Only after I’m more than half-awake do I realize I’m purring.  A moment later I realize I’m purring due to a tremendous blow job.

I barely have time to open my eyes and see bushy brown hair before I come, arching into Hermione’s mouth.

“I told you he’d wake up,” Ron says from beside me.

I moan at the loss of wet heat when Hermione releases me to reply.  “I had to test it for myself.”

“Don’t mind,” I murmur, stretching.

“Of course you don’t,” Hermione mutters.

The bed shifts and creaks as they move.  My eyes shoot open when I realize I’m sandwiched between them.  Lying next to Hermione isn’t as disconcerting as lying next to Ron.  Though he and I have had to share tents – and even a sleeping bag a few times – on missions, we were fully clothed and not aroused at the time.

Ron is naked and definitely aroused this time.

“So, Hermione,” he begins, his voice sibilant next to my ear.  I shiver.

Hermione moves closer, flinging one leg over mine and resting a hand on my chest.  “Yes?”

“What else is in that diary of yours?”

She huffs, making me smile.  “I should be right hacked off that you read it.”

“You should, but you aren’t,” Ron says, amused.  “Now what else is in there?”

She lifts her head.  Without my glasses, I can’t see anything but the blur of her hair and her face.

“I want to watch you shag,” she states boldly.

Before I can say anything, Ron begins to run a hand over my chest.  The bastard.  I shudder when he pinches a nipple.  His low chuckle tells me he noticed.

“I’m sure you’ve written something more specific than that,” Ron says, teasing my other nipple.

I don’t care if she has, I just want a shag.  Being awoken by a blow job and lying between two sexy, arousing and very naked people makes me on edge.

“You really want to know?”  Hermione moves atop me, straddling my thighs.  She’s wet, hot and wet, and the two of them are driving me out of my mind.

“Yes, I do,” Ron murmurs as he beings to run his fingernails over my chest.

Somehow I’ve become the centerpiece in their little show of one-upmanship, but I don’t mind.  Neither does my cock, which seems to have forgotten that I’ve already come once this morning.

Hermione seems to purr for a moment as she strokes my hips.  I shudder helplessly underneath her.  It’s a disconcerting realization that I don’t mind being helpless under these two.  Humbling as well.

Harry Potter, the Chosen Boy-Who-Lived, at the mercy of his cock.

“Well, for one,” Hermione begins, drawing my attention back to her when she scrapes her fingernails on my skin, mimicking Ron.  “I’d like to watch one of you suck the other’s cock.”

I moan deeply at the image of Ron’s mouth around my cock.  My subconscious must have come to terms with it in the night because I honestly didn’t care who woke me up this morning.  I was enjoying myself either way.

“I’m sure you can be more specific than that,” Ron chides.  He moves behind Hermione, crawling over the blankets predatorily.

Her breath catches, as does mine, when he slides his hands over her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them.  He ducks his head – the way the halo of red hair mingles with brown looks so right reassures me – to whisper in her ear, “Did you imagine me sucking Harry or Harry sucking me?”

Hermione’s moan drowns mine.  Aroused fully once more, I release the sheet I’d clutching in my hand to reach for my cock.

Hermione swats my hand away.  “Mine!” she growls.  Before I can protest her possessiveness, she shifts and sinks onto me.

“Fuck,” I rasp, voice still rusty with sleep.

“Naughty Hermione,” Ron murmurs.  She mewls piteously when, at the same time, I flex inside her and Ron strokes her clit.  The back of his hand brushes against my abdomen, shifting as Hermione does.

Ron must nip her shoulder because she shudders and clenches around me even as she cries out in pain.

“Hermione likes it a little rough,” Ron observes, fingering her faster.  “I think you pictured Harry sucking me but me fucking Harry.”

The image of that, of both actions, sends a melting sensation through me.  I can only assume it’s the same for Hermione since she cries out, clamps down around me and comes.  She stays over me through her aftershocks, each one bringing me closer to the edge.

I’m still hard and close to coming when Hermione rolls off me a moment later, sated and boneless.

“Poor Hermione,” Ron says.  “This will have to do.”

I have no time to prepare myself before Ron takes my cock into his mouth.  He sucks harder, with more force, than Hermione, taking me entirely into his mouth in just a second.  Whatever thought processes I may have had are now short-circuited.  I fumble on the side table for my glasses, mumbling thanks when Hermione hands them to me.

Nothing, though, prepares me for the sight of Ron, my cock in his mouth, his tongue pressing on that spot just under the head, looking up at me with wicked mischief in his eyes.

“Fuck,” I pant.  This should be wrong but it isn’t.

“Not yet, Harry,” Hermione replies before bringing her mouth down on mine.  Between the two of them, I can barely breathe and I don’t care.

Is this how Hermione felt yesterday?

I’m trying to concentrate on the sensations, but am overwhelmed.  Distantly, I note that one of them has their hand around the base of my cock – Hermione?  Are there long nails? – and the other is cupping my balls – Ron?  Blunt fingernails?

Then it doesn’t matter.  I arch upward, hard, shouting incoherently as I come.

By the time I am aware of sensations again, Ron has flipped me onto my stomach and is running his tongue down my spine.  Twining my fingers into the sheets, I groan.

“Ah, Harry, back to the land of the living?” Hermione murmurs in my ear.  Her hair brushes against my shoulders and I shudder.  My skin is hypersensitive from my climax and from Ron’s current activity.

Ron’s hands knead my thighs as his mouth moves lower and lower.  I don’t know if I should be horrified by his intention or aroused.  And if I’m aroused, how can I be after coming twice already?

“Before you woke up, Ron asked me another of my fantasies,” she whispers.

I clutch the sheet with my teeth as Ron urges my hips upward, pushing my knees forward.

“Do you want me to tell you what I told him?”

“Yes,” I spit from behind my gritted teeth.

She moves closer to my ear until her hair brushes against the side and back of my neck.  “Rimming.”

I swear the bed shakes with my groan.  Ron parts my arse cheeks, murmurs a cleansing charm and runs his tongue from my balls to the cleft of my arse.  I have to tug on the sheet.  I’m not used to being vocal during sex – yesterday was the exception.

Ron’s hands hold me apart while he seems to feast on me, flicking across the sensitive skin with his tongue.  Hermione slides underneath me, ripping the sheet from my mouth to kiss me, her hands tangled in my hair to hold me in place.

Her curves taunt me.  I can feel her breasts against my chest, her thighs bracketing mine, spreading her legs wide.  Those soft sensations are juxtaposed against the hard feel of Ron behind me; his muscle-roped thighs against the backs of mine, his chest against my arse when he trails his tongue to the back of my neck.  And his cock as it brushes against me, the tip weeping.

I try to shift my hips down, to slide my once-again aching cock into Hermione, but both of them stop me:  Hermione slides out from underneath me and Ron wraps one arm around my waist to pin me to him.

“No, you’re mine right now, Harry,” Ron growls.

His?  I’m his?

I prise my eyes open to look over at Hermione.  She’s moved to the side of the bed, her legs still apart.  I have a perfect view of her wet pussy and her fingers inside it.  Her other hand is at her chest, toying with her nipples.

Fuck.

“Mine,” Ron repeats and bites the back of my neck.  Sensation rips through me, making me want to shove backward and arch upward all at the same time.

Hermione murmurs a spell and I feel Ron’s index finger against my arse.  He pushes against me, not meaning to hurt me, but relentless in his assault.  Just as I begin to relax from the first finger, he adds a second.  The burning sensation is both horrible and erotic.

“You’ve done this before,” Hermione accuses.

Ron doesn’t answer until after he adds a third finger.  I drop my shoulders to the bed, arse up in the air, and try desperately not to scream or cry.  I can’t decide if the sensation is good or bad – until Ron twists his fingers just a bit and hits some spot inside me that has me seeing stars and revives my erection.

“Yes, I have,” Ron admits, beginning to slowly fuck me with his fingers.

“Who was it?” Hermione demands.

If doing this before means he knows how to do it, I don’t care who it was.

“I’m not telling.”  With that, Ron slowly pulls his fingers out.  Hermione casts a cleaning spell, then Ron grips my hips.

He positions his cock at my entrance.  I grip the sheets tightly, Hermione’s gasp arousing me as much as the feeling of Ron almost penetrating me.

“This might hurt,” Ron says.

Might hurt?  Could it be worse than before?  “Might?” I rasp, but can’t say anything more.

Ron pushes inside.  The flaring head of his cock creates a horrible, terrible, wonderful burning sensation.  Then he’s fully buried inside me and it feels heavenly.

“Oh yes,” Hermione moans.  I glance over in time to see her fingers frantically rubbing her clit as she watches us.

“Is this what you wanted?” Ron asks, pulling out almost all the way, then driving back inside.

It feels like he’s pushing into my brain.  Not that he’s that large – though he’s certainly not small – but the feel of his cock buried in my arse is overloading my nerves.  I feel full, aroused, on edge.  Gripping the sheets more tightly, I relax my shoulders further and push back against Ron, head turned to the side to watch Hermione.

She’s biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.  Underlying Ron’s panting – and my own – is the wet sound of Hermione.

“Is it, Hermione?”

“Yes,” she hisses, her legs stiffening and her toes curling as she brings herself off.

I didn’t get such a view last night.  Watching her come is something I’ll never get used to, especially when her fingers don’t stop, but want to watch several more times.  Women are built very differently.  And if I ever mentioned that thought to Hermione I’d get a look that said, “Of course, you idiot.”

Ron moves again, drawing back slowly then driving forward.  A fine trembling begins in my thighs.  I’m not used to being on my knees to have sex.  I’m not complaining, not complaining at all.

“More,” I beg.

Ron bends down, breath hot on my neck and shoulders.  “More?”

“Harder.”

“Harder?”

I push back against him.  “Fuck me.”

Hermione moans as Ron grips my hips tightly in response.  He straightens up.

“Are you watching, Hermione?”

Her voice is breathless when she replies, “Yes.”

Ron laughs darkly.  Before I can prepare myself, he begins fucking me in earnest, slamming into me and jerking almost out.  The burning sensation disappears almost immediately, leaving a feeling of pressure that stokes my arousal.

I clutch the sheets more tightly.  I think I’m cutting off circulation, but I don’t care.  My glasses are steaming up from my panting, but that doesn’t matter either.  My cock aches for one of them to touch me, but I’m incapable of saying anything beyond, “Yes, more.”

After a moment, Hermione keens with another climax.  As she does so, Ron bends forward.  The new angle drives his cock against something inside that makes me see stars.

Ron reaches down and grips my cock, roughly wanking me.  “Come,” he growls.

I do.  Moaning his name, I come all over his hand and the bed.  I can barely stay on my knees long enough to feel him come inside me – which is a strange feeling.  With his last groan, I collapse onto the wet spot I made, Ron falling on top of me.

He rests his cheek against my shoulderblade.  His breath cools the sweat there, sending a tingle down my spine.

“Was it what you hoped for?” he asks Hermione.

“Mmm,” she murmurs.  “More.”

I have to lick my lips before I can say anything.  “Double penetration next.”

“Oh my,” she replies.

I’m damn near asleep – despite Ron’s weight on my back – when a heavy knock sounds at the door to the cabin.

The three of us stare at each other before leaping from the bed.  Hermione grabs a dress and yanks it over her head.  Ron tugs on jeans and a t-shirt.  I can’t find any of my clothes for some odd reason.  I jerk the top sheet from the bed – the one without the wet stain on it – and wrap it around myself.

Hermione grabs her wand before answering the door.

Our boss, Kingsley Shacklebolt, steps inside.  With a raised eyebrow, he takes in the paper Ron shoved to the floor yesterday, Hermione’s disheveled-even-more-than-usual hair, the bite mark on my shoulder and Ron’s grin.

“Looks like I won the bet,” Kingsley says.

“The bet?” Hermione asks, voice low.

I hitch the sheet up higher and blush furiously.  I don’t think I want to know what bet Kingsley is talking about.

Kingsley closes the door behind himself before crossing the room toward me.  “The bet about whether the three of you would last up here platonically.”  He reaches me and bends his head to eye one of the bite marks on my shoulder.  “I see you’re still rough, Ron.”

Still rough?  Ron?  Ron and Kingsley?  I blink.  He did say he’d done this before.

Just as my brain sluggishly kicks into gear, Hermione practically yells, “You slept with our boss?”

Ron blushes even more furiously than I am at the moment.  “He wasn’t our boss at the time,” he mumbles.

Hermione huffs, whirls on her heel and heads out the door.  She slams it behind herself for good measure.

“She won’t get far without shoes on,” Kingsley observes.  “Get dressed, Potter.”

“Sir,” I croak.  Clearing my throat, I try again.  “Sir, why are you here?”

“Just an update on your progress.”  He scans me from head to toe, then raises an eyebrow.  “Or lack thereof.”

“We’ve made progress,” Ron interjects.  He crosses the room and gathers all the fallen papers.  “Have a seat and I’ll review it with you.”

Kingsley seems far too amused by the situation as he takes a seat at the table.  I hope we cleaned it after feasting on Hermione atop it.

I reckon it’s my job to get dressed and find Hermione.  I think I’d rather brief Kingsley.