Title: Fade In (Let Me)
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Harry/Pansy/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Themes Chosen: Begging and nipple play are fulfilled here, although the story doesn't revolve around them.
Other Content: EWE. Navigation of polyamory issues.
Words: ~7,700
Summary: Until the night Hermione walked in on them together, Harry and Pansy didn't know what they were missing.
Author's Notes: IDK, I'm generally an m/m/f fan for threesomes, but then I went looking for m/f/f and couldn't find very much. So I wrote myself some. :) Also, I've been looking for a reason to get Harry and Hermione together, and dancing around Pansy seemed to work best for both of them. Go figure. :) And the idea of the Saviour getting to have more than one lover makes me kind of gleeful. Our protagonists are in their twenties, I imagine.



Fade In (Let Me)

by Snegurochka

*


When Hermione steps through to his living room, Harry is mortified.

"Oh!" She stumbles backwards, clutching the mantle for balance even as ashes still flicker on her robes. "Sorry! I didn't mean to–"

"Then either stay for the show or get the fuck out, Granger." Pansy isn't feeling charitable right now, Harry figures, if she ever would be where Hermione is concerned. Right now he's got three fingers slowly fucking her, though, her thighs spread on his sofa as he kneels in front of her, shirtless and hard as a rock. She has her fingers in his hair, tightening around the back of his neck the way they always do when she's this close. She's allowed to be pretty pissed off at the interruption.

For his part, Harry stills but doesn't jump up or flail his arms or make to cover either of them. Later, he might wonder why not. "Sorry. Sorry. Um. Later, Hermione?" Harry pants, giving her a look he hopes is part apology and part desperation, but which probably only comes across as sex-crazed. Christ, his hand is halfway up the cunt of a moaning Slytherin... that Hermione doesn't know he's been fucking. Dating. No, just fucking. Either way, this is not exactly the ideal way for her to find out. Fantastic.

She stares for another moment, though, even as Pansy arches her back and continues gasping at Harry to go faster, dammit, faster, and Harry can't stop and can't look at either of them, so he focuses his gaze on the spot to the left of Pansy on the sofa, the spot where his peripheral vision continues to acknowledge that Hermione is still there, still open-mouthed, still watching.

He presses his thumb against Pansy's clit, stilling his fingers inside her for a strategic moment that he knows will drive her mad. "Come on, Pans," he murmurs, his voice too low and all his effort going towards not turning around to see what Hermione looks like right now.

"God," he hears Hermione whisper. "God, sorry, I'm–" at the same time Pansy hisses, "Potter, fuck, just like that," and then Hermione is jumping back into the Floo with a gasp and Pansy is clenching around his hand, wet and deep.

"Oh, Potter, you kinky bastard," Pansy murmurs with a laugh into his neck after Hermione is gone, sliding off the sofa and pushing him down to the floor. She rips his jeans open and climbs on top of him, guiding his prick inside her with one smooth motion. He grasps her hips and thrusts up, trying to get her to ride him as hard as she can. "What if she was still here?" Pansy whispers, rolling her hips and kissing up his chest. She reaches his earlobe and tugs it between her teeth. "She's watching you fuck me and she likes it, the little slut. She's never seen fucking like this, like we do it, hard and fast and really fucking loud. Listen to you. Think about the look on her face, watching your cock slide into me like this, listening to you call my name and make me come and–"

Harry curls his fingers into the flesh of her shoulder blades and stills, holding his breath as his cock pulses helplessly inside her.

"Oh, darling," Pansy murmurs, her mouth light over his. "You didn't even let me get to the best part – the way I came from thinking about the same thing."

He moans, falling back to the floor while she laughs and climbs off him. He throws his arm over his eyes and hopes the rug will swallow him up. "Don't say things like that! She's my best bloody friend."

Pansy just stands over him, lifting one foot and gliding it along his chest before pressing it down, her painted toes pushing into his nipple. She regards him for a long moment, her face unreadable when he peeks through his folded arm to gaze up at her. Seconds later, she is laughing again and lifting her foot away before sauntering to the loo.

He can't help but think he's no longer in control of the situation, if he ever was in the first place.

***

Hermione staggers out of her own fireplace and catches herself on the back of the sofa, her fingers curling into the soft upholstery while her other hand flies to her mouth.

She's livid at Harry. Yes, that's it. A Slytherin! How dare he? Except that isn't quite right, because it's been the pair of them working for more inter-house cooperation since the war, so perhaps this is simply a logical outcome of that?

She's disappointed in him then. That must be it. A Slytherin... all right, that doesn't matter (she tells herself). But which Slytherin, well, that does matter more than a little. Is he really ready to forgive and forget just for the sake of a pair of big tits in a tight blouse?

(Well, of course she's noticed. Parkinson flashes the damn things all over town! Full and heavy where Hermione's are a bit more modest... Hermione can still see Parkinson's fingers moving over one of her tight nipples as Harry fucked her with his hand, her glossy nail polish catching the light).

She's... she's... oh. Manoeuvering herself down into the soft cushions of the sofa, it all becomes clearer. She's jealous. He asked, almost two years ago now, long enough after Ron had left for Romania. He asked her if he could kiss her, that night surrounded by wine bottles, slumped on her living room floor with sofa cushions falling on them. He asked if it would be okay for them to try. He asked if she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

She said no.

(She lied).

Her head falls back against the sofa. He's not going to wait for her anymore. He's going to spread Pansy Parkinson out on his floor instead of Hermione, and he's going to press inside her and make her beg for more. He's not going to ask Hermione those questions again. She didn't realise she wanted him to.

***

Merlin's tits, Granger is dressed like a Victorian nun.

"More wine?" Pansy drawls, leaning her head on one fist while she refills her own glass, Granger's meal untouched before her.

"Oh! No, no, not for me." Granger rushes to stop Pansy with her palms raised, as if the wine bottle is a bulldozer about to raze some precious piece of forest. Pansy almost laughs. Oh, how apt.

Across the table, Harry picks at a roll and sighs. "Hermione, look. I know this is kind of horrible for all of us, and I was definitely going to tell you another way, but now that it's done, just, do you think you can be–" he waves the bread in his hand, bits of butter dropping to the plate – "at least civil to Pansy?"

"Harry, you're a grown man," Granger snaps at him. "You can sleep with whoever you want. If this is what makes you happy, then, I'm– I'm happy for you." She waves her hand in Pansy's direction.

"This?" Pansy glances down her own body, smirking. She cups her hands under her breasts and lifts them a little bit, squeezing her cleavage and letting a hint of her lace bra peek through her blouse. Harry's grinning at her across the table, the shameless bastard. "I'm a this, Potter. How exciting for me."

The grin fades, and he gives her a warning look.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Granger says, her jaw tight. Her eyes are on Harry, and when he's done narrowing his at Pansy, he meets Granger's gaze. No one speaks for a long moment, and Pansy takes a healthy swallow of wine while she ponders whether Harry and Granger might actually have developed some kind of wandless Legilimency after all these years. He reaches out and touches the side of Granger's face, his thumb grazing her cheek while his fingers tuck a lock of that wild hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," he says to her, and she drops her gaze, but her mouth is still tight.

This really won't do, Pansy decides, so she tries to lighten the moment. Rising, she slithers around the table to Harry, wrapping her arms around him from behind and moving her mouth against his ear. "After all you've been through together," she murmurs, loud enough for Granger to hear, "she's never seen you have sex before, is that it?"

Granger's mouth falls open. "When would I have seen that?"

"Oh, I don't know." Pansy flips open the top button of Harry's shirt and slides her hand in, watching Granger's face. Her tone sharpens. "Don't you ever look back over your shoulder when you're on your hands and knees?"

"Pansy." Harry's voice is low with warning.

Granger's eyes widen as that killer – if innocent – brain of hers catches up. She swallows hard. "Thank you for lunch, Harry," she bites out, throwing her napkin on the table and pushing her chair back. "I'll see you at work."

Smiling to herself, Pansy lowers her mouth again to nip at Harry's ear, but he's on her in a flash. Grasping the wrist of the hand still buried in his shirt, Harry pulls her around to face him, glaring. "Just when I thought I could trust you," he says quietly, and it's the distant note in his voice that crushes her.

Dammit. She wrung the confession from him later that night after Granger had stumbled back into the Floo; sleepy and content, she let Harry move over her gently for once, framing her face with his elbows and pushing slowly inside her again. In the darkness and the quiet of his bedroom, his mouth hot against her ear and his body thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm, he confessed to her that somewhere along the way he'd fallen a little bit in love with Granger, that even though she'd rejected him, he still sometimes fantasised about touching her, riding her, making her moan and gasp. Her mind alive with those images, Pansy kissed him breathlessly as he came, her own body clenching around him.

She sighs, standing up straight.

"Damn you." She flicks her fingers against the back of his head, but he ducks out of the way. She's worked hard for this, for the chance to redeem herself and let Harry know what he does to her, how valued he makes her feel. She'd rather not fuck that up just because he'll never stop wondering what Granger's tight little cunt would feel like around his dick. "Granger," she calls down the corridor. "Don't storm out like that. It's too melodramatic, and that's my department, not yours." She reaches the front door and finds Granger hesitating with her hand around the doorknob. She won't come to Harry's by Floo anymore, he says, which Pansy finds unutterably amusing.

She places one hand on Granger's shoulder.

"I'm embarrassed," says Pansy, ducking her head a bit, "horrified, even, by what you saw. I deal with things like that by making jokes." She tries to look apologetic, but Granger isn't looking at her face anyway; her eyes are glued to Pansy's hand where it touches her. Well. Isn't that interesting. She turns Granger slowly towards her, standing too close and making sure her large breasts brush Granger's arm.

Granger's eyes flutter closed for a split second. "It's not my business," she says, gritting her teeth.

"No," Pansy agrees, "but it could be." Slowly, Pansy guides Granger's hand down until her fingers (short, neat nails; Pansy catalogues that) brush Pansy's left breast. Her blouse is already unbuttoned too far, the pale skin of her cleavage drawing both Harry and Granger's gazes over lunch, Pansy knew, and now she strokes Granger's fingers and slides them into her shirt. Granger doesn't pull back.

She guides Granger by the wrist, but it's Granger's fingers doing all the work. Light but determined, they seem to take on a mind of their own. This wasn't quite the plan, but Pansy can't slow her breathing when Granger's slender fingers push further into Pansy's bra, the tips grazing her nipple. Pansy tries to hold in a gasp, not wanting to scare Granger away. Granger stretches her fingers out, her palm warm and the heel of her hand resting against Pansy's breastbone as she gives a light squeeze. Merlin. She's used to men handling her much more roughly, burying their faces in her tits and moaning about how big and beautiful they are; Granger's light, tentative touch is slowly driving her mad.

Pansy raises her eyes to find Harry at the kitchen door, slumped against the wall with his lips parted.

She leans in and brushes a kiss against Granger's temple. "I haven't stolen anything from you," she whispers, loud enough for Harry to hear. "You can still have him, if you want."

Harry's low groan makes Granger's eyes snap open. She withdraws her hand, trembling from head to toe, and takes a deep breath before meeting Pansy's gaze.

"The catch, of course," Pansy continues, "is that I come with him." She reaches down and finishes unbuttoning her blouse, letting it flutter open to reveal her low-cut bra and the warm skin spilling out of it. She can see Granger's eyes fall to Pansy's nipples, large and pink under the lace.

"Hermione." Harry doesn't move towards them, but the raw note in his voice makes both Pansy and Granger look to him. "She's right," he breathes. "She hasn't taken me from you. If you– God." He buries one hand in his hair for a moment. "If you want, you can... anytime..."

"Oh. God. Harry. I–" Granger's damn brain has clicked back in place again, overpowering her senses and intuition. She straightens herself and clears her throat. "No. Thank you. I– that won't be necessary." With one last panicked look at Pansy, she flings the door open and hurries out.

Harry is still for a long time after she leaves, but then he looks at Pansy, and she sees the arousal on his face. "Pans," he chokes out, striding down the hall. "Jesus, Pans." He frames her face and kisses her deeply, pushing her against the wall and grinding his erection against her stomach. "Tell me what she felt like." He steps back and rips her bra down, filling his hands with her breasts and closing his mouth over one nipple.

She grips his hair. "Soft. Gentle. Like she'd break me if she kept touching. But she wanted to, I– oh." Her body catches fire at the barrage of attention to her nipples, as Harry drags his thumb over one and his teeth over the other, then switches. "I know she did. Has she ever– with women? Do you know?"

Harry doesn't answer, but he nearly sobs against her chest. He straightens again and tears his jeans open, pushing her skirt up and stuffing himself inside her as quickly as he can. She nearly shouts at the sudden stretch, but she's been aching and desperate for too long now, and the feel of him hot and hard inside her nearly shatters her remaining senses. "Would you?" he pants into her neck. "With her?"

"You want to watch?"

He tilts his hips and drives into her hard. He's coming fast and deep, shuddering against her and grinding until his balls begin to chafe at her. As he slips out, he pushes his fingers through the wetness, rubbing her in steady circles. She clutches at his shoulders and tries to stay upright on her trembling legs. "Want her," he murmurs. "Want you. All of it. Anything."

She comes with a shiver, Harry's thick fingers contrasting with the memory of Granger's light touch.

***

His office is a mess, his inbox is piled to his ear, the tea at his elbow has long gone cold, and Harry can't stop thinking about Pansy and Hermione.

How did this happen? He could have had something with Hermione; he knows he could have. Ron's been arse over tit for that friend of Fleur and Gabrielle's for, what, three years now? He wouldn't have cared. But she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't. He could tell she wanted to, every moment they spent together, but for whatever reason, she wouldn't. And now, just when he's gone and fallen in love with someone else, she's back in the picture, and now she would.

Well, if Pansy is to be believed, at least. She might, at any rate.

She might what – sleep with him and Pansy? He flings his quill across the desk, burying his face in his hands. This is fucking insane.

"Knock knock."

He raises his head to see Hermione peering around his door.

"Um, need a new quill?" She grins at him as she gestures at the carnage.

"I– yeah." He runs his hands through his hair. "Need a new life."

Her grin falls at that. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, and out of curiosity about what she'll do, he lets the silence stand. Finally, she clears her throat. "Harry, about what happened."

If she thinks he's going to cut her off, she's wrong. He sits back in his chair, still curious.

"I just– okay, I'm sorry I seem to have– inappropriately touched your girlfriend." Her face flushes deeply. "In your house. While, um, you were in the next room."

"I wasn't in the next room the whole time," he reminds her, "and it's not like I wanted to stop you."

She takes a deep, trembling breath. "You should have."

"Why?"

"Because! Harry Potter, what is wrong with you?"

He sighs. That hits a bit too close to home. "Hermione," he says quietly, rising and coming around his desk to stand in front of her. "She wanted you to. One thing I've learned about Pansy Parkinson lately is that nothing happens in her orbit without her consent. So don't worry about that."

Her face drawn with worry, Hermione slumps against the back of the door.

He cups the side of her face. "Look, I know it would be easier just to pretend the other night never happened and we all just continue on with our lives, but it did happen. And I know we were never supposed to talk about that other thing again, that night with the wine, but it happened too. Hermione, you know that I'm still attracted to you."

"Harry, don't–"

"You know it." He frames her face with both hands now, searching her gaze. "And you can't tell me you didn't feel anything, watching us the other night. I know you did. Pansy and I both know it. Do you know–"

"Harry, stop it." She grasps both his wrists but doesn't try to push him away.

He grits his teeth. "Do you know how hard we fucked the rest of that night, telling each other what you'd be doing if you were watching?"

Her mouth falls open.

Before she can object or run off, Harry presses his thumbs lightly up to her cheeks and kisses her. She nearly collapses against his chest, a sob tearing from her throat, but her hands immediately curl around the back of his neck, hauling him in closer. Her fingers tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, her tongue light and soft against his, and oh, Christ, Pansy will either kill him or keep him forever after this.

Hermione pulls back at last, panting, her eyes wet. She stares at him a moment before shaking her head. "No. Oh, God, no no no. Harry, I can't. This is crazy!"

"Thursday night. Hermione, please. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Just watch us." Has he lost his fucking mind? He's going to lose his best friend because his dick has wandered completely out of his control. Still, he can't help praying she says yes.

But she only gives him one more quiet kiss, slides her hands down his neck to straighten his robes, and backs away. She's opened the door and is striding off down the hall before he can stop her.

***

On Thursday night, Hermione drinks far too much before she even gets to Harry's house.

When she steps inside, Parkinson (Pansy now, she supposes, after all that's happened) doesn't even take her cloak or make awkward small talk. She slides her arm around Hermione's waist and kisses her, soft and reserved but still a little bit dirty in the way she chases after Hermione's bottom lip when Hermione makes to pull back. She pours Hermione a glass of wine, instructs her to shed as much clothing as she'd like, and then promptly does the same herself.

Clad only in a devilish set of bra and knickers, Pansy approaches Harry on the sofa and climbs into his lap.

"Let's see how quickly we can convince her she wants this," Pansy murmurs, loud enough for Hermione to hear.

Hermione's mouth falls open as Pansy opens Harry's jeans just like that, curls her index finger around the seam of her knickers to hold them to the side, and sinks down onto Harry's thick cock. A rush of wetness and throbbing floods Hermione, and oh, Merlin, this was not the reaction she expected. Not this quickly, at least. Pansy's breasts sway as she rides Harry, and he's groaning as he grasps her hips and thrusts up, his eyes drifting to Hermione every so often.

"Don't be shy, Granger," says Pansy, glancing back over her shoulder. "You know you like this."

She does. Oh God, she does. This is so dirty and wrong and Harry is her best friend, and she bloody hates Pansy Parkinson, but she can't deny that they are unspeakably beautiful together. Harry's murmuring in her ear, making her bite her lip and grin at him, and he's touching her breasts exactly the way Hermione would if she could, neither rough nor gentle, putting his mouth on her nipples, and Pansy's arching her back and grinding down on his cock. Hermione wants to smooth her hand over Pansy's arse, curl it under her body to feel Harry's dick pushing into her, maybe slide her own fingers alongside it. She wants to climb on top of Harry when Pansy is done, letting Pansy spread Hermione open for him. She wants to feel Harry's hands and Pansy's mouth on her. She wants to swallow Harry's cock and press her fingers inside Pansy. She wants to... she wants to...

She comes before either of them, slumped in a decorative chair near the living room door with her hand shoved roughly up her skirt.

At her sharp cry, Pansy turns away from Harry and climbs off him, ignoring his half-hearted protest. He takes over himself, running his fist up his length as he watches Pansy approach Hermione. When she gets there, her knickers riding high on her hips and the curve of her arse, she straddles Hermione's lap and lets Hermione feel her wetness even through the knickers. Leaning in close, Pansy takes Hermione's earlobe between her teeth.

"Come upstairs," she murmurs. "There's plenty more where that came from."

Still trembling, Hermione never even considers saying no.

***

It's Pansy's turn to watch. She wouldn't mind being on the bed with them, not at all, but this has been pent up between them for too long. They need this for themselves; she gets that.

It's taken Granger weeks to get to this point, to be willing to do more than kiss and touch herself. She let Pansy bring her off with her mouth once, and let Harry come down her throat another time. But fully relegating Pansy to the sidelines... this is new. Pansy tells herself not to be worried. It's only fair, after all the things Pansy and Harry have had Granger watch.

Once Granger gets herself unbuttoned and out of those frumpy robes, she's much more beautiful than Pansy has ever given her credit for. Her skin is olive where Pansy's is pale, her breasts smaller than Pansy's but still full and gorgeous in Harry's hands. Her hips are curvier and her thighs have more muscle. Her arse is a handful, round and full. She hasn't shaved herself as thoroughly as Pansy does, but she is still neat between her legs. Pansy licks her lips and slides her fingers down her stomach and along the insides of her thighs.

"Can you see?" That's Granger, to Pansy's surprise, not Harry. He looks back over his shoulder and gives Pansy a little smile, like a boy unwrapping a new toy. Pansy only nods, taking a sip of her wine with one hand while the other slips down to where she's already wet from watching them kiss and undress each other, watching the way Granger knelt on the bed and took Harry's cock in her mouth, watching Harry push two fingers into her while she sucked.

"You're fucking gorgeous, Granger," she purrs.

Blushing, Granger lies down on her back – of course, Pansy thinks with a hidden roll of her eyes, but to each their own – and spreads her legs. Harry falls on top of her with a deep moan, kissing up her neck and tangling his hands in her hair.

"She's right," Harry breathes, his fingers flicking at her nipples. "So beautiful."

Granger's fingers are light against Harry's dick, touching it like it will shatter as she guides it between her legs. Pansy can tell he's almost whimpering from holding himself back; this will not be anything like how Pansy and Harry fuck, hard and desperate and with breaking, shattering each other, the very goal. But then, isn't he lucky? He can fuck Pansy hard and Granger softly, and in between, Pansy has her own plans for making Granger writhe and scream, biting her cheek so hard she'll draw blood from the things Pansy's going to teach her to beg for.

The cords of Granger's neck tighten as Harry enters her, slow and steady. When he's fully inside, he lifts himself up, locking his arms, and gazes down at her. Pansy reminds herself again not to be worried, even though she knows she'll never have with either of them the kind of all-encompassing love they have for each other.

"Hermione," whispers Harry, his voice tight. "Wanted this for so long."

She only smiles up at him, but then she does something else that catches Pansy off guard. She looks over his shoulder, catching Pansy's gaze. For a moment, Pansy isn't sure what she's supposed to do, until she realises Granger needs Pansy's permission reaffirmed. She gives Granger a slow, sultry smile, and nods her head. "Fuck her, Harry," she murmurs, watching his arse clench as he pulls out to the tip and slowly slides back in. "Fuck her like you've told me you want to."

Granger gasps, her gaze flying to Pansy again. "Told... oh..."

"Oh yes." Pansy keeps her voice low, trying to help the mood rather than interrupt it. "When he fucks me, Granger, he tells me how he's fantasised about being inside you. 'Best friends,' my arse. He's wanted to fuck you since he knew what the word meant. Hold you down and slide inside you. Fill you up. Let you wrap your legs around him and pull him deeper, moaning his name." She shifts in the chair, the tips of her fingers sinking inside her as she talks.

"Pansy."

She looks up sharply to see Granger's eyes on her again, the gasp of her name still shaping Granger's lips. Her eyes flutter closed a moment later, though, with one hand lodged in Harry's hair and one around his shoulder. She hauls him over top of her again and again, her legs spread wide and his slow but steady thrusts starting to knock the headboard against the wall.

"Pans, Jesus," Harry echoes, his moan hushed by his mouthful of Granger's hair. His entire body covers her, their chests and thighs lining up as easily as their hips, as though their bodies were meant to do this, and Pansy feels another pang of concern. "Hermione," he says in the next breath, as if to erase Pansy's name, and he's grunting now, his hips grinding in harder, Granger's thick mess of hair spilling across the pillow.

Pansy's fingers fall slack, and her stomach turns over. Swallowing hard, she quietly rises and pads to the door.

"Fuck," Harry is still moaning in Granger's ear. "Fuck, Hermione, so perfect... Can I...? I'm sorry, I have to..."

As she clicks the door shut behind her, Pansy can only just make out Granger answering, "Come inside me. God, Harry, God."

In the kitchen, Pansy pulls her dressing gown over herself and lights a cigarette, staring out at the moonlit night.

***

Hermione is kissing him breathless, her fingers tight in his hair while the last of his orgasm pulses inside her. She pants against his mouth, her body still rippling over his cock, and he can't manage words beyond moaning and swearing. He still had his fantasies, but he long ago stopped allowing himself to believe they could ever be real.

He pulls out of her gently and rolls over, wrapping his arms around her and letting her rest her head on his chest.

"We could have been doing that all this time?" she ventures after a quiet moment, and Harry can feel the curve of her lips against his skin.

He laughs. "Yeah." But that's not quite right, because if they had been, chances are he would never have found Pansy. He can't quite explain it, especially when he's just been given his heart's desire, but he can't erase these last six months with Pansy, either.

He blinks, then bolts upright, earning a sleepy protest from Hermione.

"Where's Pansy?"

Hermione sits up just as suddenly at that. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Hermione closes her eyes. "Bugger. I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for her to– Bugger." She massages her temples before opening her eyes again. When she does, she frames his face in her hands and kisses him, her lips soft and urgent against his. "Go," she says quietly.

He grabs his jeans from the floor and hurries downstairs. He finds Pansy in the kitchen, still radiant in the moonlight with a cloud of smoke about her head and her dressing gown falling loose at her chest. She scratches her forehead with the hand holding her cigarette before glancing up as he enters. She doesn't say anything and doesn't need to; it's all etched in her face. Fantastic. He's finally found a way to break through Pansy's famous mask. He's always teasing her about showing any emotion other than lust, but she just laughs at him and rolls her eyes before pushing all her feelings just a bit further down.

Not tonight.

He takes the chair beside her and slumps into it. After a moment, she offers him a cigarette. He takes it and lights it. Not as much of a smoker as she is, he still appreciates having something to do with his hands and his mouth until he can gather his thoughts.

His first thought now is, I've buggered up.

His second is, I can't lose this.

When Pansy raises her eyes to his at last, he also realises he doesn't know which woman he means.

***

Hermione doesn't hear anything downstairs for a long time. She huddles on the bed and tries to fight back tears, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

This isn't how things are supposed to go. This isn't how life is supposed to go! Dammit, she should have just married Ron, had a couple of kids, and kept her sexual fantasies tucked away with the vibrator in her sock drawer for the times when Ron was out of town. Now she's running around acting on them, not only sleeping with her best friend just because she's always wondered what it would be like, but she's as good as sleeping with his girlfriend, too, and just, it's not how life is supposed to go.

Harry cannot have two girlfriends at the same time, no matter what Pansy and her perverted mind might say. It's not right. And of course she knows it's possible for a woman (or a man, for that matter), to have desire for both sexes, to sleep with both a man and a woman at the same time, even, but not her. It's too...

She chews her bottom lip.

... scandalous. Confusing. She glances at the door. Heartbreaking.

The moon rises higher in the sky as Hermione lets a few more minutes pass. Then she comes to a decision. She climbs off the bed, shivering at the ache between her legs – Merlin, Harry is bigger than she thought – and pulls on a loose t-shirt and track pants she finds in his closet. She shakes her hair out and pads downstairs, shoring up her determination. If they're plotting about how they're going to freeze her out and go back to the way they were before, well, she has more than a few things to say about that. And if Harry has some harebrained idea about letting Pansy down easy so he can be with Hermione, well, she's going to lock his bollocks in a cage and throw away the key, the idiot.

When she enters the kitchen, however, they aren't talking at all. Harry is taking a long drag on a cigarette, the filter clenched tightly in the fingers of one hand while the other possessively covers Pansy's. Pansy is staring down at their joined hands as if she hasn't yet decided whether or not to pull away. Outside, a stray branch rattles in the wind, knocking against the glass of the window.

They both look up at her and give her small smiles as she enters, Pansy's full of regret and Harry's full of apology. Neither will do. Hermione steps up behind Pansy first, drawing her hair gently off her face and back over her shoulders. She smoothes it down while Pansy leans her head back, her eyes falling shut, and then Hermione's hands come to rest on Pansy's shoulders. She leans down and kisses Pansy's temple, letting her hands slide down just a hint below her collarbone.

"Thank you," she murmurs. She feels Pansy relax a bit under her hands before she lifts them away.

Moving to the side, she does the same thing to Harry. His heart is beating much faster under her fingers than Pansy's was. Then, she moves around to the other side of the table and pulls out a chair. Seating herself, she looks at them squarely before holding out each of her hands.

"I haven't stolen anything from you," she says quietly but with determination. "Either of you." She takes one of their hands in each of hers, lowering her gaze to the table and taking a deep breath. "Let me in."

The wind dies down and the branch outside quiets. Inside, Hermione feels, something new is beginning.

***

"Ignore him. Ignore him, Granger. I'm the one fucking you right now. He's just sitting in that chair like a pervert, isn't he? He only wishes he could have you tonight, but you're mine, aren't you? Oh, you pretty little slut, spreading your legs like that for either one of us."

Harry bites back a groan, his mind fogged with arousal, as he watches Pansy push one more finger into Hermione. Four months after Hermione's fateful Floo accident, the three of them still can't get enough of each other. Harry's dick is chafed, and Pansy is going to have to stop smoking after sex or she'll have no lungs left, and Hermione has taken to bisexuality and polyamory like they're her new research projects. He fights back a grin at the thought of her signing books out of the library on the subjects. But on the other hand, how else to explain how fucking brilliant she is at everything they ask her to do?

"What makes you think I want anything from you, Parkinson?" growls Hermione, sliding up the bed as if to get away from Pansy, but her legs are still spread and she's dripping wet.

Pansy crawls after her, predatory, on her hands and knees. "Because I know you. I know what you do when I'm not here, stuffing Potter's filthy cock up your cunt like a whore, letting him come all over you until you're covered in it."

Harry whimpers.

"Tonight you're my whore," Pansy continues, holding Hermione down and straddling her. She grinds down on Hermione's hipbone, letting it graze her clit, and reaches behind her to run her fingers up Hermione's thighs. This is one of Pansy's favourite games, taking charge and trying to dirty talk Hermione into blushing like a virgin. But the last names are all Hermione's idea, and she gets off on this scene just as much as Pansy does.

And Harry, Christ, it's not like he's picky. He knows they're different when they're alone; Pansy is softer with Hermione, slower, her touches drawn out and languid instead of hard and fast. He also knows that Pansy is more inclined to let Hermione dominate when the two of them are alone. In the threesome, though, they have all learned that Hermione loves nothing more than being held down by either Harry or Pansy, or both of them, and fucked senseless.

"Harry," complains Hermione, wetting her lips and affecting a pout, "tell her I'm not."

"Not wet for her?" Harry rises from his chair and pushes his jeans and pants the rest of the way down. Ignoring Pansy's protests, he climbs onto the bed. "You know she hates it when you lie."

"Get off, you brute," Pansy sniffs, shoving at him playfully. "You're just watching tonight."

"Pans." He gives her his best innocent look, nipping kisses to her shoulder. "Let me?"

She shivers under his touch, but pretends to roll her eyes. "Oh, fine. But bring Granger in line first, would you? She's being awfully mouthy."

"Is she, now?" Harry crawls towards Hermione, his body already drowning with arousal at the way she can make herself look so innocent in bed with them, when he knows by now that she's nothing of the sort. He fists his prick and straddles her. When he pushes inside her, her eyes go wide.

"That's pretty daring, Harry," she gasps, her back arching, "trying to stake your claim over Parkinson."

"Or maybe," Pansy purrs, watching them from the side of the bed, "he's only trying to prove my point." She flashes Harry a grin, and he returns it, giving Hermione one more slow, deep thrust.

"Yeah, I think Pansy's right," he says, pulling out of Hermione. "You're her whore tonight. But you," he adds to Pansy, his lips brushing her ear, "are mine." Both women groan at that.

Harry moves behind Pansy and plants his palm over her arse, his thumb angled to sweep over her wetness and tease her entrance. He soon replaces it with his cock, letting the tip glide over her, back and forth, until she almost has to drop her role-play with Hermione. Her breathing is erratic and it's taking everything she has to keep her face neutral, he knows, but her cunt is already pulsing, the waves of her arousal strong against his dick before he even enters her.

"Tease," Hermione mutters at him from underneath Pansy, but she winks and grins for a split second. "She's going to do the same thing to me that you do to her, you understand."

Pansy grins wickedly as her fingers fall still outside Hermione's body. "What do you want, Granger?"

"Inside me," Hermione breathes, dropping the game as her head hits the pillow. "Please. This is torture."

Pansy glances back over her shoulder at Harry. "That it is," she bites out, glaring. "So, Potter. Does your little slut deserve to get fucked before I do?"

"She's all yours," Harry repeats, reaching around Pansy to slide one teasing finger through Hermione's wetness. She moans, tilting her hips up for more contact. "How much do you deserve to get fucked, Pans?" he murmurs, his dick still teasing her.

"How much do you deserve two gorgeous fucking women in your bed?" she shoots back. "Maybe we're going to decide you don't deserve that, hm? What do you think, Granger?" She turns back to Hermione, leaning down to lap at her nipple. "Should we kick him out and have our own fun tonight?"

"I'm thinking we should," says Hermione, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth to hide her grin.

He knows they wouldn't, not really, and he knows there are times when they do satisfy each other without him, and he loves that; that's not the problem. But now, when he's already hard and desperate? "I'm thinking you should both shut the fuck up and spread your legs," he growls, and with that, he pushes deep into Pansy in one thrust, his dick sucked into her wet heat.

Pansy arches her back and gives a long, low groan, sliding her palms down Hermione's stomach. "Merlin," she breathes. "Warn a girl."

Harry just presses in harder, gripping Pansy's hips and grinding in small circles against her arse. He can see over her shoulder to where she's got three fingers deep in Hermione again. He reaches out to wrap his hand around Hermione's calf. Her knee is raised beside them, and he always feels the need to touch both of them, even if he's technically only fucking one. She is arching underneath Pansy, touching her own breasts and every so often catching Harry's eye and giving him a lazy, blissed out smile.

"Quit – ah – flirting with my girl, Potter," snarls Pansy, even as she pushes back against Harry's cock. She lowers herself from one hand to her elbows, twisting her wrist to get deeper inside Hermione while moving her mouth over Hermione's clit. Harry can't see what she's doing anymore, but he can hear the sounds of Pansy's tongue lapping at Hermione, making her writhe and twist underneath her.

Hermione begins to shudder in seconds, her leg trembling under Harry's hand and her breathing hitched. Pansy draws it out, her tongue circling slowly as Hermione comes with a breathy gasp, her fingers gripping Pansy's shoulder. Christ, Harry will never tire of that vision. As much as he loves watching Pansy's orgasms too, there is an innocence to Hermione that can only come from knowing her so long. Seeing her like this never fails to excite him even more.

Hermione catches Pansy as she moves up her body, wrapping her arms around her and letting her bury her face in Hermione's neck. Harry continues to drive into Pansy from behind, earning little gasps from both women.

"Can you come, baby?" he hears Hermione whisper, the name reserved only for Pansy and only for moments like this, and Harry clamps his thumb and forefinger around his dick to stave off his orgasm a moment longer.

"Not with him– jackhammering me like that, oh, Christ, Potter." Pansy pounds her fist into the mattress beside Hermione's hip, but Harry knows it isn't a complaint. She likes being taken roughly from behind like this, even if it means taking care of her own orgasm only after he's come.

"Oh, this is nothing, Pans," he mutters, gripping her hips even tighter. He fucks her fast and deep, making sure she can feel every inch of him. Hermione holds Pansy tightly as Harry begins to come, his dick driving in hard and staying there, pulsing inside her and shooting waves of come. He groans over her back, kissing her skin and releasing his death grip on her hips. He lets himself pulse for another few moments before pulling out.

When he does, Hermione immediately pushes a boneless Pansy over onto her back and plants her hands on either of Pansy's thighs to spread them. Hermione lowers her head and laps at her, Harry's come bright on her tongue. He flops down to the bed and watches her, moving only to take one of Pansy's nipples between his teeth as she gets close.

"Oh," Pansy breathes. "Fuck. Christ. Don't fucking stop, either of you." Hermione pauses only to grin up at Harry, her tongue circling Pansy fiercely. When Pansy finally squeezes Harry's arm and pushes him away from her sensitive breasts, Hermione has to hold her hips down as she comes. She arches back against the bed and shudders, collapsing a moment later with her hand gently stroking Hermione's head.

***

"Toast?"

"Nah, I'm late for work. I'll grab something at the Ministry."

"All right, Harry, but make sure you eat before lunch or you'll be a beast to Strathmore again, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah. You coming?"

"I'm right behind you. Just looking at Pansy's numbers."

"They're right, Granger," grumbles Pansy, downing her coffee. "If Malkin's wants an 18 percent cut, they're going to have to do better than all white fabric four times a year."

"I know, I just want to make sure they're not taking advantage of you."

"Me?" She leans in and kisses Hermione, grinning against her lips. "They wouldn't dare. Oh, yes, goodbye, darling." She turns her head to accept Harry's kiss as well. "Eat your breakfast like a good boy, or Granger won't wear the maid's outfit tonight."

Hermione rolls her eyes.

His hand on the Floo powder jar, Harry pauses and turns back to them. "Are we– this is mad, right?" He sighs. "All of it?"

"Completely," agrees Pansy.

Hermione swats at her arm, but eyes Harry with concern. "Yes, Harry, it's a little unconventional, but we're happy, right?"

He grins. "Yeah."

"Well, then."

"Stop worrying about it, is what she means," says Pansy, rising from the table and dropping her mug in the sink. "Besides," she adds, folding her arms and glaring at them, "it's not like either of you have to explain this little arrangement to Draco one day."




-fin-



Feedback is always appreciated! You can leave a comment on Livejournal if you don't have an IJ account. :)