Fic: Providence (Harry/Hermione/Ron)
Title: Providence
Pairing: Harry/Hermione/Ron
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 2410
Summary: The first time was an accident
Warnings: *DH spoilers*
Betas: florahart & heather11483
AN: Written for celandineb at fall_fantasia.
The first time was an accident.
Or maybe not.
Ron isn’t entirely sure now. He can’t really consider something like this an accident, but it certainly wasn’t planned or expected. So, he doesn’t really know the right word for it. Hermione probably does, but it’s something they just don’t talk about, which means he can’t ask her. It’s right annoying, in a way, that they all know now, and it’s become a routine, yet they never speak about it. It’s like ‘the actions that won’t be named’, and he can’t help feeling like they’re supposed to be ashamed of it when they won’t even talk about it.
He isn’t ashamed, though. Feelings and talking aren’t his strengths by any means, and he really doesn’t want to have some long discussion with lists and rules, but pretending that it’s not happening just doesn’t feel right. Especially when it becomes more and more every single time. He’s not stupid, even if he’s nowhere near as clever as Hermione, so he can sort of see where this is leading. It scares him, kind of, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, but something that feels so right shouldn’t be terrifying.
As he walks down the stone staircase leading towards the beach, he wonders what Harry’s thinking. They exchange looks sometimes that seem so loaded and complicated that Ron flails a little inside because he’s confused. Not only did that first time change everything between the three of them, but it changed things between two of them, any two, as well. And if that makes sense to anyone else, Ron figures they must be a little crazy, too.
Still, it’s true. The three of them together are different than two of them apart. He’s fancied Hermione since he realized how nice she smells and watched her shirts start fitting differently. Her personality didn’t change so much, which made it tough to understand how he could see her face when he touched himself at night because he still didn’t like her nagging or constant scolding. Then, he started to grow up even more and eventually learned to accept everything about her, even the stuff he still doesn’t like.
Harry is different. Not only because he’s, well, a man, and Ron hasn’t ever really thought about that, not when his fantasies had beautiful curvy women to play with before focusing on one pretty brunette with too many opinions and gorgeous tits. He’s just Harry, Ron’s best friend, and it still feels a little strange to be looking at him and noticing things that Ginny has probably noticed, to have done things that Ginny never got a chance to do. Ron grimaces at that thought as he reaches the beach.
Is it betraying Ginny by feeling all this for Harry? And what, exactly, is the this he’s feeling? He needs Hermione to talk to them, to help make sense of all the mess in his head, but she isn’t ready yet to actually put what they’re doing into words. The idea that it scares her, too, is at least somewhat comforting because there’s hardly anything she won’t talk to death. Harry rarely ever talks about emotions, so he’s no help either. And this isn’t something he can really ask Bill. ‘Oi, Bill, what do I do if I realize that I want both my best friends? Yeah, that means I’m shagging my little sister’s boyfriend rotten’ just isn’t something that he wants to bring up.
It isn’t right to like a boy, not when he also likes a girl, but Ron can’t really put their relationship into such general terms. It’s Harry and Hermione, who have been a part of him for years, so that makes it alright in his eyes. His mum certainly wouldn’t agree, but he’s not intending to tell her anything about this, unless it becomes…well, no, he’s not going to think about the future. There’s a war happening, even if they’ve had a few weeks of rest by the sea, and he doesn’t know if they’ll even survive it to need to worry about a future.
Maybe that’s what makes this so easy. The knowledge that they might die and never have a chance to explore all this. Ron doesn’t want to die, but he wants Harry and Hermione to die even less, so he’s sort of ready to do whatever he has to in order to make sure they don’t. He ran out on them once; he won’t ever again. But maybe accepting death as a possibility has somehow made them reckless and free in a way they haven’t been before. They spent months living in a tent together, after all, and these things never really came up beyond his wanking over Hermione.
Shell Cottage changed it, he decides. Easier to blame a place than themselves. It’s a magical sort of place, hidden away from everyone with an expanse of coast that just begs to be explored during long, boring days when they bloody well can’t plan anymore. Luna and Dean are always off together, talking about magical creatures or art, and Bill and Fleur are newlyweds who try to shag every time they can, which is just kind of disgusting. Griphook is, well, he’s Griphook. So it’s just the three of them, as it should be and always will be.
It was a week after they arrived that it happened. The first time he ever walked down those stone stairs with Harry and found Hermione swimming in the cove. While her swimming wasn’t that life-altering, the fact that she was doing so naked was. Harry had frozen and stared in a way that had Ron fighting with jealousy and curiosity. He’d wanted to remind Harry that she was ‘like a sister’ and he never thought about her that way, but who really wants to talk to Harry when there’s a naked woman not that many feet away?
Instead, he quietly stood beside Harry and watched her swim. They’d been worried about her, as they had since the events of Malfoy Manor, and they didn’t like letting her out of their sight too long. After all, they’d nearly lost her once and neither could bear the idea of losing her again. So, when she’d said she was going for a walk, they'd given her twenty minutes before they went looking for her. She should have known they’d follow; they always did. Looking back, he wonders if maybe she did know. Maybe she hoped for all this, or planned it; she can be downright Slytherin when she really wants something.
Even now, weeks later, he isn’t sure which of them took the next step. One minute, he was watching water drip off her tits, and the next, he was unzipping his trousers to release his erection. The thing is, she knew they were there, had looked directly at them and blushed before she looked away and shyly touched her neck. They wouldn’t have been men if they hadn’t been hard by the time she touched her tits. And they wouldn’t have been bloody human if they hadn’t had to wank by the time she stepped out of the water and lay on a blanket so she could touch herself.
That first time, Ron had been caught between staring at her fingers as they moved along wet flushed skin he’d only hoped he’d ever have a chance to see and moving his hand faster until he finally came with a low grunt. It wasn’t until he heard a soft whine that he even really remembered that Harry was there, and he’d looked over to find Harry staring at Hermione, too, with come on his fingers and his cock in his fist.
It had been awkward, to say the least. They’d blushed and looked away and not said a single word as they wiped off and pulled their trousers back up. Which hadn’t been easy to do when Hermione was still touching herself. Girls were definitely different, because it took her ages before she shuddered and came with a soft moan that made his cock twitch despite having just come. It wasn’t until she was done and looking at the sea, a flush on her body from her recent orgasm or maybe embarrassment, that he quietly walked back along the beach and up to Shell Cottage.
Instead of being something horrible, as he’d rather expected it to be once she returned to the cottage, it was like it hadn’t even happened. She’d come back with wet hair and pink cheeks and proceeded to outline a new research strategy after murmuring something about being more relaxed. She'd hugged them both, damp hair brushing against his cheek, before she'd opened her books and gone to work. He’d exchanged the first of many looks with Harry before they’d shrugged and followed her lead.
The next day, when she said she was going for a walk and lingered just a few seconds while looking from one to the other of them, they'd quietly got up to follow her. It wasn’t an accident. It hasn’t been an accident in the sixteen days since. Not that they actually say it’s planned or even talk about how each time becomes more daring and makes the outcome inevitable. He doesn't really understand why, but it helps them focus on their mission, and they all need the comfort, even if there are times when it feels like this is just a fantasy to escape the harshness of their reality outside the cove.
It was the third time that he caught himself watching Harry nearly as much as he watched Hermione. Harry’s cock is longer than his, not as thick, and it curves up slightly as he drags his fingers over it. That night, in the shower, Ron thought about Hermione’s tits and Harry’s cock and came harder than he ever had before. After that, it just got worse. Harry started to look at him, too, shy and blushing, and then more confident and curious. It was a week before they hesitantly touched each other, fumbling and clumsy as they stroked each other’s cocks and wanked each other while Hermione moved her blanket even closer to watch.
The words started then. The first time they spoke in this magical little cove was when Harry whispered that Ron needed to move his hand faster. Since then, they talk often, about their fantasies and the things they want to do one day. Ron likes making them blush with the dirtiest things he can think up for them to do together, while Harry just hesitantly spills his secret desires to be touched and loved and made to feel wanted. Hermione just approaches it like another subject that she wants to study and learn everything about, even shocking him with some of the matter-of-fact positions or scenarios that she thinks up.
Here in their cove, though, there's no embarrassment or fear. They're honest as they lie on a blanket and talk, sharing the last area of their lives that they've kept from each other. The awkwardness and hesitancy has faded since that first time. They have gradually moved from him and Harry touching each other to slowly exploring Hermione's body, learning her curves and soft skin as they stroke her and figure out how to make her whimper, and have recently started using their mouths and tongues for more than just kissing.
Despite all this, he knows they won’t say a word once they reach the open beach and start back to the cottage. After all, it's not like they talk about anything serious in the cove. It's always fantasies and hopes, holding and loving. Hermione has healed from the torture, not just physically but he thinks maybe in other ways, too, because he and Harry are here to give her what she needs. Harry is healing, too, as he thinks about the upcoming battle that they all know is in their future and maybe isn't so scared knowing Ron and Hermione are with him always. And Ron just likes feeling connected to them, being part of them and knowing they need him to be complete, just like he needs them.
Unfortunately, the fantasy isn't going to last much longer. They’re going to be leaving soon, going to carry out their plan to break into Gringotts, going to possibly die, so he thinks they maybe should talk about this, because it's more than just an escape to him, and he knows it means something to them, too. He has to hope that maybe they just know better than him in this case.
After the war is over, they'll shag properly, Hermione says with such confidence and conviction that he can’t help but think maybe they will live, if only to see if this between the three of them can possibly work out of the safety of their cove. It’s a nice goal to have and definitely helps him think about a time when He Who Must Not Be Named is finally gone, and the three of them can just be together to see what happens.
“Ready?” Harry murmurs from beside him, drawing Ron’s attention from his thoughts as he realizes they’ve reached the rocks that shield the cove from view.
“Course, mate,” he says with a grin as he steps around them and finds Hermione sitting on the blanket waiting for them. Harry moves besides him, pulling his shirt up and over his head while Ron stares at her. Hermione smiles at them, the strap of her dress sliding off her shoulder as she looks from one to the other.
As Ron pulls his shirt over his head, he wonders how they'll spend the afternoon. Not bothering to remove his jeans, just in case they just lie there and talk, he walks over to the blanket and kneels down, kissing Hermione slowly as Harry joins them. When he feels Harry's fingers in his hair and moves his mouth from Hermione's to Harry's, he decides that maybe talking about it isn’t really that important.
In the end, words won’t change how they feel or what they want. This is right, this is how it should be, and this, they, are what gives him the strength and courage to get through every day. The thought of a future with them, of a life with the two people he loves, will be what keeps him alive.
Maybe the first time was simply providence.
End
Pairing: Harry/Hermione/Ron
Rating: Adult
Word Count: 2410
Summary: The first time was an accident
Warnings: *DH spoilers*
Betas: florahart & heather11483
AN: Written for celandineb at fall_fantasia.
The first time was an accident.
Or maybe not.
Ron isn’t entirely sure now. He can’t really consider something like this an accident, but it certainly wasn’t planned or expected. So, he doesn’t really know the right word for it. Hermione probably does, but it’s something they just don’t talk about, which means he can’t ask her. It’s right annoying, in a way, that they all know now, and it’s become a routine, yet they never speak about it. It’s like ‘the actions that won’t be named’, and he can’t help feeling like they’re supposed to be ashamed of it when they won’t even talk about it.
He isn’t ashamed, though. Feelings and talking aren’t his strengths by any means, and he really doesn’t want to have some long discussion with lists and rules, but pretending that it’s not happening just doesn’t feel right. Especially when it becomes more and more every single time. He’s not stupid, even if he’s nowhere near as clever as Hermione, so he can sort of see where this is leading. It scares him, kind of, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, but something that feels so right shouldn’t be terrifying.
As he walks down the stone staircase leading towards the beach, he wonders what Harry’s thinking. They exchange looks sometimes that seem so loaded and complicated that Ron flails a little inside because he’s confused. Not only did that first time change everything between the three of them, but it changed things between two of them, any two, as well. And if that makes sense to anyone else, Ron figures they must be a little crazy, too.
Still, it’s true. The three of them together are different than two of them apart. He’s fancied Hermione since he realized how nice she smells and watched her shirts start fitting differently. Her personality didn’t change so much, which made it tough to understand how he could see her face when he touched himself at night because he still didn’t like her nagging or constant scolding. Then, he started to grow up even more and eventually learned to accept everything about her, even the stuff he still doesn’t like.
Harry is different. Not only because he’s, well, a man, and Ron hasn’t ever really thought about that, not when his fantasies had beautiful curvy women to play with before focusing on one pretty brunette with too many opinions and gorgeous tits. He’s just Harry, Ron’s best friend, and it still feels a little strange to be looking at him and noticing things that Ginny has probably noticed, to have done things that Ginny never got a chance to do. Ron grimaces at that thought as he reaches the beach.
Is it betraying Ginny by feeling all this for Harry? And what, exactly, is the this he’s feeling? He needs Hermione to talk to them, to help make sense of all the mess in his head, but she isn’t ready yet to actually put what they’re doing into words. The idea that it scares her, too, is at least somewhat comforting because there’s hardly anything she won’t talk to death. Harry rarely ever talks about emotions, so he’s no help either. And this isn’t something he can really ask Bill. ‘Oi, Bill, what do I do if I realize that I want both my best friends? Yeah, that means I’m shagging my little sister’s boyfriend rotten’ just isn’t something that he wants to bring up.
It isn’t right to like a boy, not when he also likes a girl, but Ron can’t really put their relationship into such general terms. It’s Harry and Hermione, who have been a part of him for years, so that makes it alright in his eyes. His mum certainly wouldn’t agree, but he’s not intending to tell her anything about this, unless it becomes…well, no, he’s not going to think about the future. There’s a war happening, even if they’ve had a few weeks of rest by the sea, and he doesn’t know if they’ll even survive it to need to worry about a future.
Maybe that’s what makes this so easy. The knowledge that they might die and never have a chance to explore all this. Ron doesn’t want to die, but he wants Harry and Hermione to die even less, so he’s sort of ready to do whatever he has to in order to make sure they don’t. He ran out on them once; he won’t ever again. But maybe accepting death as a possibility has somehow made them reckless and free in a way they haven’t been before. They spent months living in a tent together, after all, and these things never really came up beyond his wanking over Hermione.
Shell Cottage changed it, he decides. Easier to blame a place than themselves. It’s a magical sort of place, hidden away from everyone with an expanse of coast that just begs to be explored during long, boring days when they bloody well can’t plan anymore. Luna and Dean are always off together, talking about magical creatures or art, and Bill and Fleur are newlyweds who try to shag every time they can, which is just kind of disgusting. Griphook is, well, he’s Griphook. So it’s just the three of them, as it should be and always will be.
It was a week after they arrived that it happened. The first time he ever walked down those stone stairs with Harry and found Hermione swimming in the cove. While her swimming wasn’t that life-altering, the fact that she was doing so naked was. Harry had frozen and stared in a way that had Ron fighting with jealousy and curiosity. He’d wanted to remind Harry that she was ‘like a sister’ and he never thought about her that way, but who really wants to talk to Harry when there’s a naked woman not that many feet away?
Instead, he quietly stood beside Harry and watched her swim. They’d been worried about her, as they had since the events of Malfoy Manor, and they didn’t like letting her out of their sight too long. After all, they’d nearly lost her once and neither could bear the idea of losing her again. So, when she’d said she was going for a walk, they'd given her twenty minutes before they went looking for her. She should have known they’d follow; they always did. Looking back, he wonders if maybe she did know. Maybe she hoped for all this, or planned it; she can be downright Slytherin when she really wants something.
Even now, weeks later, he isn’t sure which of them took the next step. One minute, he was watching water drip off her tits, and the next, he was unzipping his trousers to release his erection. The thing is, she knew they were there, had looked directly at them and blushed before she looked away and shyly touched her neck. They wouldn’t have been men if they hadn’t been hard by the time she touched her tits. And they wouldn’t have been bloody human if they hadn’t had to wank by the time she stepped out of the water and lay on a blanket so she could touch herself.
That first time, Ron had been caught between staring at her fingers as they moved along wet flushed skin he’d only hoped he’d ever have a chance to see and moving his hand faster until he finally came with a low grunt. It wasn’t until he heard a soft whine that he even really remembered that Harry was there, and he’d looked over to find Harry staring at Hermione, too, with come on his fingers and his cock in his fist.
It had been awkward, to say the least. They’d blushed and looked away and not said a single word as they wiped off and pulled their trousers back up. Which hadn’t been easy to do when Hermione was still touching herself. Girls were definitely different, because it took her ages before she shuddered and came with a soft moan that made his cock twitch despite having just come. It wasn’t until she was done and looking at the sea, a flush on her body from her recent orgasm or maybe embarrassment, that he quietly walked back along the beach and up to Shell Cottage.
Instead of being something horrible, as he’d rather expected it to be once she returned to the cottage, it was like it hadn’t even happened. She’d come back with wet hair and pink cheeks and proceeded to outline a new research strategy after murmuring something about being more relaxed. She'd hugged them both, damp hair brushing against his cheek, before she'd opened her books and gone to work. He’d exchanged the first of many looks with Harry before they’d shrugged and followed her lead.
The next day, when she said she was going for a walk and lingered just a few seconds while looking from one to the other of them, they'd quietly got up to follow her. It wasn’t an accident. It hasn’t been an accident in the sixteen days since. Not that they actually say it’s planned or even talk about how each time becomes more daring and makes the outcome inevitable. He doesn't really understand why, but it helps them focus on their mission, and they all need the comfort, even if there are times when it feels like this is just a fantasy to escape the harshness of their reality outside the cove.
It was the third time that he caught himself watching Harry nearly as much as he watched Hermione. Harry’s cock is longer than his, not as thick, and it curves up slightly as he drags his fingers over it. That night, in the shower, Ron thought about Hermione’s tits and Harry’s cock and came harder than he ever had before. After that, it just got worse. Harry started to look at him, too, shy and blushing, and then more confident and curious. It was a week before they hesitantly touched each other, fumbling and clumsy as they stroked each other’s cocks and wanked each other while Hermione moved her blanket even closer to watch.
The words started then. The first time they spoke in this magical little cove was when Harry whispered that Ron needed to move his hand faster. Since then, they talk often, about their fantasies and the things they want to do one day. Ron likes making them blush with the dirtiest things he can think up for them to do together, while Harry just hesitantly spills his secret desires to be touched and loved and made to feel wanted. Hermione just approaches it like another subject that she wants to study and learn everything about, even shocking him with some of the matter-of-fact positions or scenarios that she thinks up.
Here in their cove, though, there's no embarrassment or fear. They're honest as they lie on a blanket and talk, sharing the last area of their lives that they've kept from each other. The awkwardness and hesitancy has faded since that first time. They have gradually moved from him and Harry touching each other to slowly exploring Hermione's body, learning her curves and soft skin as they stroke her and figure out how to make her whimper, and have recently started using their mouths and tongues for more than just kissing.
Despite all this, he knows they won’t say a word once they reach the open beach and start back to the cottage. After all, it's not like they talk about anything serious in the cove. It's always fantasies and hopes, holding and loving. Hermione has healed from the torture, not just physically but he thinks maybe in other ways, too, because he and Harry are here to give her what she needs. Harry is healing, too, as he thinks about the upcoming battle that they all know is in their future and maybe isn't so scared knowing Ron and Hermione are with him always. And Ron just likes feeling connected to them, being part of them and knowing they need him to be complete, just like he needs them.
Unfortunately, the fantasy isn't going to last much longer. They’re going to be leaving soon, going to carry out their plan to break into Gringotts, going to possibly die, so he thinks they maybe should talk about this, because it's more than just an escape to him, and he knows it means something to them, too. He has to hope that maybe they just know better than him in this case.
After the war is over, they'll shag properly, Hermione says with such confidence and conviction that he can’t help but think maybe they will live, if only to see if this between the three of them can possibly work out of the safety of their cove. It’s a nice goal to have and definitely helps him think about a time when He Who Must Not Be Named is finally gone, and the three of them can just be together to see what happens.
“Ready?” Harry murmurs from beside him, drawing Ron’s attention from his thoughts as he realizes they’ve reached the rocks that shield the cove from view.
“Course, mate,” he says with a grin as he steps around them and finds Hermione sitting on the blanket waiting for them. Harry moves besides him, pulling his shirt up and over his head while Ron stares at her. Hermione smiles at them, the strap of her dress sliding off her shoulder as she looks from one to the other.
As Ron pulls his shirt over his head, he wonders how they'll spend the afternoon. Not bothering to remove his jeans, just in case they just lie there and talk, he walks over to the blanket and kneels down, kissing Hermione slowly as Harry joins them. When he feels Harry's fingers in his hair and moves his mouth from Hermione's to Harry's, he decides that maybe talking about it isn’t really that important.
In the end, words won’t change how they feel or what they want. This is right, this is how it should be, and this, they, are what gives him the strength and courage to get through every day. The thought of a future with them, of a life with the two people he loves, will be what keeps him alive.
Maybe the first time was simply providence.
End