Happy springsmut, simons_flower! Author:sc010f Recipient:simons_flower Title: Finding a Place Rating:NC-17 Pairing(s):Harry/Ron/Hermione Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary:Harry has always been the special one, but after the War, can Ron find his place? Warnings:Threesome, language, explicit sexual content, slash Word Count: 3,700 words Author’s Notes: Thanks to J and L, the lovely and talented beta readers of my smut who prevented me from deleting this in a fit of anxiety and saved me from my html coding issues. simons_flower asked for, among other things, voyeurism, frottage, public!sex, first time sex, and smut with substance. Dear, I hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!
Finding a Place
Night
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
The sound of the bed against the wall.
He buries his head in his pillow. Maybe he can muffle the noise from the bedroom next door.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
"Harry, please, Harry, Harry, Harry."
Thump, scrape, scrape.
Merlin, make them stop, stop, stop, I can’t bear it, can’t, can’t, can’t!
"You know you like that, Hermione, you know you love the way my cock drives into your pussy."
Helpless, he fishes his painfully hard cock from his pajamas and comes into his fist, shuddering.
Panting, he rolls onto his back, unmindful of the stickiness on his hand.
Training-day
Harry flops down across from him.
"Tracking was fun today, wasn’t it?" he asks, grinning as he unwraps his sandwich.
Kreacher made them that morning, Hermione watching jealously.
He looks down at the table, sees the scuffed wood and puddle of coffee from a previous occupant.
"Yes," he answers. If he doesn’t look at him, he won’t see the tousled hair, the bright eyes, and the mouth that tempts him.
He knows it’s not just Harry, though.
"Ron?"
"Yeah, Harry?"
"You okay?"
"Yeah, Harry, fine. Never better. How 'bout Stealth? Can you imagine – Tonks is our instructor?"
Harry laughs and the moment passes.
His fists unclench.
Harry continues to talk about Stealth and Tracking and how living in a tent really helped them. Harry's good at both Tracking and Stealth, while he is only passable. He squirms a bit on his hard chair and sighs.
Harry's always good at making things look easy.
***
Stealth really does remind him of the days in the tent, sneaking, hiding.
Tonks praises Harry and then trips over her own feet. Harry laughs, but he doesn't, he bends and helps her up. She flashes him a smile and a wink.
He almost smiles back.
***
"Although we tend to think that the Dark Arts are defunct following the demise of You-Know – er, that is – Voldemort," the lecturer nods to Harry, and Harry pokes Ron – an afterthought. "We must have Aurors even more prepared for the threats that we face!"
He looks down at the table; he wants to be an Auror so that he can be with Harry. Harry's his best friend, and best friends do things together. But this feels wrong, as usual, as if he doesn't belong, as if he's Harry's shadow; again.
The lecturer drones on about Vigilance and Preparedness. He wonders if Moody originally taught this class and decides it must have been the case.
The lecturer pauses and then says,
"But we fight the Dark Arts not only with spells, counter-curses and potions."
He lifts his head.
"The Dark Arts are subtle, changing, and most akin to solving a puzzle. Few witches and wizards realize this. The Dark Arts are a chess game. If you, as an Auror, can determine the moves your enemy makes, you have a better chance of survival.
"So we rely on Vigilance, Preparedness, and most of all, Strategy. Having said that," the lecturer waves his wand, "before you are chess boards. Find a partner, and play."
A shocked murmur fills the room. Many Aurors are stunned – the Dark Arts as a game?
He looks at Harry and grins. He cannot remember a time when he wasn't able to best Harry at chess.
***
He wins three games in succession before the lecturer comes over.
"Let me see you two play again."
Harry's accustomed to losing to him at chess, and grins wryly as he is beaten in four moves.
"How long have you two been playing together?" asks the lecturer.
"Years," they say in unison and smile at each other. This is the camaraderie that he misses.
"Why don't you try me?" asks the lecturer. Harry obligingly moves aside and the lecturer resets the board.
He beats the lecturer twice. The lecturer raises his eyebrows.
"Weasley, why don’t you come with me," he says, "I have a project you might be interested in."
***
"So, what was it like?" Harry asks later.
"Amazing!” he replies, “there are all sorts of different people sitting and working together – from all kinds of backgrounds: teachers, scholars, Aurors, a Potioneer, shopkeepers, and even a member of the Wizengamot."
"What do you do?"
"Well, we talk. And I can't tell you what about, they've put a Secrecy Charm on me, but it's the most interesting thing . . . mostly. I don't understand all of what's going on, but I think I will soon if I keep it up."
"That’s terrific, Ron!"
"Lecturer Ryan says that I have a knack for seeing things differently," he cannot resist boasting a little. "That I can see patterns that nobody else can!"
Harry claps him familiarly on the back and smiles.
"Hermione always did say you had talent – just that you needed to find it."
"I think I may have just!"
He can't help feeling on top of the world. He does have talent.
He doesn't tell them that he's really about to become an Unspeakable. That's a secret he holds to his heart. It warms him for the rest of the day.
Night
The temptation to make the wall transparent is overwhelming.
He hears them again.
Thump, thump, thump, scrape.
Harry groans, gasping Hermione's name.
Why can't it be his name?
Thinking is acting and he settles against the pillows. A flick of his wand – at least it doesn't break every other time he tries to use it – and the wall opposite his bed disappears.
Harry has Hermione up against the wall. He is pounding into her from behind as she bends forward, hands braced.
He can see Hermione bent slightly and pressed against the wall of his bedroom as Harry thrusts into her.
Watching, transfixed, he studies Hermione and Harry together, in congress.
Something occurs to him as he watches them, and he is startled – he's been thinking that he's just bent, odd, irregular because he wants his best friend. But now, watching them both together, he realizes he wants his best friends.
Both of them.
He can see Hermione's breasts, full, just as he remembers from those frenzied moments stolen in the tent two years ago: cold and scared, turning to wherever they could find security.
But now, her body has filled out – become the body of a woman: she has the hips and breasts of a woman, her legs spread, her pussy, neatly trimmed thatch of brown hair, and then oh, fuck, fuck, fuck: he can see Harry behind her.
He can see Harry's head, bent over Hermione's shoulder, his hands, covering hers. And he can see Harry's cock, sliding in and out of Hermione, thick and hard. Harry's cock glistens in the half-light of the bedroom.
He reaches into his pajamas and pulls out his own painfully hard cock.
But this time, he doesn't bring himself to the hard, fast orgasm of the night before. He watches as Harry's hand reaches down, caresses a breast and moves further down to rub Hermione's clit.
Hermione groans, throwing back her head.
"Harry," she whispers, "I'm going to come…"
"Oh, gods, yes, Hermione," Harry gasps.
Harry's movements are more frantic, as he thrusts.
Hermione groans again, and he can see the blush spreading down her neck, down to her lovely breasts.
His movements match Harry's now, thrusting into his fist, and then Hermione comes and with a strangled shout Harry follows her.
He groans his agony as he comes with Harry.
His last thought before he sleeps is that he came with Harry.
Breakfast
He cannot forget that he came with Harry.
He cannot forget that he also wants to be the one to make Hermione come. As teenagers, it had been too fast, too fumbling for real pleasure.
But now – she is a woman, and he and Harry are men – men who can control themselves, who can learn to pleasure a woman, to make her unravel between them.
He wonders what is wrong with him as he adjusts his trousers, tighter now with his swelling erection.
Gods, Weasley, not at the breakfast table, he thinks.
Hermione grumbles over her coffee at the Prophet. Harry grins at her and tucks into his cereal.
As he stands in the doorway, he wonders why he is still living at Grimmauld Place.
"Are you coming?" Harry asks.
He turns and flees. He no longer wants breakfast.
Morning Meeting
He sits quietly as the Potioneer and the Curse Breaker argue.
It was a shock to see his brother sitting there, scarred and in business robes, but Bill grinned at him encouragingly and welcomed him to the team. It was Bill who told him that they don’t really refer to each other by name here, but by nickname or profession.
Bill’s nickname is "Fang" for the earring he still sports.
The Potioneer is dark and foreboding, scowling at everyone, arguing vehemently and snorting derisively at what he calls "foolishness," but never overtly nasty to anyone.
The Potioneer wears high-necked robes, and there is a scar peeping from the top of the collar.
He feels like he should recognize the Potioneer from somewhere, but he can't place him.
On the other side of the table, the Quibbler Editor scribbles doodles on a pad.
"This is ridiculous!" snarls the Potioneer.
"Only because you aren’t seeing both sides of the issue," protests Bill.
Staring at the parchment before him he sees the answer suddenly, it is clear as day.
He chokes back an amazed shout.
"Are you quite well, young man?" asks the Quibbler Editor.
"Yes," he gasps, but cannot suppress the laughter – the solution is so obvious, so clear, why did nobody else see it?
"Look," he finally says, "look at what happens every time we do this."
Lunch Break
"I'm done for the afternoon," Harry announces when he finally meets him at the Floos.
"Me too," he replies, grinning; the rest of the morning had been a triumph – he had been right, and a family could be saved from a time-delayed Dark Curse.
"Want to get some lunch?"
He smiles, he's not as hungry as he always was growing up, but he and Harry have taken to having lunches in Muggle pubs recommended by Hermione.
***
Several pints later, both he and Harry are comfortably squiffy.
He is so happy to be with his friend, one of his best friends, squashed opposite each other in the tiny corner of the pub.
Harry's knee is close to his, and he's squiffy enough to place his hand on it. If he were sober, he'd never dare.
But Harry's knee is warm and he's squiffy as well. Harry smells of parchment and ink – apparently today was another day of lectures.
He’s reminded unaccountably of Hermione.
"Harry," he says, with no idea how to continue.
Harry doesn't reply, but looks up from his pint.
Harry's lips are wet from the beer, and his eyes are deep green. He licks his lips and smiles – a hand covering the one on his knee.
He is lost.
***
The alley is dank and reeks of urine and vomit, but he doesn't care because Harry is kissing him.
It is nothing like kissing a girl; it is teeth and tongues, but no softness.
Dimly, he realizes that they're not entirely hidden – that anybody could come into the alley.
He doesn't care, because Harry is kissing him.
Harry's erection presses into his. Helpless, they grind against each other. He knows he is going to come if he doesn't stop. Hardness meets hardness, his hands grasp Harry's arse and pull him closer.
He doesn't care if anybody sees them.
"Oh, gods," Harry gasps, grinding against him. They are helpless against each other.
And Harry is coming and coming, cursing, moaning, and gasping. He presses his mouth to Harry’s. Harry tastes of man and musk and is just damn perfect as he sags against the wall.
"Bloody hell, Ron."
And he is still hard, but what if Harry starts to think again? What if somebody comes into the alley? What has he done?
His fears are quieted when Harry looks down at him and grins.
"Let me," Harry gasps, reaching down to undo his trousers.
Harry's hand on his cock is bloody amazing.
"Fuck, Harry," he gasps, "please." And his hips are moving and Harry is attacking his mouth with his own and palming his erection, and wrapping his hand around his cock.
He comes into Harry's hand.
***
"What just happened, mate?" Harry asks, squatting down beside him.
The alley now smells of sex. Both of them are out of breath.
"You okay?" he asks, not wanting to answer Harry's question.
"Yeah," Harry replies, pushing his hair back from his eyes. "I didn’t think we'd . . . I didn't think I was . . . but . . ."
"Yeah," he agrees.
"D'you think we should tell Hermione?" Harry asks.
"Merlin," he replies, "I don’t know."
"D'you . . . just like . . . you know . . . blokes?" The questions follow no logical pattern, but neither of them can think logically at the moment. He turns to look at Harry.
"I think . . ." and it's hard for him to put the thoughts into words, "I think it depends on the person, you know?"
Harry nods.
"Yeah," he says, "Because it's like . . . what you've been through together that counts."
"Yeah," he agrees.
They are silent for a while.
"D'you want to . . . with . . . Hermione too?" Harry finally asks.
He hesitates. What will Harry say when he says yes, that he wants them both? That he wants the three of them to be that close?
"Yeah," he mutters, staring at the pavement.
He does not see the look on Harry's face.
Afternoon
"Ronald," Hermione stands before him, clad in jeans and a jumper.
He looks up, startled, from the chessboard. He's charmed it to play against him.
"I know," she says.
"You . . . what?"
"I know about what happened last night."
He wonders if the floor can open and swallow him.
"You do?" he mumbles.
He can't look at her, stares at one of the Black Knights on his prancing destrier.
"Yes, Ronald, I do. And you need to realize that I'm not angry with you. And neither is Harry."
He looks up, and she's holding out her hand.
Rendered mute with shock and desire, he takes her hand and follows her from the room.
She leads him to her bedroom, not the one she shares with Harry.
Harry is nowhere to be found.
"Harry," he manages to croak.
"Harry," she says, smiling impishly and wriggling out of her jumper, "doesn't mind. Besides, I also know about what happened this afternoon."
He is almost too distracted to notice the wavering of the wall to the left of her bed.
But he is not distracted enough.
Somebody is watching them. And he knows who it is.
The thought of Harry watching him fuck Hermione makes him hard.
Hermione kisses him, her tongue sliding past his unresisting lips.
She tastes of tea.
He wonders if Harry is as hard as he is. He dismisses that thought; he knows Harry is as hard as he is.
***
Kissing Hermione is nothing at all like kissing Harry. Where Harry's kisses were hard and demanding, Hermione’s kisses are soft and yielding.
Her neck tastes of strawberries, or perhaps it's just his imagination.
"Ron," she murmurs, drawing him to her bed.
He presses into her, raising the t-shirt carefully, kissing and licking her ribs, moving ever up to the demure bra that covers her breasts.
"Yes," she murmurs, wriggling out of the t-shirt and bra.
Her breasts are perfection, dusky nipples hardening in the coolness of the room. He laves his tongue over them, rejoicing in her moans.
He knows Harry is watching them. He wishes Harry would join them. Together they could make their Hermione complete. They could make each other complete.
"Ron," she murmurs again, reaching down to pull off his shirt.
"Wait," he gasps, sitting up. He notices Hermione's appraising look of his now bare chest.
He turns to the wall.
"Revelatio." The wall shimmers and Harry is on the other side, clad only in his shorts, rubbing his erection through the cloth. He smiles at Harry, knowing that he can hear them.
"Why don’t you join us?" he asks.
Harry waits for a long moment, and then nods.
***
Hermione is sitting at the head of the bed, knees spread, fingering her glistening pussy.
"Kiss him," she directs, nodding at Harry.
He is only too happy to comply. The awkwardness brought on by trepidation and drink in the alley is gone, now Harry's mouth is moving over his neck as he reaches down to stroke Harry's cock.
"Hmmm, that’s nice," says Hermione. Harry turns to look at her.
"What else would you like?" he asks.
"Suck him," she says.
"Gladly," replies Harry, grinning at him and pulling down his jeans.
He lies back on the bed, and Harry kneels before him.
"Hermione," he manages to gasp, "come here."
She smiles and crawls over to him.
He pulls her down and kisses her as Harry takes him into his mouth.
"I want to taste you," he murmurs.
"Only if I get to watch Harry and you."
"Agreed."
She crawls forward and settles.
She is sweet and tart and wet. As difficult as it is for him to concentrate with Harry's hot mouth around him, he parts her lips with his fingers.
She is beautiful.
He licks her, ending with pressure on her clit – it has been a long time since he has done this; he hopes he remembers how to do it correctly.
Hermione moans. His cock twitches, and Harry echoes her moan.
He tastes her, thrusting into her pussy with his tongue as Harry rolls his bollocks with his hand.
"Yes, Ron," Hermione hisses as he finds her clit again. "Right there, oh, gods, right there."
Harry reaches beyond his bollocks, fingers exploring. He thinks he might die from this.
"Faster, Ron, please," Hermione begs from above him.
He is only too happy to comply, licking from front to back and again and again as his tongue moves faster and faster as Harry's mouth takes him completely.
He wants to warn Harry that he is coming, but he can only groan loudly.
Hermione's thighs clamp around him as she comes, wetness spreading across his chin and tongue.
And he is coming and coming and coming.
Dimly he is aware of Hermione collapsing over him, leaning over to kiss Harry, licking his come from his lips.
"I want you, Harry," she whispers.
Harry crawls onto the bed beside him.
"How?" he asks.
Kneeling, she kisses him again, and this time he can see her tongue, Harry’s cock, hard and erect.
"I want Ron to watch."
Harry grins at him.
"You okay with that, mate?"
He nods. Hermione Summons a pillow from the head of the bed and props it beneath her hips so that her legs are splayed open.
"Fuck me, Harry," she says.
Harry takes his cock to his hand, stroking it once, twice, a third time, before sliding into Hermione’s pussy.
"Fuck, yes," Harry moans.
He can see Harry's cock sliding in and out of Hermione's pussy and is amazed that he is growing hard again.
He wonders if . . . his hand, of its own accord, it seems, traces the curve of Harry's arse. Harry moans.
One hand on his cock, the other on Harry's arse which flexes as he thrusts in and out of Hermione.
Mine he thinks vaguely as he rises to his knees.
The thought startles him as he bends to caress Harry’s arse and back.
"Yes, Ron," Hermione gasps, "I want to see you two together."
That is all the encouragement he needs, and he whispers the lubrication spell.
Harry groans, stilling inside Hermione.
He starts with a finger, tracing down the cleft, circling the tight pucker.
"Have you ever, Harry?" he asks, knowing the answer – they shared a dormitory for years, and a house after that.
Harry shakes his head.
"Be gentle," Hermione admonishes as he grasps his cock again and slowly presses into his best friend.
"Gods," Harry gasps, head lolling back against his shoulder.
"Yes," murmurs Hermione,
And then he begins to thrust into Harry, the momentum sending Harry into Hermione, and they are joined.
Hermione comes first, gasping and moaning.
And then Harry stiffens and cries out as he finds Harry's prostate.
"God, yes, Harry," cries Hermione.
And then he is coming as Harry collapses on top of Hermione, catching himself before he crushes her.
He falls onto Harry’s back, and rolls away, pulling his softening cock from his arse.
Harry rolls onto his back and pulls him towards him. Hermione curls up behind them.
Her hand finds his.
***
Sleep claims them gradually, but the morning light rouses them to wakefulness.
"You all right, mate?" Harry asks.
"Brilliant," he whispers, so as not to wake Hermione.
Hermione pops up behind Harry's shoulder and leans over to kiss him.
"I think we’ll be just fine," she says, smiling.
Endings and Beginnings
He eventually tells them of his work as an Unspeakable, or as much of it as he can. Hermione wonders if the Potioneer was somebody they knew, back in the days of the War.
Harry laughs at her theories, and then ducks when she tries playfully to hex him.
He smiles to himself.
And for the first time in his life, he feels as if he has a place. It is no longer Harry and Hermione who are the brilliant ones, or the saviors, or the special ones. He's special, too.
Each of them has a place in their world.
And each of them has a place in the other's heart.