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It was stupid really, how much he missed them. For all their trying to have different lives, it was quite rare to spend an evening without them, more common now that he was off at Hogwarts, but still. Harry tried to turn his attention back to the group-some Herbology friend of Neville’s who’d been visiting inviting along with a cast of people whose names didn’t care to keep straight.
Worse, the attention had somehow gotten onto him, grilling him about his life, being back at school, a Professor.
“-Vat, don’t tell me all of ze children don’t have crushes on you.” A French-sounding man purred, teasingly.
Harry managed a smile.
“I’ve got my hands full, thanks,” Harry replied, raising his drink, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions about his love life that were bound to come next.
“You’re one to talk Julian,” another one of the group roared, his accent decidedly American. “You’ve got lovers on every continent.”
The French man-Julian-glared over at his companion who was far too drunk to realize. Harry looked down slyly at his watch, wondering if it wasn’t too early to slip out.
“Got somewhere to be?” Neville asked, looking a little nervous to be left alone with the crowd. Neville had convinced Harry to come out, selling him on a small gathering but the nearly dozen gathered group of men had been a surprise to him too.
“No,” Harry said, and when he glanced up, he found Julien staring straight at him intensely. He should be used to this, really. He’d been a household name. But usually, they didn’t dare to look at him so brazenly. “Another round?”
Neville gave a winning smile as Harry stood, clapping his friend on the back to the cheers of the rest of the gathered friends.
“I’ll help,” Julien offered, standing before Harry could deny him.
Uncomfortably, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and they weaved through the tables towards the bar, elbow to elbow as they waited. Never one for small talk, Harry found himself drumming his fingers against the worn wooden bar, trying to summon up something to fill the silence between them.
“So,” he murmured, looking up, “Your first time in Hogsmeade?”
Julien tilted his head as if pondering some deep question. “Yes, it’s quite quaint up here.”
“Staying long?” he asked to keep the conversation off of his scar for which Julian’s eyes were searching Harry’s forehead for hungrily.
“I expect a week or so before London. Neville’s offered to show me around his greenhouse.”
Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t taken the man for a Herbologist. His hands were much too clean.
“We met a few months back,” Julian explained, his chest swelling importantly. “At a dinner actually, hosted by Patrick Pyle, have you met him?”
Harry shook his head, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed.
“Brilliant portioner,” Julien continued, his voice quite proud. He looked at Harry from the side of his eye as Harry stared pointedly ahead, hoping Madam Rosmerta would rescue him. “I wasn’t aware Neville had such high esteemed friends.”
Harry grit his teeth, leaning over the bar now. Madam Rosmerta glared over at him before seeing who he was and, with a pointed look, came over. “How can I help?”
He glanced back at the table, counting and pointedly avoiding Julian’s eyes. “Ten beers please.”
She nodded, already filling them. “Where are your friends?”
Ron and Hermione she meant. One of the not so few who still refused to acknowledge their relationship.
“At home.” Harry told her, counting out his coins and stacking them in a neat pile to occupy his time. He added another gallon. “This’ll be the end of the night for me.”
Throwing the money into her apron with one hand, she stacked the beers onto a tray with her other. In no time she waved them off with a cheery, “Let me know if you need anything.” And was already greeting another customer.
Harry reached for one tray at the same time Julian reached for the other and their hands brushed against one another. He pulled back sharply as Julian gave a sheepish yet somehow equally arrogant smile. It was all he could do not to ask him what his problem was, not wanting the answer.
Harry managed to stay engaged in the conversation for another half hour, each minute counted down on his watch. Would they still be awake? Waiting for him? An image of them waiting on the couch, cuddled, Hermione reading them both a book, crook shanks curled close to the fire.
Would they be in bed? Ron was known to tease them both in anticipation. Just last week they’d been waiting for Hermione to come home from tea with her parents and Ron had spent an antagonizing hour sneaking his hand into Harry’s pants, lips moving tantalizingly slow down his chest.
The memory caused a blush on his face that he tried to cover with a cough. To his dismay when he looked up, the only person who had noticed was Julien, an aloof smile on his lips as he set down his empty drink at the same time as Harry.
Harry avoided his eye as Julian rose, saying something to his friend and disappeared out the front door, no doubt to take another smoke break. Perhaps this would be his only chance. Once certain the door was closed, Harry got to his feet, hurriedly pulling on his robe.
“I think I’m off,” he said to Neville in a low voice, not wanting to make a fuss.
Maybe they’d be asleep. It was late and they weren’t nearly as young as they used to be. Though, he didn’t think they’d be too upset being woken up to what he had in mind.
“Already?” Neville asked with rosy, beer tinted cheeks.
“Have fun,” he said to them all, getting up before someone demanded to shake his hand (as they all had when he’d arrived) and then all of them wanted another piece of him.
So focused on finally finally getting home, he hadn’t noticed Julian standing outside, bundled up and without a cigarette in hand until he nearly barreled into him.
“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling on the winter cap Hermione had knitted for him (she was getting much better as the years went on), trying to hide his scar. It took him a moment to register that it even was Julian, looking rather put together.
“It’s no problem,” Julian said, waving it away. “Heading out so soon?”
He nodded, not particularly wanting his company.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Aren’t you staying here?” Harry questioned.
“No, I’ve rented a room above the sweet shop. The whole place sounds like bubblegum.” He paused, chuckling to himself, “Only, I think I’ve lost my way in all this snow. Could you point me in the right direction?”
Funny, he didn’t seem that drunk.
“It’s up the way,” Harry nodded up the street. Unfortunately, it was in the same direction as the castle and there was no good way to separate himself.
Begrudgingly Harry allowed Julian to fall into step with him. He regretted not asking Madam Rosmerta to use her fireplace as she’d allowed him to do on occasion. Perhaps Julian would let him use his.
Their boots crunching through the snow was the only sound. It was Harry’s favorite time of year in the village. The steep stable rooftops looking picturesque. He wondered if they’d gotten snow at home. Perhaps tomorrow they could invite over their Teddy and Andomroda to go sledding on that hill behind their home. The thought put a smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to be home. The castle seemed too far away even to walk even though he knew he’d get an earful for appertaining such a far distance after drinking. He’d never splinted himself before but didn’t think he’d live it down it if happened to him now.
Thankfully the walk to Honeydukes was a short one, nearly a shout away from the Three Broomsticks. Harry shifted back and forth on his feet, debating.
“Come up for a nightcap?” Julian asked, fishing in his pocket for his keys and removing a black glove from one perfectly manicured hand.
“No, er, I need to be getting home.” He debated not asking, but the prospect of trekking all the way back up to the castle was not one he could bear. “Could I use your fireplace?”
Julian looked disappointed but nodded him in, allowing Harry to enter first, brushing against him before he could race up the stairs.
Although it was probably rude, Harry wasted no time in rebuilding the fire, throwing on several logs and warming his hands as he waited for them to catch enough to grant him safe passage. Julian was right behind him, removing his other glove, and with alarming speed emerged with two glasses and a bottle of wine.
“It’s from my family’s vineyard in France,” he explained, pouring two glasses even as Harry tried to protest. “Really, you must try it.”
Not wanting to be rude, Harry took the glass that was offered to him, stepping back as Julian again tried to crowd him. Unable to escape him, Harry sat down, wanting nothing more than to leave. He found Julian incredibly arrogant. Their short conversation at the bar being enough to set his opinion of him.
“It’s better if it breathes for half an hour,” Julian stated, swirling the wine around in his cup, lounging on the pump sofa.
There was no way in hell Harry was going to stay another half an hour. He had plans with two people who were decidedly not in this room.
“Perhaps some other time,” Harry said, setting the glass down on a side table and scanning the mantle for floo powder. He didn’t like the way Julian was staring at him in the flickering light. “I’ll have to bring Ron and Hermione.”
Usually, this opened up dozens of astonished questions, but Julian’s eyes were predatory. Harry had to leave.
“So it is true,” Julian said, setting down his own glass and sat up, leaning very close to Harry. “You play for both teams?”
Harry didn’t answer. He was pretty sure that the small porcelain jar decorated with blue flowers held the key to his passage. There would be no polite way out of this conversation and he didn’t think he could stand to wait for one.
“Try the wine,” Julian said again, “Really, I insist.”
“I’d better go,” Harry said, standing and to his dismay Julian, quick as a cat, was on his feet, blocking Harry’s exit. “Thanks for offering but-“
Julian was shorter than him, skinner too, but somehow he took up all the space before of him and it was impossible to look away. Which was how, his entire body screaming in protest, he watched as Julian got closer and closer, pulling at Harry’s cloak with both hands so he was forced down and their lips crashed together.
Too surreal to react Harry stood there, stiff as a board, eyes wide open as Julian pulled him closer, tilting his head this way and that, trying to get Harry to soften. The dizziness caught up to him all at once and Harry found the strength to shove him away.
“What the hell?” he growled, anger coursing through him.
Julian had stumbled several steps back but looked unbothered, that predatory look more pronounced than ever. A grin spread across his face as if this were some sort of game they were playing.
“What are you doing?” Harry repeated, reaching for his wand.
At last, the look in Harry’s eyes seemed to get through to him. He raised up his hands casually, that mocking smile still on his face.
“I thought this was what you did?”
“What?” Harry asked, stepping back.
“Not that you haven’t earned it.” He said, reaching for Harry and he raised his wand. “The hero of the wizarding world should have whatever they’d like.” He paused and gave him a leering look. “Whomever they’d like.”
“I’m taken,” Harry hissed. “Happily.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he said dismissively. “If I were your man I wouldn’t leave you a continent away while I make my way through quidditch team after quidditch team.”
“Fuck you,” Harry snapped, sparks coming from the end of his wand. “You have no right…fuck you.”
But from the look on his face, it was clear this was still all a game to him. He opened his mouth and Harry knew what he was about to say and rather than let him speak, punched him square in the jaw.
The house was quiet when he exited the grate, a lone lamp burning on the side table to greet him. His blood was still pounding as he sealed off the fireplace behind him. Surely Julian wouldn’t be so brash only….only…
In disgust Harry wiped his lips, trying to rid them of the stinging sensation. He panted, throwing off his cloak, his boots, tearing off his jumper, wanting every stitch of clothing that had been touched off of his body. What the hell had just happened? How could anyone think… How could anyone….
He rushed to the sink, worried he was going to be ill as the bile and beer churned in his stomach. He was in love. Everyone knew he was in love. How could someone just do that to a person?
It took several minutes before Harry was convinced he wasn’t going to be sick and turned on the faucet, alternating drinking from it and scrubbing his lips with his hands. He wanted to brush his teeth, rid himself of the sour taste in his mouth, but his toothbrush was upstairs and there would be no way to get to it without waking Ron and Hermione….Ron and Hermione.
Worriedly he glanced at the hallway but it was as silent as could be. No creaking steps of someone coming to check on him. Harry couldn’t decide if he was upset over this or grateful as he shut off the tap and wiped his hands then face on a dishtowel.
Would they know, just looking at him? What would he say? How would he explain it? Harry hadn’t asked for it, had he? Julian-the name passing through his brain made his stomach turn again-had been delusional. He was in love. Exclusively. Even if that exclusivity had included two people.
It was a long time before Harry convinced himself to go up the stairs, stepping very carefully, not wanting to be heard. Slipping into their bedroom he found the picture-perfect sight of Hermione and Ron curled around one another, the bright winter moon illuminating the room.
Cautiously, Harry sunk into the chair that more often than not was occupied by dirty clothes and let out a long controlled, breath. The violation crawled across his skin. He wanted to itch away from the spots he’d been touched, the places that man had thought just to brush against. The accusations rang in his head. Was that what they thought this was? Still? Harry taking whomever he wanted.
The rumors had been fierce at first. Too jealous to find his own relationship, using his status as a hero to bed whomever he’d wanted. But it had been years. They were starting to talk about marriage for Merlin’s sake. Didn’t the world know what they’d meant to each other? They meant it to each other…didn’t they?
Harry fought against a lump in his throat. They looked so peaceful without him. Complete.
But, sitting there it was hard to remember the words of comfort that Ron and Hermione had given. The logic by which they’d made the insecurity fade. It hadn’t been true, had it?
Ron’s breath caught and Harry froze, waiting for him to wake and spot him. But Ron merely nuzzled his face even further into the warmth of Hermione’s skin and continued on. He’d come to seek comfort in their warmth but as he watched them doze, the slow rise and fall of chests, the now memorized way they breathed in and out, Harry did not think himself worthy. Not after what had happened. They deserved much better than someone who was kissed in another man’s flat just minutes ago.
“Harry!” came Ron’s voice, waking him.
Harry raised his head from his pillow, tired eyes searching around the room and finally landing on his fireplace.
“Harry!” Ron shouted again. “Are you there?”
Part of him, the part that had fled back to the castle where he could be alone, didn’t want to answer. Yet he doubted his cowardliness would reward him with silence. Reluctantly he rolled out of bed, getting to his feet, and passed across the cold stone floor towards the fire.
“There you are!” Ron said, his voice brimming with relief. “You nearly gave me heart failure.”
Harry did not answer and merely gave the floating head in his fireplace an inquisitive look.
“I thought you were coming home last night,” Ron went on.
Still, he said nothing.
“Well come on then, I’ll make us breakfast.”
“I think I’m going to stay at the castle today,” Harry answered, his voice rough with sleeplessness. It had been nearly dawn when at lest the feeling of being ill had damped enough to allow him to close his eyes. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Aw, come on, my cooking’s not that bad.” Ron teased and when Harry didn’t return the smile his face fell. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Fine,” Harry answered shortly.
There was an uncomfortable pause and Harry could feel Ron studying him intently. He turned away. Ron knew him too well he had no doubt that within another minute he would have figured the whole thing out and then what? What would Ron say? What would he do?
“Are you coming?” Ron asked and Harry shook his head.
“I’ve too much to do.” He said again, pulling his housecoat tight across his chest.
“Then we’ll stop by,” Ron said, undeterred. His voice was too bright, chipper. Harry did not deserve this. “Hermione’s-“
“I’m fine, Ron,” he snapped.
Ron recoiled and Harry’s guilt doubled. And when he didn’t apologize, Ron rose to his level at last. “Alright, got it.”
They stared at each other a moment longer and Harry felt it ready to burst out of him. Surely Ron could see it on his chapped lips, feel the sin oozing from him.
“When you wake up on the right side of the bed let me know,” Ron said harshly.
Harry didn’t know why he’d worked so hard to get Ron angry, now that he was Harry felt no better. He opened his mouth to say so, to do something, anything, to repair the mess he’d made but he’d already pushed his buttons enough for Ron to disappear with a disappointing pop.
Fuck.
He spent the day alone, locked in his room, lying flat on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. Aside from the first fortnight of the term and the few days before finals when they were required to be at the castle full time, Harry so rarely spent the night here. He hadn’t been bored enough here to stare up at the ceiling, notice the pattern of wood on the ceiling. Eyes burning he tried to memorize it now, count the planks one by one to ease his racing mind.
He should have done something. It had felt wrong. What would they say? He was Harry Potter for fucks sake. He’d cheated death twice, there was no excusing what he’d done. Was it better just to get used to calling this bed his now?
Sometime in the afternoon, his stomach refused to be ignored and he called upon a house elf for a meal, another rarity. If anyone had been looking in they’d know immediately that something was wrong. But by in large the soup and sandwich that he’d requested sat untouched, along with the cup of tea they’d brought with his meal.
At last, night crept upon him again, and when the fireplace flared up and Hermione’s inquisitive tone called out his name he turned his back away from the fire. They’d understand once they knew. Maybe even thank him for staying away. a
Again feeling a tingle in his lips he rubbed them, a nasty tick that had already caused them to be raw, trying to brush away the lingering disgust. He was better off here away from them. They’d see.
Night fell again, the only interruption from Ron and Hermione being a note from Pig who flew around his room in circles for a long time expecting a reply before Harry shouted at the bird, startling it mid-flight and he was able to grasp the bird and chuck it out the window. He watched with regret as Pig hooted at him, confused, from the other side of the window Harry had shut before flying, slower than usual, towards the owlerly.
The note sat unread on his desk and Harry stared at it for hours before, leaving it unread, sulked back towards his bed.
The next morning it wasn’t the fire nor an owl that awoke him but instead a sharp knock at the door to his quarters. Harry considered not answering but given the urgency of the knock, it was unlikely it was a student coming with a homework question (not that they knew he was here anyway). Begrudgingly Harry stood, his head pounding from lack of sleep, and answered the door.
To his astonishment, Neville greeted him with a worried expression that turned to something different at the sight of him.
“Ron and Hermione said you were here,” Neville announced, “I thought you’d gone home.”
Harry shook his head. Neville took him in, still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing that night and Harry scowled. He didn’t need Neville’s judgment. He waited for Neville to ask a question, or better yet, having verified his whereabouts, leave, but he did neither, standing insistently in the threshold.
”I thought you’d gone home,” Neville repeated when Harry didn’t reply.
“Had too much,” Harry growled, “Thought I’d sleep it off.”
“Really?” Neville asked, one eyebrow raised, “Because you didn’t seem to be that far gone when you left.”
Out of concern, or acting on Ron and Hermione’s orders, he let himself in, shutting the door behind him, and set about making them both tea. Harry fell into one of his squashy armchairs that Ron preferred whenever he came to visit (Hermione usually claiming his desk on her visits) and waited as Neville took his time, adding another log to the fire, turning on the lamps, straightening the papers on his desk (no doubt seeing the letter that had yet to be opened) before at last bringing them both a cuppa and settling down in the other chair.
Harry’s anger at Neville had washed away by the time they were both seated. But he didn’t appreciate the way Neville was watching him from the corner of his eye either. They’d both gone through the same Auror training, had worked side by side. Harry knew acutely what an interrogation felt like.
“You came back here then?” Neville asked when Harry didn’t cave in.
He nodded, not wanting to lie to his friend.
They both knew that subtly wouldn’t get them anywhere still Harry was surprised when Neville came right out and asked- “Well, what are the three of you fighting about then?”
“What makes you think we’re fighting?” Harry asked, glowering at his tea and busied himself with holding the saucer steady.
Neville shot him a do you think I’m stupid look.
“We didn’t have a fight.” Harry insisted.
“Really?” Neville asked in mock astonishment. Harry glared over at him. “I don’t recall a time since the three of you got together—no—since Hogwarts, where one of you haven’t known where the other two were.”
Still, Harry didn’t answer.
“Yet,” Neville went on, sounding annoyed, “I woke up to Hermione, frantic in my fireplace asking me what had happened to you. Now, I know you love her, but I don’t fancy waking up on a Sunday to a hysterical Hermione screaming that I need to check on you because she didn’t know where you were.”
A pang of guilt shot through Harry. He hadn’t meant to worry them. He’d thought by staying away, by doing the noble thing, that they’d understand. So used to them reading his mind he was certain they’d’ve figured it out by now. He’d stayed away to give them time to recover. To let enough grace grow that he’d have a shot a redemption.
Neville was staring at him but his face had softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Harry shook his head, setting down his tea
A thought occurred to him suddenly. “How well do you know Julian?”
A frown creased Neville’s features. Carefully, he spoke. “We’ve met a couple of times.
He paused, trying to read Harry and guessed, “I wasn’t inviting you to show you off or anything if that’s what you were thinking. I didn’t know any of them very well and thought it’d be nice to have a friend there. I’m sorry you had such a bad time.”
Harry shook his head and lied, “I didn’t have a terrible time.”
Neville snorted.
“I didn’t,” he insisted, “I mean, it wasn’t your fault.”
Harry could feel Neville etching him for a moment and then his friend shrugged. “Well, anyway, thanks for coming, you’re a real friend, even if you were in the middle of a quarrel.”
“We didn’t-“ Harry said but let the sentence trail off.
Somehow he didn’t think Neville would believe Julian even if the story got back to him. Perhaps it was better to let Neville think that a disagreement with his partners had caused his spiral.
“Go home,” Neville told him, standing. “Say you’re sorry. Whatever it is, I know you’ll work it out.”
Nodding, Harry stood too, not quite brave enough to go, but when Neville did not exit, understood that he’d been sent with orders not to leave the room without sending Harry on his way. And so, gathering all of the Gryffindor courage he had in him, made his way towards the fireplace.
Mid-morning light streamed in their living room as he stepped from the grate.
Two bodies flew at him, wrapping him up, ignoring his stale smell. Neither of them said anything and in their embrace, Harry felt close to tears. They stood like that for a long time, hearts racing against one another. He wanted them closer, wished they were far away, for their naked bodies to fuse into his and never be apart again, wanted them never to know of his shame.
When at last they loosened Harry hung his head, a lump in his throat making it very hard to speak. Could feel their expectant stares but his focus was suddenly on the smell of Hermione’s shampoo and Ron’s aftershave and knew he stunk.
“I need to shower.” He said, surprising himself.
They didn’t reply and he glanced up at them, Hermione who looked close to tears, and then Ron, the most apologetic expression on his face.
“I’ll get you a fresh towel,” Ron said at last.
He’d almost forgotten about their fight from the previous morning entirely and wanted to say how sorry he was. All he could manage was to reach out and squeeze the hand just inches from his and Ron gave a forgiving smile and Harry knew, at once, that it didn’t need speaking of again.
When he emerged having scrubbed the oil and grime from his skin, they sat on the bed, reminding Harry of all the happy evenings they spent crowded together getting ready in the cramped bathroom of their first flat. He turned away only to dress-pajamas rather than clothes for the day- and pulled on his matching bathrobe that had been a Christmas present from Hermione’s parents.
“You want to eat first?” Hermione asked timidly.
Harry’s appetite had yet to return and what was more his mouth felt filled with cotton. There was no use in delaying this. Either they accepted him or kicked him back out. His mind had prepared him fully for the latter, but the longer he was home he didn’t think he could face the former.
His eyes met Ron’s. “Are you cheating?”
The reaction to his unanticipated question was instantaneous. “Christ, no, what the fuck Harry?”
Ron looked betrayed and some small part of Harry felt relief course through him. He’d jumped to his feet at the question and walked towards him, arms splayed, “Is that what you think, bloody hell, who in the fuck-“
“I don’t,” Harry shook his head. “Of course I don’t.”
“Then why-?” Ron begged, turning to Hermione who was staring, her mouth agape in horror.
He looked at them both. “Are you only with me because I asked?”
They called his name at the same time with equal outrage and alarm, “Harry!” “How could you-“ “What do you-“
Now they had all found their feet and Hermione was just as close as they talked over one another, shared a glance and then Hermione, her voice very high pitched demanded, “Tell us what’s going on!”
“There was a man, a friend of a friend of Neville’s. French. Spent the whole night staring at me, only, it took me a while to notice.” He didn’t think that if he paused he’d be able to go on but was glad he did for it allowed time for Ron and Hermione to fall back onto the bed, hanging onto his every word. “I ducked out early, wanted to come home, wanted to see you, Christ I spent the whole night thinking about you and I don’t know, I think he thought those blushes were for him.”
Harry turned away to wipe his lips. They burned, already chapped and bleeding.
“He was outside when I tried to leave. Insisted he didn’t know the way and I…fuck I just wanted to come home and it was freezing out so I asked to use the floo. I was waiting for the fire to build back up and he poured me wine and when I tried to leave he… he-“ again he picked at his lips, wanting the feeling to be gone from them. “I was too stunned to do anything at first. But when I shoved him off…he said that he thought this was what I did, that I could have whoever I wanted, that I’d earned it-“ the words which he’d spent the last few days tumbling around in his mind, each time cutting him a little deeper sounded even worse on his lips. He glanced in Ron’s direction, not meeting his eyes. “He said that if he was my…if he was mine….he wouldn’t leave me alone to fuck his way through the quidditch league.”
Silence met the final nail in the coffin. Harry didn’t dare look at them. Couldn’t face the end. Instead, he stared at the quilt on the bed, trying to memorize the pattern, hold onto to all the good memories that it had held…had.
A sniffle forced him to look up but Hermione wasn’t crying, a hard look on her face. “What’s his name?”
Here it was. The end.
“He wasn’t-“ Harry whispered pitifully, “I don’t-“
“What is his name?” Ron repeated through clenched teeth.
He didn’t deserve their anger. He was beneath this. “I don’t want him, he just-“
They exchanged a look of surprise and he felt let in on their astonishment when Hermione growled, “I’ll kill him.”
“Hermione,” Harry begged, not wanting harm to befall him. “He-“
“No one,” Hermione said, rising to her feet, looking completely terrifying even in her pink bathrobe, wandless, a foot shorter. “No one gets to touch you without your permission.” She glanced at his lips, softened only for a moment, and whispered, “Gets to kiss you. Without your permission.”
Harry revisited the wave of relief, afraid it had come too soon. “You’re not mad…at me?”
“Why would we be mad at you?” Hermione asked as Ron reached up to grab her arm as if to hold her back.
Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes. “Christ Harry, he assaulted you. Did you think?”
Tears burning in his eyes betrayed him.
“Oh, Harry,“ Ron muttered, getting up at once and instead of wrapping him in a hug, offered his arms to him. It took Harry a moment to trust him but when he collapsed, the tears that had spent the past thirty-six hours burning his eyes falling, Ron was there to catch him, to hold him, to make him, at last, feel real. Again, right in his ear in a voice that shot straight to his soul. “Oh, Harry.”
Harry curried himself in him, clutched at his robe, his shirt, breathing in the smell he’d feared never being able to smell again. The life he thought he’d be banished from.
“Harry we love you,” Hermione whispered, wrapping her arms around him too, clutching him to both of them. “We want you. We love you, so so much.”
“So much,” Ron echoed in his ear, kissing his temple, his cheeks salty with tears. “Bloody hell, Harry they don’t know us, can’t understand how much we love each other. It scares them I think, to see three people so attractive and perfect for one another.”
Harry laughed and could tell Ron was pleased with himself by the way his chest swelled.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice still rough with emotion. “I shouldn’t’ve- I should’ve-“
“Don’t let anyone tell you anything but the truth,” Hermione insisted, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his face towards hers. “We are in love. With you. It is us, Harry. It’s the only way it’s supposed to be with no one else. You did not claim us, or convince us. We fell in love with you at the same time you fell in love with us, please tell me you believe that.”
He nodded. “I know.” And felt the need to say, “I love you, Hermione.”
She beamed at him, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek as Ron’s lips found his temple.
“I love you, Ron.”
Love. In love. How could he have ever doubted it?
It took some negation to get the name out of him. But first there’d been breakfast and a cuddling so tender it had made him cry all over again. Finally, as the sun had started to set (all three of them had feigned sickness for the next day), Harry gave it to them in a whisper.
“No curses,” he’d made Hermione promise, “And no more death threats.”
He didn’t think any of them believed the promises they made as they bundled up their cloaks.
“You don’t have to come,” Ron told him. But Harry was rather afraid of the look on his face as he wrapped a scarf around his neck.
“You two could stay,” Harry offered. They stopped, looked at one another, and then him.
Ron reached over, running the pad of his thumb over the lips he and Hermione had spent the day carefully nursing back to health. Harry winced as a new sensation filled him and pulled the scarf towards him until their lips were only millimeters away. Ron’s head tilted in question, lips hesitant as Harry closed the gap, experimentally brushing their bottom lips together with the way they had when they had first started dating.
Sounding a little breathless, Ron asked, “Do you not want us to?”
All Harry wanted was for there to be no question to their status. For no one to dare use the lies the man had used last night to damage him.
“We won’t,” Hermione said in a small voice and he turned towards her. She was studying him with a fretful expression. “If you ask us not to.”
He knew they needed this as much as he. So he bent down, giving her an equally tender kiss, and watched as her eyelids fluttered open as he pulled away, one finger still tilting up her chin.
It was how they showed their love. Protecting him. They’d done it to the Dursleys. To both of their parents, Hermione choosing a life without her mother rather than one with a mother who despised Harry. At every turn, they had told whoever needed telling boldly that they loved him and that he was theirs.
“We can go,” Harry said, taking Hermione’s hand and then Ron’s hand in his. Mittened hands gave his synchronous squeezes and they were off.
The air outside Honeyduke’s was just as biting as Harry remembered. Footprints from a busy day masked the two lone ones from the night before but Harry remembered this door. He stared up at the small flat above, trying to decide if it was still occupied. If he asked to turn back now he was sure they would but didn’t try and stop them, giving permission in a squeeze and following Ron as she walked towards the door and unlocked it with a spell they’d were required to have a warrant to utilize.
Harry followed behind them, shutting the door as they marched up the stairs in slow, calculated steps. Just moments before coming into view Harry heard Julian’s shout of surprise and then pleading. When he rounded the corner Julian had backed himself into the very same corner Harry had been boxed into. It was with some satisfaction he watched Julian’s eyes dart from face to face, hands held up although Ron and Hermione’s wands were pocketed.
“What?” Julian gasped, meeting Harry’s eyes, “What is the meaning of this?”
Having nothing to say, Harry merely crossed his arms and leaned against the archway, trying to look much more collected than he felt.
“You told them?” he gasped, making it seem-just as Harry feared- some
He glanced over at his lovers but they were unperturbed by this accession. Ron stepped menacingly towards Julian, forcing his attention off of Harry.
“What are you scared of?” Ron asked in a growl. “Harry’s a free man, right? Can have whomever he wants?”
Julian’s face lost what little color it had. “I didn’t mean-“
“I don’t get a say, fucking my way through the Quidditch league.” Ron went on, inching closer.
“There’s truth to every rumor.” Julian’s voice was uneven.
“Let’s just squash some of those right now why don’t we,” Hermione said, stepping closer to him. “Because clearly you don’t know how to read the signs.”
“He wanted it-“ Julian whispered pleadingly.
“No,” Hermione shook her head. “He didn’t. You don’t get to put your hands on whomever you want. In fact, since you seem so dense, I’d make it a rule not to put your hands on anyone unless they ask for it.”
“He-“
Ron’s hands shot out, grabbing him by the front of his jumper and pinned him to the wall. “Are you asking for it? You sure seem to be licking your lips an awful lot. Do you want me to kiss you?”
Julian’s swallow could be heard from across the room.
“Harry is taken,” Ron growled. “You don’t get to prey on people and make yourself out to be the victim, you hear?”
Nodding, Julian cringed as Ron pulled back.
“Because next time it won’t just be a bruised jaw you leave with.”
With a thump Julian crumpled to the floor as Ron let go and turn, leaving Hermione to tower over him.
“You leave him alone and if you tell another soul I will find out and I will hunt you down.”
Julian stared up at her, eyes wide, nodding, hands rising up to protect his head but he was out of danger for Hermione, with one last scathing look, turned, taking Ron’s hand, and then walking over to Harry. They looked at him, questioningly but he had nothing to say. Instead, he lead the way back out of the flat and out into the alley. All he wanted was to be home. To make up for every second that he’d missed.
When Harry returned to the castle the following Wednesday it was with a changed perspective. It was hard selling the ruse that they’d all come down with a bug, hard to remember he was supposed to have been too exhausted to get out of bed when he couldn’t keep from smiling. Couldn’t keep the cheeriness out of his voice equally in remembrance of the past two days when they had confessed their love for one another a hundred different times in a hundred different ways, and in anticipation of the weekend, a getaway planned for the three of them.
“Feeling better, Professor Potter,” Neville said knowingly as Harry joined his fellow staff for lunch.
Harry coughed, quite unconvincingly in his mind, “I’m on the mend I think.”
His spirits weren’t dampened when he realized he’d come back just in time for his weekly NEWTS preparation group, meaning it wouldn’t be an early night.
At his office he paused, pushing aside the essays his third years had turned in so he could deposit the notebooks his seventh years were keeping for revision and found an envelope with Ron’s slated scroll on it with his name.
He’d forgotten about this communication attempt and reached for it, breaking the wax seal and pulling out the piece of parchment with his best mate’s handwriting.
Harry,
Sorry about this morning. I should know better than to harass you after a night of drinking. You had every right to go back to the castle. I was just jealous of any pillow that you slept on that wasn’t my chest.
Too sappy? I don’t care.
I miss you. Come home. I don’t care that we just spent the whole holiday together, I could spend every day with you and it wouldn’t be enough.
I love you. Let me tell you how sorry I am in person. I promise you that I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness.
Anything. (and Harry squinted, amused at the triple underline)
Love,
Ron.
Harry had known for years that he’d needed them but the thirty-six hours when he’d thought he was going to lose them forever had cemented his need for them in his mind. He was going to marry them, Harry decided as he raced to pull on his cloak to finally, finally get home. One way or another he would stand in front of everyone who would ever listen and declare, openly that he loved his best friends and there would never be another soul for him.