Entry tags:

2009, fic, hermione/harry/ron

Gift for inell: Get Her Into Trouble (Hary/Ron/Hermione)
Title: Get Her Into Trouble
Author: certifieddork
Recipient: inell
Rating: R
Word Count: 4,000
Warnings: Threesome, wanking, oral sex, arriving unceremoniously early. Nothing major.
Summary: Harry/Ron/Hermione. One word gets everyone in trouble.
Disclaimers: I own nothing, I profit from nothing, I'm just having fun.
Notes: Thank you to everyone who helped with this (to be thanked properly after reveals!) and a great big thank you to the fest mods in their infinite patience. The more I wrote, the more complex the story became, and what was planned as a 1500 word quickie eventually turned into … this. Not epic, by any standards, but more than I was looking for. inell, I hope you know you were a joy to write for, even if I was slightly intimidated. I hope I've done these characters justice in your eyes.

ii.

Harry.

Hermione was used to words getting her into trouble. It was true that sometimes, she just didn't know when to stop and she would keep talking, until her boss at the Ministry, until her mother, until Ron would sigh heavily and get that look in their eyes. That look that said, 'you're on pretty thin ice here, this better be good.' That look spurned Hermione on, a challenge that she couldn't ignore. Sometimes, she was saved. Sometimes, the thin ice couldn't hold her up anymore and she got into trouble.

This was different. This wasn't a situation talked into through fervent ramblings, this was –

Harry.

A single word, at the single wrong time, and she was in trouble of a wholly different kind.

Ron didn't look her in the eye for three days. When he spoke, it was short, terse answers to her questions, he never ventured anything himself, and never in complete sentences. He left the room abruptly if she asked too many questions in a row, or if she mentioned Harry's name, or if she tried in any way to approach the subject. When she woke in the morning, he was gone and he returned late to their flat.

And Hermione felt she deserved it. She probably deserved worse, in fact, but if all Ron wanted to do was give her the silent treatment, well, she could accept that.

Until the day Ron decided he was ready to talk.

'So – you think about him?'

Hermione's head shot up from the Prophet, surprised not only to see Ron sitting across the table from her, but speaking to her as well.

'Who?' she asked, naively.

Ron raised his eyebrows and even though Hermione didn't expect him to say it, he managed to get the name out. 'Harry.'

Hermione dropped her eyes to the scratched wood table. 'You want to talk about this now?'

What a question to ask – she'd been waiting three days for Ron to give her the chance to explain what had happened. But a busy lunch hour at the Leaky Cauldron wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.

'Yes,' Ron replied firmly, 'now.'

Folding the paper and laying it on the empty chair next to her, Hermione braced herself. She knew Ron wouldn't be above raising his voice in public, and after three days of the silent treatment, Hermione was prepared for the worst.

However, instead of yelling, Ron leaned across the table, took one of her hands in his and asked in a low voice, 'Are you happy with me?'

'Yes!' Hermione exclaimed without thought.

And it was true. While the last 18 months with Ron – including the four they'd been sharing a flat – hadn't been easy, Hermione could truly say that she had never been happier and one little slip of the tongue meant nothing compared to that. Nothing.

'You wouldn't – wouldn't rather be with Harry?' Ron's eyes, much like they had done all week, refused to meet hers.

'No, Ron, don't be ridiculous.'

But this time, Hermione was less convinced, and less convincing, she suspected. Would she rather be with Harry, and not Ron? No. No, she could never choose anybody over Ron, not even Harry. But there had been times when she'd caught herself daydreaming – and sometimes more than just daydreaming – about scenarios in which she didn't have to choose at all …

'But you've thought about it, right?' Ron appeared to be reading her mind.

Hermione opened her mouth to lie – lie to save her relationship, lie to save Ron's feelings – but she couldn't. She sat, frozen, her mouth open and in that moment's hesitation, Ron's shoulders slumped, he released her hand and shut his eyes tight.

'I knew it,' he muttered, 'I bloody fucking knew it.'

'Wait, no, Ron,' Hermione began, 'it's not like that, at all.' She extended an arm across the table, looking for Ron's hand, but he placed them both in his lap, out of reach.

'I love you, Ron,' she whispered, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. 'You know I love you.'

Ron's eyes finally opened and met hers. 'But you love him, too.'

'That's different,' Hermione said carefully. 'I love you, I want you.'

Ron searched her eyes with his own, and seemed, once again, to read her mind. 'No,' he contradicted slowly. 'I think you want him, too.'

Hermione swallowed again, and forced herself to not drop her eyes. She couldn't, however, force herself to form the words of a denial. All she could think to say was 'I love you' again. She would have repeated it for the next five years if she thought it would make a difference.

Sighing, Ron lowered his eyes again. They sat in silence for a few moments while the pub patrons around them continued their lunch. Hermione's own lunch, a turkey sandwich, sat untouched on her plate. Next to it, a cup of coffee was growing cold. Hermione made no move towards either of them, though. She wouldn't break the silence, or the stillness, until Ron was ready.

Finally, Ron offered a weak smile, and returned with, 'I love you, too.'

Hearing the forgiveness in his voice, a wave of relief washed over Hermione and she smiled back and, stupidly, she repeated 'I love you' again.

Ron grinned and said, 'You said that already.'

'That's because it's true.' Hermione couldn't keep the smile off her face. 'So – are we - ?'

'Yeah,' Ron interrupted, 'yeah, we are. Well, almost.'

Hermione braced herself again. 'Almost?'

'I just need to make a couple things clear.'

'OK,' Hermione said hesitatingly.

The tips of Ron's ears flushed bright red and Hermione, instead of feeling worried, now felt confused. Was Ron feeling embarrassed about something?

'You want to be with me, right?'

'Yes, abso-'

But Ron raised a hand to stop her. 'And you want to be with Harry?'

'I – I won't deny it,' Hermione said slowly, 'but that's just a silly fantasy, it's not real. You're what I really want, please, you need to know that.'

'I do know that,' Ron said, 'but – just answer the question, alright?'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'Yes, fine,' she said, not quite meeting Ron's eyes but keeping her head up, 'I want Harry, too.'

Now Ron took a deep breath and stared intently at the table. 'What if I didn't exactly have a problem with that?'

Hermione stared, and her lips fell open, but before a thought could form itself so she could speak it, Ron continued.

'What – what if we didn't have a problem with that?'

iii.

Ron was acting oddly, Harry thought. He was always in a foul mood whenever he and Hermione fought, but this was ridiculous; Ron was starting to snap at him. That was new; he couldn't remember anything he'd done to offend Ron, intended or otherwise, yet Ron seemed bloody determined to alienate Harry was much as possible. He all but ignored him at work and refused any and all invitations out for a pint, a pick-up game of Quidditch or even a visit to the Burrow. It wasn't like Ron to turn down Mrs. Weasley's cooking at any time, especially when he was feeling upset.

The third morning Ron walked into the Auror locker room at the Ministry looking pissed off against the entire world, Harry decided enough was enough; if he didn't get to the bottom of this soon, Harry was sure Ron would explode out of sheer frustration. Harry swallowed hard and tried to do his best.

'Look, mate – you want to talk about this thing with Hermione?'

Ron snorted and kept his head buried in his locker. 'With you? Not bloody likely.'

'Me?' Harry asked, surprised. 'What does this have to do with me?'

Ron didn't reply, but Harry saw the back of his neck turn bright red.

'Ron?' he prodded.

'Why didn't you and Ginny ever get back together?' Ron burst out, slamming his locker and facing Harry with an intensity that made Harry take a step back. 'Is she not good enough for you? Like 'em prettier or something?'

'What does that have to do with you and Hermione?' Harry asked, suddenly uncomfortable that his best friend was so interested in his love life. His love life that included Ron's own sister.

'Just – ' Ron's shoulders slumped, and his eyes glazed over, like he could see something in his mind that Harry couldn't. 'Never mind.'

Harry furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what exactly Ron was talking about. Was Ron still worried about he and Hermione? Hadn't they resolved that two years ago? Sure, Harry was human. He had noticed Hermione, he'd thought about Hermione. But Hermione – she was Ron's. Ron was hers. That was just the way things were, and Harry tried hard not to dwell on the dreams he had once in a while. They were just dreams and they were just friends.

After a silence of a few moments, Harry cleared his throat. 'Look, mate, I swear, there's nothing there with me and Hermione. Honestly.'

With nothing more to say, Harry turned back to his locker for his robes, but Ron spoke, in a quiet voice.

'Yeah, maybe for you.'

Harry froze, one arm in his robes and Ron, who had been turning to leave, did the same. An intense silence fell and Harry found himself staring at the back of Ron's neck, again, as it turned a darker shade of red. Harry felt his own cheeks getting hot.

Say something! the voice in Harry's head screamed, and Harry forced himself to say something, anything.

'What are you talking about?'

Ron turned slowly on the spot, his lips clenched tight, as if he was afraid of what would come out of his mouth next. His cheeks and the tips of his ears matched the back of his neck.

'Ron?' Harry prompted, his voice cracking around the lump in his throat. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was quite on the edge of his seat, figuratively, unable to stand the tension between them. He was sure he'd heard properly – he couldn't pretend he hadn't – but he needed an explanation. He needed an explanation, right now, and all Ron could do was stare dumbly at a point just beyond Harry's right shoulder.

'Ron!' Harry said, raising his voice unintentionally. He took a step forward and lowered his voice. 'What the bloody hell are you talking about? Did – did Hermione say something to you?'

Ron only nodded.

'Well?' Harry could feel his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. 'What did she say?'

Ron managed to get one word out. 'Harry. '

'She – ' Harry paused, confused. 'She said Harry?' It didn't sound like such a terrible thing.

'Your name, you prat,' Ron spat out. 'She said your bloody fucking name. Your name.'

'I don't get it,' Harry said and Ron bit his lip, like he was struggling to get the words out.

'During … you know.' He raised his eyebrows significantly.

'Oh?' said Harry, still confused. 'Oh!' he repeated at the full meaning of Ron's words sunk in. 'Oh. Uh.'

Ron waved his hand. 'Look, mate, let's just forget about this, alright?'

'Yeah,' Harry replied, still dumbstruck, trying not to picture what his two best friends would have looked like when it happened. He was certainly not trying to picture Hermione naked and her legs wrapped around –

He was clearly failing.

'Yeah, whatever you want. But, uh, you haven't talked to her about it?'

Shit. So much for forgetting about it.

Ron rubbed a hand down his face. 'Not exactly.'

'You should,' Harry said decisively. 'Just – talk to her. It's nothing, probably, and – '

'Probably?'

Harry took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully. 'Just to be sure?'

Not carefully enough.

Ron eyed him suspiciously. 'You'd be into it, wouldn't you?' he accused. 'You and Hermione, you think about it, don't you?'

'Of course not!' Harry lied immediately. 'You and her, that's the way it is. I mean, that's the way it should be.'

'That's what I thought,' Ron mumbled. 'Now I'm not so sure.'

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Harry cursed in his head. He would never forgive himself if Ron and Hermione broke up because of him.

'Believe me,' Harry said in his most persuasive voice. 'This is the right way, just try to forget it.'

Ron laughed. 'Would if I could, mate. But I can't get it out of my head, the idea of you – '

'Oi!' Harry shouted, raising a hand as if to protect himself from the imagery Ron was forcing on him. It was bad enough that the thought was in his head, he didn't need Ron getting descriptive about it, too.

'Well,' Ron began, pausing and looking uncomfortable. Harry waited. 'Look, I've thought about it – kind of a lot, you know? – and, maybe, it's … not as weird as it sounds?'

Harry stared, confused. 'Wait, what?'

Ron shrugged. 'You and Hermione. It's not completely insane.'

'No,' Harry said slowly, trying to process and speak at the same time. 'No, I'm pretty sure it's the maddest thing I've ever heard.'

'It's OK,' Ron said calmly. 'I mean, Hermione – who wouldn't want her?'

'I – ' Harry paused. 'What exactly are you saying?'

Ron sighed heavily. 'Isn't it obvious? You want Hermione, Hermione wants you and if want that to happen, well – I'm OK with that.'

Harry gaped at him.

'On the condition that I get to be there, too.'

iv.

Hermione sat nervously, her leg bouncing, one hand playing with her hair, her eyes darting frantically around the room. Ron, though calm on the outside, was feeling the exact same way.

Harry had been right, this was mad. It was stupid and irrational and would probably end badly, but fuck it, Ron wanted this. He really wanted this. To clear the air, to be able to move on, to prove a bloody point, maybe. Whatever it was, he was nervous, but excited, too, more than he'd anticipated. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and tried to not look at his watch. Harry would show up when he showed up.

If he showed up.

But at almost the same time Ron had the thought, from just on the other side of the door came a familiar-sounding pop! , followed by a familiar-sounding knock. A quick, decisive, now-or-never kind of knock.

Hermione was on her feet immediately, bounding across the sitting room to the door. She seemed more excited than she'd let on, too, and Ron couldn't help but smile. Hermione – he, they, were doing this for Hermione.

Harry stood in the hallway, looking smaller and skinnier than Ron could ever remember seeing him. Taking one step into the flat, Harry managed to touch his hair, cross and uncross his arms and wipe his hands on the front of his jeans. In a single moment.

Good, Ron thought, we're all nervous as hell.

'Here, Harry let me take your coat.'

Ron laughed; Hermione sounded oddly formal, even for Hermione.

'Yeah, thanks,' Harry said, completely ignoring Ron for the moment and handing his coat over. He stood awkwardly in the entrance and Hermione hung it up. 'Um,' he said.

Ron nodded in solidarity. Yup. Nervous as all fuck. An awkward silence followed, until Hermione broke it.

'Wine!' she exclaimed. 'We have wine! It's new, I just got it from Madam Rosmerta, a new recipe, she said, supposed to be oakier than anything else she makes, I know you like the oaky wines, Harry, unless you'd rather just some Butterbeer, or some Firewhiskey, I think we have some – Ron, do we – '

'Hermione,' Ron said laughing, 'calm down, I'll get the wine. Just sit down and relax.'

If only he could follow his own advice: Ron was neither calm nor relaxed and was eager to escape to the kitchen to find a distraction. Alone in the other room, Ron took a few deep breaths and a few deep gulps straight from the bottle. Liquid courage. That was more like it.

Ron walked back into the sitting room, carrying three glasses in one hand, the bottle in the other, only to find Harry and Hermione sitting next to each other on the couch. Holding hands. Ron stopped abruptly and they both looked up at him with guilty looks in their eyes. They did not, however, break apart.

It was a surprise, of course, but a pleasant one – Ron found it didn't look weird in the slightest. It looked natural.

And suddenly – it might have been the wine, but he suspected it wasn't – his nerves were calmed. They could do this. It wasn't weird or mad or any of it, it was just natural. Him and Hermione, Harry and Hermione, even – Ron gulped mentally – he and Harry. Maybe. Eventually. They could work up to that bit –

Realising what he was thinking – that he wanted to be with Hermione and he wanted to be with Harry, that he didn't just want to watch the two of them, he wanted to fuck Harry, or be fucked (he wasn't exactly sure how that worked), and that not only did he want these things, he fully expected them, they were practically a given – well, Ron barely had time to contemplate and analyse his own thoughts before Harry, eyeing Ron carefully, put his hand on Hermione's upper thigh.

Right, he thought. This is about Hermione.

'Wine,' Ron managed to get out, setting everything down. Hermione smiled encouragingly at him, and he smiled back, and he felt them both decide, then and there, together, that this wouldn't be weird. They could do this – not he and Hermione plus Harry, but he and Hermione with Harry. Yeah, this wasn't mental at all.

Hermione poured and proposed a toast. 'To – ' she hesitated. 'To trying new things.'

'Hear hear,' Harry said and drank deeply from his glass.

Hermione, too, drank, set down her glass and then threw her arms around Ron, holding him tight against her. Ron squeezed her back, inhaling the fruity smell of her hair as his hand found the soft skin under her shirt, at the small of her back. He stroked there lightly, and felt her shiver slightly at his touch. It was a shiver Ron was familiar with; it told him all he needed to know.

'I love you,' she whispered, reaching on tip toe to speak into his ear.

'I love you,' he murmured, pulling her hair aside and kissing her neck.

'And Harry.' She reached out a hand, inviting him to join them. He moved forward hesitantly. 'I love you, Harry.' She clutched his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it fiercely.

'I love you, too,' Harry replied, glancing up at Ron, and Ron understood that he was included in that, too. Ron smiled and put an arm around Harry's shoulder, pulling him close. They stood for a moment, their arms wrapped around each other, until Ron decided enough was enough; it was now or never.

v.

It happened in a blur, Hermione thought. She was hugging Ron, then she was kissing Harry. Soft and light, and Ron made a frustrated sound, and she pulled Harry closer and dug her fingers into his hair and pressed her body firmly up against his. Behind her, Ron made an approving sound, and then his hands were around her waist, his fingers were fumbling at her buttons. Harry's hands were on her arse, and his kiss became deep, full of need and want.

Ron's breath was hot on the back of her neck, his fingers were cool as he pulled her shirt from her shoulders. Breaking her kiss with Harry, she helped pull his shirt over his head; he was only too eager to comply.

It happened in a blur; one moment, she was standing, semi-nude, and the next, she'd fumbled her way into the bedroom, almost fully nude as Ron lay her on the bed, clawing at her underwear and kissing the length of her stomach. She arched her back as she felt Ron's fingers, stroking and teasing her and about to enter her –

But, no, Ron's hands were still on her legs, it was Harry. It was Harry's fingers that were inside her, Harry's fingers that were making her twitch and moan and grip at the bedding, while Ron's fingers trailed upwards and cupped her breasts, thumbing at one nipple until it hardened. His hand moved on, but Ron bent his head and pulled her breast into his mouth, tracing the contours of it with his tongue.

Three hands on her red-hot skin, and a fourth one inside her; one mouth nibbling gently on one breast while another mouth kissed and licked and tickled at her neck and on either side of her, a naked man stretched out. On either side of her, a cock pressing into her thigh. Hermione had thought and fantasized, but she never thought it would become a reality.

Harry pulled his fingers out suddenly, just as Hermione had started to really enjoy it, and she moaned, feeling empty and frustrated and slightly worried.

'Harry?' she panted. 'Are you OK?'

'He's fine,' Ron murmured, 'but it's my turn now.' And he kissed down her stomach until he pressed his tongue inside her and her back arched involuntarily again.

Next to her, Hermione could see Harry watching intently while stroking himself. Suddenly guilty, she reached over and wrapped her hand around his cock. Watching Harry's face, she adjusted her grip and moved her hand in time with the shudders that were moving through her own body.

Unexpectedly, Ron slipped a finger, then two, inside her, and in her sudden, unexpected shiver, she gripped and pumped too quickly and with a moan that was part ecstasy and part frustration, Harry came in one, two, three shudders, then lay still, though still panting.

'Oh, Harry,' Hermione said, too disappointed to pay attention to Ron's efforts at the moment, 'I'm so sorry.'

Harry smiled lazily at her. 'That's OK. You two can – '

'No,' Ron said, 'I reckon it's your turn again.' And he moved away from Hermione so Harry could take his place.

It all happened in a blur; Harry moved between her legs and she felt his fingers and she felt his tongue but she barely had time to even think about them before she was shuddering around them, clutching Ron's arm and Harry's shoulder, her breath shallow and quick.

A soft, dream-like haze fell around her and Hermione felt content and complete. She felt incredibly peaceful, and she wrapped her arms around the nearest body – she didn't care whose – and felt arms wrap around her from behind. She had no sense of time, and couldn't tell how long they lay there together, but she eventually drifted off to sleep, her inhales and exhales matching the two on either side of her.

i.

It happened suddenly. He was inside her, her legs were wrapped around his bare back, barely; they kept sliding from the sweat coming from both of them. He had his face buried in her neck, kissing and nibbling the way he knew she liked. She was liking it now, too, he could tell.

'Mm,' she murmured, her legs working against his back, pulling him deeper into her. 'Mm, Harry.'

It was low – it was low enough that he could pretend that he hadn't heard. Pretend that he'd heard her say something, anything, that wasn't the name of his best mate. Maybe she said hairy. But then, he didn't want to think about hairy any more than he wanted to think about Harry.

Well, fuck, now he was thinking about Harry. Thinking about Harry and fucking Hermione – because he couldn't stop now, not at this point and certainly not after he let at least a few seconds slip by and said nothing. No, he would need to finish, the sooner the better.

And when he came – when he gripped the pillow behind Hermione's head and pressed his lips firmly against her neck to stifle his moan – when he came, he was thinking only one thing.

Harry.

la fin


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