Fic: An Unselfish Choice (H/R/H NC-17) for alchymie
Title: An Unselfish Choice
Author: eibbil_libbie
For: alchymie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Summary: Harry makes a decision, Hermione informs him it's the wrong one.
Author Notes: Happy Christmas hope it's to your liking! Many thanks, hugs and really messy kisses to my sooper sekrit betas alissomora and abigail89 for their help and guidance! Also to _lore for all her hard work.
Harry stood, silent and still, watching the snow drift outside the frosted windows. All was quiet outside the walls of the cottage…and inside it as well. He tried to let the peace of the night steal into him, but tonight there was no peace to be found.
Every creak of a floorboard, every sound filtering through the thin walls acted to further drive the wedge between Harry and a restful night. But he'd done what needed doing. No matter the chasm forming within him, no matter that his heart felt colder than the icicles forming on the eaves. He would be comfortable in his decision.
Or at least show that appearance of comfort to anyone bothering to look.
"Harry?"
He stiffened where he stood, taking a moment to steel his features into a welcoming smile, trying to ensure that no matter what, his visitor would see none of the pain lancing though him.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Nothing's wrong, Hermione. I was just watching the snow. We won't get much outside training done if this keeps up…"
He stopped at the finger pressed to his lips and forced himself to meet the eyes trying to bore into his. It was all he could do not to take her hand, pull her close, and belie every word he'd said to her earlier that evening.
"Why did you do it?" she asked, her voice almost dangerously low.
"Do what?" he returned, trying to look puzzled.
Whatever the look on his face, it clearly wasn't believable. "Don't give me that innocent look, Harry Potter. You know precisely what I mean. Why did you tell me it was over? Why are we suddenly over?"
"We're not over. We're just not together anymore. It's Christmas, and I couldn't stand to spend another day living in selfish denial over what truly was."
"Care to enlighten me about that dizzying insight?"
Harry raised an eye at her tone. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm."
"I don't appreciate being cast off at Christmas. Best you get used to the tone if we're going to continue living in this house, the three of us."
"No need to get snippy with me," he shot back at her, hating having to row with her when all he really wanted was to pull her into his arms and snog her breathless. "No blessings for the bloke trying to do right by everyone, are there? I've given you what you truly want, Hermione. Just take it and be happy, why don't you?"
"I would if I had the first clue what you're on about. And if you thought I'd take your careless cast off without question, you…."
"It wasn't careless!" Harry's voice rang through the silent house. "I've done nothing but think about this for days, weeks. It's the only solution. The only one that makes sense."
"That explains the fits of sullens you've been lapsing into then," Hermione said, almost to herself. "I still don't understand, though. Why did you think it was even necessary? When did you decide that ditching me was the right thing to do? More than that…why did you decide it?"
She was angry, her voice raised, but Harry could hear the pain in her voice just the same. "When? About 2 am yesterday morning," he shot back at her, still trying to maintain his angry stance rather than giving in to the ache gripping his heart in a constrictive fist. "When you called out Ron's name. Again. I couldn't bear it any longer and knew it was time to act. "
"I never!" Hermione's eyes flashed, but with shock or guilt, Harry couldn't tell. "I'd never do anything of the sort while…"
Harry cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No. Not during." Thank God for that he didn't add. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if Ron's name had tumbled from her lips while they were still joined. "When you're sleeping, Hermione. You do it. All. The. Time." His hand came up again when she looked about to interrupt. "I know that tone of voice as well. It's the same you use when you're turned on, when you're just about to explode. And you call out his name!"
"Well, so do you!" Her voice matched his in volume as she shot that back at him, finally able to get a word in edgewise.
The silence that greeted that statement was deafening.
"I do not," he finally managed.
"Oh yes you do. And loudly with it. I may call out in my sleep, Harry, but you talk in yours. 'Yes, Ron. Just there, Ron.' I can't tell you how many times I've heard it, awakened to find you pressed up against me, hard enough to pound spikes into cement, and recounting just what he's doing in your dream. But you don't see me chucking you away for it, now do you?"
"I…," he floundered. His mind was suddenly conjuring images of forgotten dreams while faint memories of waking aroused and unfulfilled dueled with those images for precedence. "No."
"Yes." Her voice had lost its hard edge, and some of its volume, but it was no less brittle. She closed the distance between them, her hand slipping into his. "Why are you fighting it?"
"Why?" Startled by her question, he dropped his eyes to finally meet hers. He might still be struggling with what he'd managed to suppress from his conscious mind, but further denials seemed pointless now. "Why do you think? I'm in love with you!"
"But you want him, too," she finished.
His mouth opened and shut a few times while his voice refused to utter the negative. "Yes," he said finally and knew he'd never said anything more truthful in his life. And to think an hour ago he had thought he couldn't have felt any worse.
Eyes closed against what he was sure he'd see in her face, Harry didn't realise how close she'd moved to him until he felt her body pressing against his, felt her lips travel along his cheek. "And what if I told you it was reciprocated? That it's the same for me?" Her breath was hot against his ear. That, and the slight friction of her body were causing little explosions to take place all over him and robbing him of the ability to think clearly.
"Wh-what?"
"I love both of you, Harry. Want both of you. And Ron…" her voice was still close in his ear, her lips soft against the hollow just beneath his earlobe. "Ron wants us. Loves us. Has all along." Her fingers had deftly undone the belt of his robe and parted the material. Didn't she know he couldn't think with her fingers sliding along the waistband of his pyjamas like that? "There's no reason for any of us to be miserable, or alone. Come with me and I'll show you."
Ever since blundering into a Death Eater fight unawares fifth year, Harry'd made a point of never charging in without thinking a situation through first. That training leeched away at the insistent pressure of her hand in his, and he followed her up the stairs toward Ron's room without a clue in his head of what would happen next.
She pushed open the door slowly, revealing a slightly rumpled bed. Ron lay dead centre, his hair on end (from running his hand through it, no doubt), a sheet barely covering his lean hips and not covering his bare chest at all. For the first time in conscious memory, Harry allowed himself to stare openly at what he'd been denying himself and felt hunger claw at him as it never had before. There were no words, but Ron understood just the same. Both of his arms raised, hands stretching towards them.
Hermione went quite willingly into his arms, settling comfortably into his side before leaning up to kiss him thoroughly. Feeling slightly awkward, but utterly unable to look away, Harry stood and watched them. Wondering why the sight of Hermione kissing another man wasn't filling him with jealousy. Why it was, in fact, turning his hunger into outright, desperate need.
Blue eyes met his and Harry knew. If it had been any other man, he would have hexed first and asked questions afterwards. But it wasn't any other man.
It was Ron. Ron whom he'd loved as a brother when he was younger, who he'd come to love as so much more as they'd grown into adulthood.
Ron, who was reaching for him, eyes blazing at him over the top of Hermione's head.
Harry's feet unstuck from the floor, the last tendrils of doubt or worry or whatever had kept these desires locked away in his subconscious swept irrevocably aside. The bed creaked once under his weight, his robe made a soft fluttering sound as it slipped off his shoulders and hit the floor. Then his mouth was on Ron's and he fell straight into his dreams.
He tastes like Hermione. The thought filtered through the small part of his brain still able to function outside of base instinct. When he realised why, that Hermione had been kissing him just moments before, a surge of need swept over him and he groaned deep in his throat. Ron must've understood because two strong arms slipped around his middle and pulled him close. Idly, he marveled at the differences. Where Hermione was soft curves, Ron was all hard and angular. Hermione's mouth was sweet and smooth, but Ron's was more firm, his tongue more insistent. His hands…her hands… Harry's entire body went rigid. His pyjamas were down around his thighs, pushed there by a pair of hands. The same hands that were vying over his cock, the same fingers that were stroking him and each other.
"Fuck," Harry said, his voice thick and coarse.
"That's the idea, mate," Ron answered, his teeth tugging on his earlobe. "As many times as we can before dawn."
"This ends at dawn?" Harry asked, pulling back to meet both of their eyes, a pit forming in his stomach at the very idea.
Ron grinned up at him. "Not bloody likely. But by then we'll need to break for food at the very least."
"Do you ever not think about food, Ron?" Hermione chuckled slightly.
"Yeah, I do. Take now, for instance." Without another word, he pulled Harry back into his arms and kissed him again.
Harry's hand slid along the sheet, across the flat plane of Ron's stomach, not stopping until he'd taken Ron's hand. He broke his lips from Ron's and looked towards Hermione. Ron cottoned on and grinned, turning his head to take Hermione's mouth in a kiss. Watching them, feeling his blood surging in his veins, Harry gave himself over to impulse. He drew his and Ron's joined hands along Hermione's stomach and splayed their fingers. With his hand covering Ron's, he smoothed them downward. Hermione whimpered into Ron's mouth and Harry grinned. Propped on his elbow now, Harry watched as their fingers slid into her coarse curls, then dipped inside her. When her hips raised off the bed, trying to get closer to them, Harry knew what he wanted. What he needed.
"Take her, Ron." Just saying the words made the remaining blood in his body surge towards his cock.
Ron turned to look at Harry, blue eyes almost purple with desire now. "You take me and I will."
The idea, the mental images his brain had spun while he slept, had been begging for acknowledgement since he'd walked into this room. And now, his body on fire as it never had been before, he could only utter one word. One response. And it was more than a jumble of letters. They all knew it. It was his heart, his soul, his life he was giving to Ron, to Hermione. It was everything he had, everything he was and would be in future.
"Yes."
Sleepwear and sheets were shed in a blur of frenzied hands. Strokes and teasing touches punctuated every brush of their bodies, whispers and kisses warred against the creaking of bedsprings. A sharp intake of breath and a low moan of satisfaction filled the room as Ron buried himself inside Hermione. Harry paused to watch, to lean down and kiss each of them in turn, to stroke himself as Hermione's inner muscles stroked Ron.
"Harry…." Ron's groan, and the touch of his long fingers against his own fevered flesh, stopped Harry's voyeurism and galvanised him into motion. Suddenly thankful he'd listened when Dean and Seamus had discussed techniques and lubrication charms one drunken evening, Harry summoned his wand from the discarded clothes on the floor and performed one, coating himself and Ron. His hand slid over the hard muscles of Ron's backside, dipping between the crease of flesh and pressing in when it slid over muscle. Beneath him, Ron moaned again and thrust harder into Hermione.
Need was near blinding him and begging him to hurry, to bury himself inside, but Harry didn't want to hurt him. A second finger joined the first, scissoring and stretching muscle, preparing him as best he could. Finally, he could stand it no longer and, judging from his motions, neither could Ron. With every move backwards, he pushed against Harry's hand, as if trying to draw his fingers even deeper.
Harry shifted slightly and positioned himself, cock now pressing just slightly against Ron's arse. Ron stilled his hips, remaining seated inside Hermione, but no longer thrusting into her. As slowly as he could manage, Harry pushed forward, every inch causing desire to burst against his eyelids like fireworks. "Yessssss," he hissed, echoing Ron's intake of breath. "Feel….fuck…yes…" Finally, when he was fully sheathed within Ron, hands gripping his lover's hips, he leaned forward. "Fuck her," he ground out, "fuck her while I fuck you."
It was all Ron needed. Suddenly, his hips were moving again, his cock burying inside Hermione while Harry's buried inside him. It surprised none of them that they found their rhythm quickly. They'd been in tune with each other for so many years, it was only natural that that wavelength would carry over into this bedroom. Into this embrace. Into the one being they'd become.
The buildup had been nothing to the actual experience of it, but both weighed heavily on Harry as they moved together. He had no auditory clues for Ron as yet, but he could tell from Hermione's keening that she wouldn't last much longer. He himself felt as though he was fighting to hold back his release with every bit of strength he possessed. Every forward thrust of his own hips and every backwards one of Ron's pushed him nearer and nearer that edge.
Hermione's cries filled the room seconds later. Harry knew her body well enough to know that Ron had little chance of staving off his own release once her muscles spasmed around him. He closed his eyes and increased his pace, shifting slightly now that Ron's hips had stilled their frantic motion. A gasp was torn from Harry's lips when he felt Ron's muscles tightening around his cock, heard Ron's voice call out his name. And with an oath that shook the very walls, Harry let go and poured himself into Ron until he was shaking with it.
Later, much later, as three bodies lay spent and sated, the downstairs clock chimed twelve times in succession. Harry propped up on his elbow again and gazed down at his lovers.
"Happy Christmas," he said softly.
"Happy Christmas," they replied, returning his kisses.
As the Ron and Hermione drifted into content, sated sleep, their arms and legs twined into one restful mass, Harry Potter smiled into the darkness and felt hope, optimism and loved. Purely loved by the two that knew him best. Loved him best.
His eyes fluttered shut and he moved into blissful, undisturbed sleep, lulled by the warmth of his family.
Author: eibbil_libbie
For: alchymie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Summary: Harry makes a decision, Hermione informs him it's the wrong one.
Author Notes: Happy Christmas hope it's to your liking! Many thanks, hugs and really messy kisses to my sooper sekrit betas alissomora and abigail89 for their help and guidance! Also to _lore for all her hard work.
Harry stood, silent and still, watching the snow drift outside the frosted windows. All was quiet outside the walls of the cottage…and inside it as well. He tried to let the peace of the night steal into him, but tonight there was no peace to be found.
Every creak of a floorboard, every sound filtering through the thin walls acted to further drive the wedge between Harry and a restful night. But he'd done what needed doing. No matter the chasm forming within him, no matter that his heart felt colder than the icicles forming on the eaves. He would be comfortable in his decision.
Or at least show that appearance of comfort to anyone bothering to look.
"Harry?"
He stiffened where he stood, taking a moment to steel his features into a welcoming smile, trying to ensure that no matter what, his visitor would see none of the pain lancing though him.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Nothing's wrong, Hermione. I was just watching the snow. We won't get much outside training done if this keeps up…"
He stopped at the finger pressed to his lips and forced himself to meet the eyes trying to bore into his. It was all he could do not to take her hand, pull her close, and belie every word he'd said to her earlier that evening.
"Why did you do it?" she asked, her voice almost dangerously low.
"Do what?" he returned, trying to look puzzled.
Whatever the look on his face, it clearly wasn't believable. "Don't give me that innocent look, Harry Potter. You know precisely what I mean. Why did you tell me it was over? Why are we suddenly over?"
"We're not over. We're just not together anymore. It's Christmas, and I couldn't stand to spend another day living in selfish denial over what truly was."
"Care to enlighten me about that dizzying insight?"
Harry raised an eye at her tone. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm."
"I don't appreciate being cast off at Christmas. Best you get used to the tone if we're going to continue living in this house, the three of us."
"No need to get snippy with me," he shot back at her, hating having to row with her when all he really wanted was to pull her into his arms and snog her breathless. "No blessings for the bloke trying to do right by everyone, are there? I've given you what you truly want, Hermione. Just take it and be happy, why don't you?"
"I would if I had the first clue what you're on about. And if you thought I'd take your careless cast off without question, you…."
"It wasn't careless!" Harry's voice rang through the silent house. "I've done nothing but think about this for days, weeks. It's the only solution. The only one that makes sense."
"That explains the fits of sullens you've been lapsing into then," Hermione said, almost to herself. "I still don't understand, though. Why did you think it was even necessary? When did you decide that ditching me was the right thing to do? More than that…why did you decide it?"
She was angry, her voice raised, but Harry could hear the pain in her voice just the same. "When? About 2 am yesterday morning," he shot back at her, still trying to maintain his angry stance rather than giving in to the ache gripping his heart in a constrictive fist. "When you called out Ron's name. Again. I couldn't bear it any longer and knew it was time to act. "
"I never!" Hermione's eyes flashed, but with shock or guilt, Harry couldn't tell. "I'd never do anything of the sort while…"
Harry cut her off with a wave of his hand. "No. Not during." Thank God for that he didn't add. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if Ron's name had tumbled from her lips while they were still joined. "When you're sleeping, Hermione. You do it. All. The. Time." His hand came up again when she looked about to interrupt. "I know that tone of voice as well. It's the same you use when you're turned on, when you're just about to explode. And you call out his name!"
"Well, so do you!" Her voice matched his in volume as she shot that back at him, finally able to get a word in edgewise.
The silence that greeted that statement was deafening.
"I do not," he finally managed.
"Oh yes you do. And loudly with it. I may call out in my sleep, Harry, but you talk in yours. 'Yes, Ron. Just there, Ron.' I can't tell you how many times I've heard it, awakened to find you pressed up against me, hard enough to pound spikes into cement, and recounting just what he's doing in your dream. But you don't see me chucking you away for it, now do you?"
"I…," he floundered. His mind was suddenly conjuring images of forgotten dreams while faint memories of waking aroused and unfulfilled dueled with those images for precedence. "No."
"Yes." Her voice had lost its hard edge, and some of its volume, but it was no less brittle. She closed the distance between them, her hand slipping into his. "Why are you fighting it?"
"Why?" Startled by her question, he dropped his eyes to finally meet hers. He might still be struggling with what he'd managed to suppress from his conscious mind, but further denials seemed pointless now. "Why do you think? I'm in love with you!"
"But you want him, too," she finished.
His mouth opened and shut a few times while his voice refused to utter the negative. "Yes," he said finally and knew he'd never said anything more truthful in his life. And to think an hour ago he had thought he couldn't have felt any worse.
Eyes closed against what he was sure he'd see in her face, Harry didn't realise how close she'd moved to him until he felt her body pressing against his, felt her lips travel along his cheek. "And what if I told you it was reciprocated? That it's the same for me?" Her breath was hot against his ear. That, and the slight friction of her body were causing little explosions to take place all over him and robbing him of the ability to think clearly.
"Wh-what?"
"I love both of you, Harry. Want both of you. And Ron…" her voice was still close in his ear, her lips soft against the hollow just beneath his earlobe. "Ron wants us. Loves us. Has all along." Her fingers had deftly undone the belt of his robe and parted the material. Didn't she know he couldn't think with her fingers sliding along the waistband of his pyjamas like that? "There's no reason for any of us to be miserable, or alone. Come with me and I'll show you."
Ever since blundering into a Death Eater fight unawares fifth year, Harry'd made a point of never charging in without thinking a situation through first. That training leeched away at the insistent pressure of her hand in his, and he followed her up the stairs toward Ron's room without a clue in his head of what would happen next.
She pushed open the door slowly, revealing a slightly rumpled bed. Ron lay dead centre, his hair on end (from running his hand through it, no doubt), a sheet barely covering his lean hips and not covering his bare chest at all. For the first time in conscious memory, Harry allowed himself to stare openly at what he'd been denying himself and felt hunger claw at him as it never had before. There were no words, but Ron understood just the same. Both of his arms raised, hands stretching towards them.
Hermione went quite willingly into his arms, settling comfortably into his side before leaning up to kiss him thoroughly. Feeling slightly awkward, but utterly unable to look away, Harry stood and watched them. Wondering why the sight of Hermione kissing another man wasn't filling him with jealousy. Why it was, in fact, turning his hunger into outright, desperate need.
Blue eyes met his and Harry knew. If it had been any other man, he would have hexed first and asked questions afterwards. But it wasn't any other man.
It was Ron. Ron whom he'd loved as a brother when he was younger, who he'd come to love as so much more as they'd grown into adulthood.
Ron, who was reaching for him, eyes blazing at him over the top of Hermione's head.
Harry's feet unstuck from the floor, the last tendrils of doubt or worry or whatever had kept these desires locked away in his subconscious swept irrevocably aside. The bed creaked once under his weight, his robe made a soft fluttering sound as it slipped off his shoulders and hit the floor. Then his mouth was on Ron's and he fell straight into his dreams.
He tastes like Hermione. The thought filtered through the small part of his brain still able to function outside of base instinct. When he realised why, that Hermione had been kissing him just moments before, a surge of need swept over him and he groaned deep in his throat. Ron must've understood because two strong arms slipped around his middle and pulled him close. Idly, he marveled at the differences. Where Hermione was soft curves, Ron was all hard and angular. Hermione's mouth was sweet and smooth, but Ron's was more firm, his tongue more insistent. His hands…her hands… Harry's entire body went rigid. His pyjamas were down around his thighs, pushed there by a pair of hands. The same hands that were vying over his cock, the same fingers that were stroking him and each other.
"Fuck," Harry said, his voice thick and coarse.
"That's the idea, mate," Ron answered, his teeth tugging on his earlobe. "As many times as we can before dawn."
"This ends at dawn?" Harry asked, pulling back to meet both of their eyes, a pit forming in his stomach at the very idea.
Ron grinned up at him. "Not bloody likely. But by then we'll need to break for food at the very least."
"Do you ever not think about food, Ron?" Hermione chuckled slightly.
"Yeah, I do. Take now, for instance." Without another word, he pulled Harry back into his arms and kissed him again.
Harry's hand slid along the sheet, across the flat plane of Ron's stomach, not stopping until he'd taken Ron's hand. He broke his lips from Ron's and looked towards Hermione. Ron cottoned on and grinned, turning his head to take Hermione's mouth in a kiss. Watching them, feeling his blood surging in his veins, Harry gave himself over to impulse. He drew his and Ron's joined hands along Hermione's stomach and splayed their fingers. With his hand covering Ron's, he smoothed them downward. Hermione whimpered into Ron's mouth and Harry grinned. Propped on his elbow now, Harry watched as their fingers slid into her coarse curls, then dipped inside her. When her hips raised off the bed, trying to get closer to them, Harry knew what he wanted. What he needed.
"Take her, Ron." Just saying the words made the remaining blood in his body surge towards his cock.
Ron turned to look at Harry, blue eyes almost purple with desire now. "You take me and I will."
The idea, the mental images his brain had spun while he slept, had been begging for acknowledgement since he'd walked into this room. And now, his body on fire as it never had been before, he could only utter one word. One response. And it was more than a jumble of letters. They all knew it. It was his heart, his soul, his life he was giving to Ron, to Hermione. It was everything he had, everything he was and would be in future.
"Yes."
Sleepwear and sheets were shed in a blur of frenzied hands. Strokes and teasing touches punctuated every brush of their bodies, whispers and kisses warred against the creaking of bedsprings. A sharp intake of breath and a low moan of satisfaction filled the room as Ron buried himself inside Hermione. Harry paused to watch, to lean down and kiss each of them in turn, to stroke himself as Hermione's inner muscles stroked Ron.
"Harry…." Ron's groan, and the touch of his long fingers against his own fevered flesh, stopped Harry's voyeurism and galvanised him into motion. Suddenly thankful he'd listened when Dean and Seamus had discussed techniques and lubrication charms one drunken evening, Harry summoned his wand from the discarded clothes on the floor and performed one, coating himself and Ron. His hand slid over the hard muscles of Ron's backside, dipping between the crease of flesh and pressing in when it slid over muscle. Beneath him, Ron moaned again and thrust harder into Hermione.
Need was near blinding him and begging him to hurry, to bury himself inside, but Harry didn't want to hurt him. A second finger joined the first, scissoring and stretching muscle, preparing him as best he could. Finally, he could stand it no longer and, judging from his motions, neither could Ron. With every move backwards, he pushed against Harry's hand, as if trying to draw his fingers even deeper.
Harry shifted slightly and positioned himself, cock now pressing just slightly against Ron's arse. Ron stilled his hips, remaining seated inside Hermione, but no longer thrusting into her. As slowly as he could manage, Harry pushed forward, every inch causing desire to burst against his eyelids like fireworks. "Yessssss," he hissed, echoing Ron's intake of breath. "Feel….fuck…yes…" Finally, when he was fully sheathed within Ron, hands gripping his lover's hips, he leaned forward. "Fuck her," he ground out, "fuck her while I fuck you."
It was all Ron needed. Suddenly, his hips were moving again, his cock burying inside Hermione while Harry's buried inside him. It surprised none of them that they found their rhythm quickly. They'd been in tune with each other for so many years, it was only natural that that wavelength would carry over into this bedroom. Into this embrace. Into the one being they'd become.
The buildup had been nothing to the actual experience of it, but both weighed heavily on Harry as they moved together. He had no auditory clues for Ron as yet, but he could tell from Hermione's keening that she wouldn't last much longer. He himself felt as though he was fighting to hold back his release with every bit of strength he possessed. Every forward thrust of his own hips and every backwards one of Ron's pushed him nearer and nearer that edge.
Hermione's cries filled the room seconds later. Harry knew her body well enough to know that Ron had little chance of staving off his own release once her muscles spasmed around him. He closed his eyes and increased his pace, shifting slightly now that Ron's hips had stilled their frantic motion. A gasp was torn from Harry's lips when he felt Ron's muscles tightening around his cock, heard Ron's voice call out his name. And with an oath that shook the very walls, Harry let go and poured himself into Ron until he was shaking with it.
Later, much later, as three bodies lay spent and sated, the downstairs clock chimed twelve times in succession. Harry propped up on his elbow again and gazed down at his lovers.
"Happy Christmas," he said softly.
"Happy Christmas," they replied, returning his kisses.
As the Ron and Hermione drifted into content, sated sleep, their arms and legs twined into one restful mass, Harry Potter smiled into the darkness and felt hope, optimism and loved. Purely loved by the two that knew him best. Loved him best.
His eyes fluttered shut and he moved into blissful, undisturbed sleep, lulled by the warmth of his family.