as if for courage, then ran a hand down her back, a single finger under the edge of her dress to tease the cleft of her arse.  He bent his head to say in her ear, “I could say it’s because of the dress.”

She bit her lip and shuddered.

“But it wouldn’t be the whole truth,” Ron said, moving close enough to ghost his breath over her lips.

“Seems convenient to blame a dress,” she muttered.

Growling with frustration, Harry moved around to the front of the sofa, grabbed one of her hands and held it to the front of his jeans.  She gasped when she felt his erection.  He groaned when she gently squeezed.

“That might be due to the dress tonight but it doesn’t explain every other time you’ve had me in this state.”

She lifted her eyes to his.  “Really?”

Ron took advantage of her distraction to slide his hands further up her legs, exposing the lacy edge of her knickers.  Leaning forward, he said in Hermione’s other ear, “Or me in that state.”

Hermione shivered once before moving both hands to the cushions next to her exposed thighs.  Tilting her head back, she put up one last line of defense.  “How do you know I want both of you?”

If her eyes were open, she would have seen the wicked grins both Ron and Harry were sporting.

“I’ve seen the way your eyes follow Ron from the shower to his room when he has on nothing more than a towel,” Harry said softly in her left ear before flicking his tongue against the shell.  She bit her bottom lip and shifted restlessly.

“And I’ve seen the way you watch Harry when he’s swimming or wearing jeans like now,” Ron whispered in her right ear before kissing down her neck.  She gasped, unsuccessfully stifling a moan.

The boys moved back, sitting on the table like wicked bookends – with a space between them for her to be wicked.  She brought her head down so she could study them.  Ron was trying to look angelic but failing miserably as he was still wearing the leather jacket over the t-shirt emblazoned with “Born to be wild” he’d worn to the club earlier.  Harry, on the other hand, looked devilish without trying despite the simple white Oxford and jeans he’d worn to the club.

“You’re saying, then, that you’ll both shag me to get me out of my bitchy mood and self-pity party that I seem to be the only female our age without pregnancy or child?”  She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes slightly narrowed.  The boys weren’t too terribly afraid of that look since they could still see her knickers.  “I just want to get this straight.”

Ron looked at Harry just as Harry looked at Ron.  A moment of silent communication between them yielded a yes from them almost in unison.

“I hate when you do that,” she muttered.  “it’s like talking to Fred and George.”

“Oi!  If you want me to shag you, you’ll get nowhere with insults,” Ron protested.

Hermione smiled.  Harry shifted nervously.

“What about at the same time?” she asked.

“What at the same time?” Ron retorted.

She leaned forward to run a finger along Ron’s cheek before patting it mockingly.  “Why, you and Harry and me at the same time, of course.”  She smiled as she said it.

“A threesome?” Ron gasped.

“Isn’t that what you had in mind?”

Ron shook off Hermione’s hand so he could tip his head forward and rub the back of his neck.  “Er, not exactly,” he said finally.

She raised her eyebrows, taking them both in with her look.  “Then what, tag-team me?”

“Er,” Ron stuttered, shooting a look at Harry.  Harry grinned.  Ron shifted nervously this time.  He rubbed the back of his neck again before answering.  “I’m not sure what we had in mind.”

Harry leaned forward, both hands on Hermione’s right leg.  “Why don’t you tell us what you want, Hermione?”

She glanced between them, then smirked.  “What if it’s to watch you two?”

Even as Ron said, “No!” Harry laughed.  “This night is yours.  Watching Ron and I together won’t relieve you of your virginity.”

She bit her bottom lip.  “It would be more exciting.”

Since Ron was still grumbling about her first request, Harry gently kneaded her thigh.  “You don’t think losing your virginity will be exciting?”

“No,” she said warily.

Harry sighed melodramatically.  “Ron, I think it’s up to us to change her mind.”

Ron stopped grumbling and tilted her head to one side.  “I think you’re right.”  And, with that, he stood up, bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder.

Hermione squealed and beat on Ron’s back.  Harry nearly tripped while following them when her kicking dislodged both shoes.  She shouted again as Ron tossed her onto her bed.  Harry pulled out his wand and quickly enlarged the bed to king-size.  Hermione tried to rise, but Ron and Harry pinned her down when they flopped down on either side of her.

“Let me up!” she demanded.

“No,” Ron said, moving closer.  He slid his hand up into her hair, using it to guide her head so he could kiss her.

Harry rolled her toward Ron, allowing him to undo the short zip at the small of her back.  Ron’s continued kiss muffled her protests.  Once they’d subsided, he pulled his mouth from hers.

“Don’t think anymore, just feel,” Harry whispered.  “Now sit up.”

She rolled her eyes even as she bit her lip.  But she sat up.  Harry turned her so she was facing Ron before he slipped the straps of her dress down.  As her breasts were exposed, she tensed.

“Ssh,” Ron soothed.  He stood next to the bed to pull off his jacket, tossing it on the floor behind him, then stripped his t-shirt off.  When he climbed back on the bed, it was on all-fours.  Harry prevented Hermione from backing up.  Ron grinned and nuzzled her neck.  She trembled.  “Aah, Mione,” Ron murmured before ducking his head to suckle her.

She both tensed, backing further against Harry, and melted with a small whimper.

Harry gathered her hands behind her back, forcing her to arch into Ron’s mouth.  She dropped her head against Harry’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

“We can make this something you won’t forget,” Harry whispered in her ear.

“Already have,” she reluctantly admitted on a sigh.

Harry looked down, meeting Ron’s eyes.  Ron grinned around Hermione’s nipple and Harry was entranced.  Ron jerked his eyes toward the head of the bed.  Harry nodded.

Hermione whimpered with the loss when Ron removed his mouth, but they didn’t give her any time to think, merely eased her back on the bed, her head on her pillow.  This time Ron and Harry both bent their heads to her breasts.  She shifted restlessly on the bed.

After Hermione’s second whimper though, Harry released her nipple with a wet pop and moved down her body.  Her muscles jumped wildly when he pressed a kiss to her stomach before she tensed.  Ron slid a hand over her uncovered breast to toy with the exposed nipple.  She moaned softly and relaxed.

Harry parted her legs slightly, kneeling between her shins.  As slowly as he could stand, he slid his hands up her legs, feeling the trembling there.

“H-Harry?” Hermione stuttered, voice trembling more than she was.

“Yes?” he answered, slipping fingers between her stomach and dress.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned as he tugged her dress down, leaving her in only a tiny pair of black lace knickers.  His grin widened when she trembled again after he ran a finger along the top edge of those knickers.

Ron shifted to her other side before resuming suckling her.  The wet nipple between his fingers appeared painfully taut.

“Well,” Harry began, hooking one finger in the waistband of those knickers.  “I thought I’d strip these off you, exposing you to Ron and I.  Then I’d look all I wanted, watch you get wet.”  He hooked the index finger of his other hand into her knickers.  “Then I’d ask if you wanted a mouth on you first or someone inside you.”  He tugged, eliciting a gasping sigh.  “Then I’d ask who you wanted first.”

“Damn, Harry,” Ron muttered, grinning.

Harry grinned back before pulling Hermione’s knickers off completely, exposing her.  She instinctively tried to close her legs and move away.  Harry moved further up the bed, planting himself between her knees, spreading her wide enough that he could look his fill, just as he’d said.

That is, until Ron slipped a finger down over her clit.  She jumped, startled, before moaning.

“What...what makes you think...oooh...that I’ll let you....oooh...do either?” she asked breathlessly.

“Curiosity,” Harry began.

“And the fact you’re tired of the burden of your virginity,” Ron added.

Harry cocked his head to one side, studied Ron, and gave a snorting laugh of disbelief.  Ron fluttered his eyelashes mischievously.

“You seem awfully sure of yourselves,” Hermione said.  Ron flicked her clit gently, eliciting another moan.

“With good reason,” Ron said.

“Oh?”

With a short laugh, Ron answered, “You haven’t hexed us yet.”

She said nothing, merely arched upward with a whimper.  Harry settled back on his heels to watch, rubbing himself through his jeans.  Ron added a second finger against her clit.  Harry noted with amusement how wet Hermione became in response.

“Who first?” Ron growled in her ear.

She whimpered again, twisting restlessly.  Ron slid his fingers down, then inside her.  She mewled, arching upward even further.

“Please,” she begged in a strangled whisper.  “More.”

Harry glanced up at Ron, who merely raised an eyebrow, before bending at the waist and kissing Hermione’s thigh.  At her groan, he kissed his way to Ron’s fingers.  Nudging Ron’s thumb away with his nose, Harry swiped the flat of his tongue over her clit.

“Oooh, please,” Hermione gasped.  She reached down, tangling one hand in Harry’s hair to keep him in place while gripped Ron’s bicep with her other hand.  She was panting, silently begging with her body language, for more.

Ron crooked his fingers inside her in a come-on motion just as Harry sucked on her clit.  It was all Hermione needed to come.  She clamped around Ron’s fingers even as her legs squeezed Harry’s sides.  A litany of moaning, gasping curses escaped her mouth as her fingernails dug into the boys’ skin.

It was glorious.

When she finally began to relax, Ron pulled his fingers from her – then shook his hand several times to get feeling back.  Harry pried her legs from his sides and eased back.

“So, Hermione, are we still assuming too much by asking who first?” Harry said, barely suppressing a smirk.

Hermione all but purred as she stretched.  “Quite different than doing it yourself.”

Ron groaned and dropped his head to his chest at the mental image of Hermione masturbating.

Harry slipped off the bed and stripped off his clothes.  Ron raised an eyebrow at him.  He struck a pose in response, making Ron chuckle and shake his head.

“When you’re done comparing cocks, I’m waiting,” Hermione said imperiously.  She’d raised herself on her elbows, but her legs were still wantonly spread.

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron strip off his jeans and boxers.  With a grin, Harry climbed back on the bed on all-fours, as if a stalking panther.  He stopped when he was stretched out full-length against her right side.  A moment later, the other side of the bed dipped as Ron sidled up to her left side.

“So what are you waiting for, Mione?” Ron asked.  He traced one nipple, hardening it to a peak, before moving to the other and repeating the gesture.  “Waiting to experiment with us...or waiting to be taken?”

“Ex...experiment with you?” she stammered, then shuddered.

Ron skimmed his hand over her stomach, not quite touching but not avoiding it either.  In a sibilant whisper, he said, “Haven’t you ever dreamt of just exploring a man’s body?”

Her breath sped, leaving her nearly panting once again.  They seemed to know exactly what to say to drive her to the edge.  Damn them.

“After,” Harry growled.  He shifted, throwing a leg possessively over hers, his cock pressing insistently into her hip.  “If you don’t answer soon, we’ll make the decision for you.”

“Ron!” she gasped.  “Ron first.”

Ron grinned at Harry, shoved Harry’s leg off and moved between Hermione’s legs.  He pushed them apart gently, noting how she was trembling, before stroking her clit.

“Inside already, Ron!” she demanded.

“Bossy thing, aren’t you?” he laughed, positioning his cock at her entrance.

She tried to lift her head to see Ron, but Harry gathered her hands and held them over her head as he covered her mouth with his own.  Harry captured her whimper as Ron entered her.  Ron did nothing more, merely let her become accustomed to the sensation of him inside her.  Harry shifted both her hands into one of his, then slid his free hand down so he could stroke her clit.

When some of the tension left her body and she began to moan once again, Ron thrust once.

Hermione arched upward, breaking Harry’s kiss, and keening loudly.

“I think she’s enjoying it, Ron,” Harry murmured, sliding his tongue down the cords of her neck.  She trembled violently when he nipped at her collarbone.  “I think she might like it a little rough.”

“So tight,” Ron said through gritted teeth.  She was clamped tightly around him and it was driving him insane.  He gripped her hips with sweaty hands, trying to hold off until she came.  The fact that he was her first made him want to brand her.  He was sharing her with Harry – which he didn’t mind – but he wanted to mark her as his.

Harry moved lower and began suckling her, tugging strongly on her nipples.  She arched upward again, driving herself down on Ron even as she offered herself to Harry.  He stroked her clit more firmly, sometimes feeling Ron’s cock as he thrust.

She writhed between them, panting heavily.  “Please,” she rasped.

With his next thrust, Ron twisted his hips slightly as Harry stroked her clit more firmly.

When she clamped more tightly around Ron’s cock as she came, he groaned loudly, drove into her and came as well.  Harry continued to flick his tongue over her nipples, drawing out her climax until Ron withdrew.  Ron rolled onto the bed next to her, trying to catch his breath.

Grinning, Harry rolled Hermione onto her stomach.  He lifted her hips until she was on her knees, her arse in the air.

“Too sore?” he asked, slipping one finger into her.

She’d lifted her head to look over her shoulder at him, but now dropped it onto her forearms with a moan.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Harry said cheerfully.  He moved behind her, taking his cock into his hand to guide it into her, then slid inside.  “You’re right, Ron, so tight.”

They both moaned again when Harry was buried to the hilt inside her.  He thrust slowly, wanting her to both get used to the sensation and not be in too much pain.  His hands slid to her hips, gripping them to hold her in place.

“You feel so good, Hermione,” Harry growled.

She could only whimper.  Having Harry in her so soon after Ron did hurt a bit, but felt so decadently wicked that she couldn’t help but want more.  They were making her feel wicked when she’d never thought about it before.  Well, except that one time she accidentally walked in on them in the Quidditch showers.  That sight had occupied her fantasies for weeks and they’d only been juxtaposed in the shower stalls, albeit their curtains open.

But having Harry for “sloppy seconds” was destroying her sanity.  She wanted to tell Ron how good it had felt to finally have that ache, the one inside her when she masturbated, satisfied, but couldn’t find the words.  She wanted to tell Harry how erotic it was that he felt no hesitation about being inside her right after another man, but could only groan.

The bed shifted as Ron tossed the pillows off before scooting upward to rest his back against the headboard.  Hermione turned her head and caught her breath on a strangled sigh at the sight of Ron wanking while watching she and Harry.

She rose on her hands, making Harry enter her at a different angle that both hurt and felt wonderful.  Harry slipped one hand from her hip to her clit, toying with it as he thrust.  She dropped her head, eyes closed, in response.  Her panting was beginning to make her light-headed.  She was beginning to think she’d pass out if she didn’t come soon.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what, Hermione?” Harry demanded.

“I want to come,” she begged.  Her fingers tightened in the blanket, bunching it in her hands.

She felt a finger against her lips and parted them to allow the finger entrance.  Her head shot up, eyes wide.  She sucked the finger deeper into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it as she held Ron’s gaze, tasting the pre-come there.  He groaned and sped the hand on his cock.

Ron’s finger slipped from her mouth when Harry began thrusting faster into her.  He now gripped her hips with both hands as he thrust, making the bed shake despite their combined weight.  The combination of sounds was driving her closer to the edge:  the slap of Harry’s skin against hers, the creaking of the bed, the dull thud of her headboard hitting the wall and the squelching noise of Ron’s hand on his cock.

But what drove her over the edge this time was Harry bending down and sinking his teeth into the back of her neck.  With a squeal, she came, clutching both Harry and the blankets tightly.  The pounding of blood in her ears nearly drowned the moans of both Harry and Ron as they came.

She collapsed onto her stomach when her legs and arms became too weak to hold her any longer.  Harry fell onto her, but quickly rolled onto his back to lay between Ron and Hermione.

“Still think you’re going to die a virgin, Hermione?” Ron asked, reaching for his wand on the side table.  He cast a cleaning spell on himself, grinning when Hermione looked over at him and pouted.

“No,” she said, voice hoarse.

“What about pregnancy?” Harry quietly asked.

Hermione was silent long enough for Harry to turn on his side to look at her.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she finally answered.

She came to curse those words eight months later at the mid-summer Weasley family gathering when she was hugely pregnant.  Though they’d become a threesome in every sense of the word once Harry admitted he was bisexual and talked Ron into “just one time for Hermione to watch,” they’d not admitted their relationship to anyone.  It was no one’s business but their own.  And if the baby had green eyes and unruly black hair, let people speculate.