Title: Broken Vows
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/his hand, Harry/Ron/Hermione, Harry/Hermione, Ron/Hermione, mentions of Harry/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Length/Word Count: One-shot, 1453 words
Genre: Flangst/Smut/Romance
Summary: Over the years Harry makes several vows he finds he just can’t keep.
Notes: Written for the September 1, 2007 bbtp_challenge, though its not as porny as I’d planned. Thanks to quite_grey for looking this over. All remaining mistakes are mine. Please pay careful attention to the rating and warnings if such things concern you. Comments and concrit are most welcome!
Highlight for Warnings: * Explicit masturbation, slash, het, threesomes, compliant through DH but not the epilogue—however no implicit spoilers, this fic starts in fourth year (Harry’s 14) so there’s explicit underage masturbation. *
Disclaimer: All characters and such are the property of JKR and others. This isn’t for profit, just for fun!



Broken Vows


The first time he wanked over her was after the Yule Ball.

Her angry voice echoed in his mind as he drew the curtains shut around his bed, grateful that the dorm was empty. He lay on top of the covers, slipped his hand beneath his waistband and stifled a gasp as his fingers curled around his cock.

He tried to think of Cho—tried to imagine her lips, her silky hair, how she might kiss him after a particularly risky dive to catch the snitch, wings fluttering against his palm as he pulled her closer—but the images flitted away one by one, all replaced with her.

Harry groaned, biting her name off his tongue, his wrist moving as fast as the small confines of his pajamas would allow. He knew it would be easier if he just took them off, but it was better that this was hidden because it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be hard over his best friend just because tonight she wore dress robes and pinned up her hair and had curves—curves like a girl that he’d never noticed before because he never should have noticed, and he shouldn’t be touching himself, shouldn’t imagine his palm was hers, that the dark splotch over his groin was caused by her mouth, that her tongue and her fingers and her—

Harry let out a silent cry as he arched off the bed, splattering the inside of his pajamas with his come; his lips formed her name, Hermione.


Harry vowed it would never happen again. He kept that promise for over a year.

--

The next time his desires crept upon him so slowly that afterward he would tell himself it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t seen it coming, and clearly Voldemort possessing him the year before had messed up his brain somehow.

He was at the Burrow lazing about the pond with Ron. Hermione appeared moments later wearing a blue swimming outfit—the same periwinkle blue as her dress robes from the Yule Ball. The colour was enough to launch Harry back to that night, but this was worse—much worse. Before yards of fabric had merely suggested her curves, but now they were blatantly displayed as she splashed around in the pond sniping playfully with Ron, her bathing costume growing damp in all the wrong places.

It’s not fair, Harry thought as he licked his lips, spying one of her nipples poking out beneath the blue. He groaned, barely realising that he’d made the sound aloud; he quickly glanced at Ron to see if he noticed, but based on the bulge in Ron’s shorts, Harry knew he was probably the last thing on Ron’s mind.

Feigning a headache, Harry quickly excused himself and ran all the way to Ron’s room, casting a locking charm as soon as he shut the door behind him. He cast a silencing charm next, just to be safe, then tore off his t-shirt, wondering if down below by the pond, Hermione wasn’t yanking off Ron’s shirt as well.

Harry flopped back on Ron’s bed, shoving his shorts and underwear to his knees. His erection jutted out proudly, flushed, already glistening with pre-come. He swiped his thumb along the slit and closed his eyes.

Hermione was probably already undoing Ron’s shorts, laying him flat on the ground, and Ron—he would lift his hips as she pulled his pants off. Her lips would be wet, her mouth hot and tight, her bushy head would bob up and down in Ron’s lap, Ron would throw his head back and moan her name—

It’s not fair. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shut up the troublesome voice, tried to pretend in vain that he was wanking over his two best mates—he didn’t want to take Ron’s place, or even Hermione’s for that matter—he couldn’t be thinking of Ron that way—he just wanted—he just wanted—what?

Harry sped up his hand; the flush of his impending orgasm spread from his cock up over his stomach, his chest; the image of the three of them in a mess of arms and legs with him snug in the middle formed like a sharp crystal in his mind, and he came with a strangled shout.

No, was Harry’s first coherent thought after he’d collapsed onto Ron’s pillow in a heaving ball of guilt.

He convinced himself he was just jealous of being left out. That was the only rational explanation.


And he vowed it would never ever happen again.

--

During the search for the horcruxes, the confused and jumbled months before Voldemort’s defeat, it had been easy. Afterward he’d thrown himself into the relationship with Ginny because all he really wanted to be loved, to belong; he knew Ginny could cure him off any lingering doubts, any lingering feelings that lurked in the dark parts of his mind.

But he would catch himself every now and then thinking of Hermione with Ginny’s head between his thighs. And sometimes when he took her from behind, if it was dark enough he could squint and almost be able to convince himself it was Ron he plunged into. The guilt faded with each repeat of his fantasies. His vows were pointless; he didn’t bother with them anymore.

And once—all it took was once—he cried out both of their names as he came inside her.

Ginny left without a word as soon as she’d managed to get dressed, and Harry knew that the farce was over.


It was almost a relief.

--

He wasn’t surprised when Ron and Hermione showed up at Grimmauld Place the next day, but they were oddly silent as he led them to the sitting room and offered them tea.

They both declined.

Harry sat on the sofa between them and picked at the frayed hole on his knee. No one spoke for several breaths, only the ticking clock on the mantel challenged the silence.

But Hermione’s fingers crept across Harry’s lap and covered his hand.

“We know,” she said.

Harry tried to smile, but his mind was racing for an excuse—something to explain his failed relationship with Ginny, anything other than the truth.

He wondered what Ginny had come up with.

“She told us, mate,” Ron said as if he’d been reading Harry’s mind. Ron gripped Harry’s shoulder tightly, and with one look Harry knew Ginny hadn’t come up with anything. She’d told them the truth.

Harry wanted to deny it first, then wanted to apologise, to explain, but no words would come and suddenly he didn’t need any because Ron kissed him.

--

It was all a blur after that. Hermione knelt between Harry’s legs and her mouth was everything he’d ever dreamt of, but more. She engulfed his cock without warning, her tongue teasing his shaft, swirling around the head as she bobbed up and down; her delicate fingers tugged his balls without mercy.

“She’s really good at that, isn’t she,” Ron whispered with a small chuckle, and Harry knew Ron was laughing at him—at his helpless whimpers and flushed cheeks, so Harry gripped Ron’s cock and pulled as harshly as he dared.

Ron hissed.

Harry managed a grin as he panted, “Yeah—I’m learning a lot.”

Ron raised his eyebrows but just then Harry twisted his wrist, and any response from Ron was swallowed up in a moan.

--

Their remaining clothes lay discarded in the stairwell as they managed somehow to make it to Harry’s bedroom, barely to the edge of Harry’s bed. He thrust into Hermione and Ron thrust into him from behind and all at once Harry was full, enveloped, complete.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione whispered, her palm on his cheek. Ron groaned; his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. They rocked together, awkward at first, but soon found their rhythm—hips and thighs and legs and arms moved with a dance they all knew somehow, then grew frantic, overcome with Yes and Yes and Yes. Harry cried out in chorus with Ron and Hermione, and then fell into a cocoon of blissful warmth.

And then came the sharp relief that this was real.

Harry’s head fell on Ron’s shoulder, Hermione on Harry’s chest; arms and legs flopped over him.

“Next time I’m in the middle,” Ron said.

“Hhrrumph.” Hermione clucked her tongue. “We’ll see about that.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. “You’ll both get your turn if I have anything to say about it.”


And as Harry fell asleep with Ron’s warm breath on his neck and Hermione nuzzling into his chest, he thought maybe, just maybe it was time for a new vow—one he could keep.

-Fin-







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