Fic: Reunion (Harry/Ron/Hermione)
Title: Reunion
Author: calliope14 AKA ceilidh
Recipient's name: simons_flower
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Notes: I know how much you enjoy Trio fic, and I hope you enjoy this one! Merry Christmas!



It was always hardest, this time of year, Hermione decided. Any other time of year it was easy to push aside the memory of what had been, but there was something about Christmas that made it impossible. Hermione wasn't sure if it was because of the constant stream of gatherings with old classmates and friends who were more reluctant to say his name than they had been to say Voldemort's, or because Mrs Weasley always insisted on setting an extra, unused place at the Christmas dinner table, but the last three Decembers had been almost unbearable.

The first year, Ron had gotten up very early on Christmas morning, pulled up a chair to the front window, rubbed a patch of frost off the glass, and sat staring out it for most of the morning. He didn't move until Ginny came through the floo and helped Hermione haul him off to the Burrow for Christmas dinner. He hadn't said what he was waiting for, but Hermione knew.

She knew, because she was waiting for the same thing, but she couldn't bear to look.

The next two Christmases were much the same - Ron would get up very early, before the sun came up, pull up a chair, and sit by the frosted window without a word. Hermione would bring him a cup of tea and sit nearby with an unread book and wait until it was time to go to the Burrow. She couldn't bring herself to make Ron stop waiting, even though she was afraid to have the sort of hope he had. That kind of hope was too precious and too hurtful for more than one person.

She was the practical one, after all.

This Christmas was the first Christmas since the war ended that Ron didn't get up and sit by the window. "Maybe we should go over a bit early this year, Hermione," he said in an overly careful voice. "Ginny won't be able to help Mum with dinner because she'll have her hands full with the baby..." He slid out of bed and ducked into the shower before Hermione could protest or agree, and while part of her thought that it was good and healthy that Ron seemed to be moving on, another part of her felt empty. Ron had always had enough hope for the both of them, but not anymore. She wasn't sure how she would handle not having that security blanket of faith.

It seemed Ron wasn't the only one who was trying to move on. The corner of the table usually kept set but empty was occupied this year by a pretty pink-cheeked witch who came with Fred, and when Arthur raised his glass to 'absent friends', there was no catch in his voice, only a nostalgic twinkle. It felt wrong, somehow, not to observe these small rituals of remembrance, but it felt right all the same - Harry would have wanted them to be happy, to live their lives again without guilt.

Things were lighter this year somehow, Hermione realised over dinner. Perhaps it really was time for everyone to move on, now. George managed a few slightly off-colour jokes with each dish he passed round the table, Bill regaled them all with a tale of a headless mummy chasing him from a tomb two weeks prior, and the burbles and peals of laughter from the baby on Ginny's lap made everyone smile. And Ron seemed happier and more relaxed than he had been in a very long time. Something about his smile across the dinner table was comforting and reassuring, and soon she was caught up in the sea of conversation and holiday cheer.

After a wonderful meal, more glasses of wine than were strictly necessary, and enough rounds of wizards' chess to solidify Ron's status as Weasley chessmaster, Ron and Hermione said their goodbyes to the Weasleys. Ron was warm from the glow of victory and from the flush of alcohol, and Hermione slid her hands under his cloak to take the chill from her fingers as they Apparated back to their house. The sight of a smile on his freckled face lit a small fire in the pool of her belly, and she nuzzled her face against his shoulder when they arrived at their front door.

"I can't find the keys," Ron said, one gloved hand digging in his cloak pockets, the other at the small of Hermione's back, pressing her to him. "You and your Muggle locks, honestly..."

She slipped her free hand into his trouser pocket and curled her fingers around the small keyring there. "These?" she asked, not pulling the keys out of his pocket, but instead rubbing her knuckles along the line of his hip through the pocket lining.

"Yeah," Ron said, his voice suddenly gone hoarse. He slid his fingers into his pocket, lacing with hers, then pulled the keys from her hand. "I should... the door..." He reached around Hermione to put the key in the lock, and pressed her back into the door in the process. Ron's cloak settled around them, his knee pressed between hers, and Hermione suddenly found she didn't mind the cold door against her back.

"Get the door open, Ron," she mumbled against his jaw, but was cut off from saying more by Ron's mouth pressed firmly to hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth and tasting of wine and Christmas biscuits. She responded eagerly, one hand sliding up the front of his jumper, under his cloak, and curling her fingers in the material.

A loud thump caused them both to jump back, and Hermione knocked the back of her head on the door. "What - ?" Ron yelped, turning to peer into the darkness of the snow-covered street behind them. A dark shape lay crumpled there; a person, trying to get to his feet and slipping on the icy pavement.

Ron pulled his wand instantly, and a slight but firm pressure on her arm told her to stay put but back him up if necessary. Her fingers grasped the handle of her wand inside her robes pocket, ready for whatever might happen, as she watched him move carefully down the steps and toward the figure on the pavement.

"Can I help you?" Ron said courteously, keeping his wand trained on the unknown person. Even four years of peace couldn't completely eradicate his natural cautiousness. The figure was still for a moment, then pushed back the hood of his cloak.

Hermione felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.

It couldn't be....

Ron's wand clattered to the pavement, jolting Hermione from her stupor. She scrambled down the steps to the pavement, where Ron had already fallen to his knees. Hermione was there in an instant, her throat closed up tight with a million questions and a mixture of sheer joy and terror at seeing those green eyes again, the messy hair and the slightly crooked twist of his mouth....

"Harry?" Ron croaked. His hands were on Harry's shoulders, propping him up into the light of the streetlamp, eyes hungry with that hope Hermione thought had long since vanished. "Is it - is it you, mate? Really you?"

For a fleeting moment Hermione wondered if this was a rogue former Death Eater under Polyjuice, come to get some sort of twisted revenge on the two people who had helped Harry Potter bring down the Dark Lord, but when Harry looked from her to Ron and back to her again, his eyes huge and dark and wounded without his glasses... she knew. She knew it was her Harry - their Harry, back again after all this time.

"Ha--" she started, but the word broke in her throat and turned into a sob, and she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him fiercely. He clutched a handful of her cloak and she could feel his shoulders shake soundlessly, as if something pent up for a very long time was finally coming to the surface. She felt Ron's arms go around Harry as well, mumbling something she couldn't quite make out but was sure she shared the sentiment of.

It was more than she'd ever dared to dream in the last four years - Harry was back and alive and apparently in one piece, he'd come back to them, and she knew that no matter why he had stayed away or why he came back or what happened to him, he was back and that's all that mattered.

"Bloody hell, Harry, it's cold out here," said Ron, pulling back a little and scrubbing his sleeve over his eyes.

Hermione felt suddenly practical. "Yes, Harry, let's get you inside - you're freezing, this cloak is far too thin, good gracious you'll get pneumonia out here in the cold, honestly - " She babbled on, helping Ron haul Harry to his feet and up the steps. Harry was quite thinner than she remembered, and unsteady on his feet, and Ron had little trouble steering him inside and depositing him on the sofa. Harry didn't protest when Ron stripped him of his shirt and his wet socks and shoes, and Hermione quickly conjured a thick blanket to wrap around him. There were dark bruises around his wrists and ankles, and she could see a few darker marks over his too-prominent ribs. He didn't appear to be in any immediate danger or a lot of pain, only incredibly weary.

Harry said nothing during this entire operation; he watched every move Ron and Hermione made with sad eyes, and when he reached up to pull the blanket more tightly around his shoulders his hand shook. Hermione wanted to ask - oh there was so very much she wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if he was ready to tell, from the looks of him. She wanted to know why he left, or if he was kept away, and why he stayed away so long, and what had happened to him, but she couldn't sort out what to ask first.

She settled for, "Are you hungry? Hurt? Is there anything you need?"

Harry shook his head slowly, then poked one hand from under the blanket, reaching up to touch her face. He looked at her for a long moment and slid his thumb over her cheek, catching a tear that spilled over her lashes. Then he looked up at Ron, who stood nearby, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and held out his hand.

Ron took his hand immediately, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white, and sat down on the edge of the sofa beside Harry. He took a deep breath, then blurted in an almost hurt sort of voice, "Where were you, mate? We - we thought you were dead, you weren't coming back, we waited, you know, we really did, and you didn't - you didn't come back. Why didn't you come back?"

Harry pulled his hands back under the blanket, almost curling up into himself, shaking his head slowly. He looked for all the world like a wounded animal, and Hermione bristled protectively. "Don't ask him now, Ron! You can see he's in no fit state to talk, you shouldn't bombard him with a thousand questions, he just got here! Isn't that enough for now, just to be glad he's alive?"

Ron twisted his hands together, his shoulders slumping. "I can't help it, Hermione, I'm sorry. When we couldn't find him..."

"I know, Ron," she said, cutting herself before she could say something really hurtful. She would never be able to forget how things had been when Harry disappeared. The whole world was celebrating Voldemort's demise, and they were mourning their friend - their friend who was more than a friend to them and always would be.

"I know you know!" said Ron. "I know! It's - four years, Harry. Four years!" He took a great gulping breath and then almost in a whisper added, "It's like part of me died when you disappeared, Harry. Hermione and me, we had each other, but..." His voice broke and he looked away, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve again.

Hermione moved to reach across Harry to comfort Ron - he hadn't been kidding all those years ago when he'd said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode." While she herself still felt a sort of numb shock mixed with relief, Ron had always had the emotional range of a teaspoon, and that teaspoon was about to run over.

But before she could touch Ron, Harry had leaned over and put his head on Ron's shoulder. Harry closed his eyes and let out a soft, almost regretful sigh, and Ron looked almost stunned. He froze for half a moment, and then reached up, curling his fingers around the back of Harry's neck and into Harry's hair, which was still slightly damp with melted snowflakes.

The sight of their heads together - one bright, one dark - pulled at Hermione's heart, and she moved closer, first tracing along the line of Ron's jaw with her fingertips, then Harry's. "You're back now, Harry, and that's all that matters," she whispered, sliding her other hand around Harry's waist.

"Take off again and I'll hunt you down and skin you alive, I swear," said Ron gruffly, his voice muffled by the top of Harry's head.

Harry let out another of those regretful sounding sighs and took Hermione's hand, twining their fingers together. His thumb brushed slowly back and forth over the back of her hand, and when she looked down she saw that he was holding Ron's hand as well.

Hermione pulled her feet up under her on the sofa, sitting on her knees and leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear. "Don't ever go away again, Harry. You're ours, you can't leave." As she said it, it really hit her how much she wanted him to stay, how hard it had been for her and Ron when he was gone, and how much she wanted to keep him, right there, never let him out of her and Ron's sight for even a moment, not ever again.

"Tell us you won't leave again, Harry," she said, rubbing his back lightly. "Say you won't, no matter what happens."

Harry's only reply was to squeeze their hands tightly, not looking at either of them.

She looked at Ron, who was frowning slightly. "Harry," Ron said quietly, "talk to us. You don't have to tell us what happened, but... just say something, mate. Anything at all."

Harry lifted his head from Ron's shoulder and looked at them, shaking his head slowly.

"You don't want to talk?" Hermione asked. "Or... you can't?

The look on Harry's face told her that 'can't' was the right answer here.

"Oh, Harry, what did they do to you?" she breathed. "You can't even tell us... "

Hermione saw Ron tense, and he pulled Harry close to him, suddenly, almost into his lap. Ron had always been protective of Harry, as much as she had been; though his protectiveness was more physical than hers. She moved closer to them until Harry was firmly pressed between them, their arms encircling them and holding him close. Her hand slipped under the blanket and traced along the prominent bones of Harry's spine and ribs, over skin that felt thinner and softer than it should, and she was at once angry at those who had done this, angry that she and Ron hadn't been able to do anything about it, and angry that Harry wouldn't say he wouldn't go away again.

He had to understand that he couldn't leave again, not ever.

She caught Ron's eye over Harry's shoulder, and his expression matched her feelings. He has to know, Hermione, he seemed to be telling her. He has to stay. She brushed her fingers along Harry's jaw, tilting his face slightly to meet hers, and pressed her lips to his. She didn't wait for him to return the kiss, but urged his lips apart with her tongue, pressing deeply into his mouth as if trying to extract the promise from him that he couldn't give voice to. Harry shuddered, almost pulling away, but Ron's arms around him prevented that. Ron leaned back on the couch, pulling Harry with him, and as Hermione continued kissing Harry, Ron nuzzled along Harry's neck and along the soft spot under his ear.

Harry shivered when Hermione pushed the blanket aside, revealing the dullish bruises over his ribs and stomach. She ran her fingers over the marks with the lightest of touches, not stopping even when Harry flinched and squirmed. It twisted her heart to see him react this way; Harry had never flinched from their touches before.

"Don't ever do that again, Harry," said Ron hoarsely, sliding his hands along Harry's sides. "Don't stay away - you're a part of us. We're not us without you."

Hermione nodded in agreement, sliding off the couch to pull her jumper over her head. She toed off her shoes and slipped off her trousers, leaving her bra and knickers on for now. She did all this slowly, watching Harry the entire time. She wanted him to remember what it had been like before he left, those last days of the war; the way things had been between them even when the world outside seemed to have lost its mind. How when things seemed impossible, they had always been able to lean on each other and take comfort in each others' hands and mouths and fingers and bodies, to keep each other grounded and whole.

Harry's eyes, slightly unfocused without his glasses, followed her every move, while Ron's hands moved up and down Harry's arms as if soothing and petting a skittish animal. He wasn't holding Harry still any longer, and Harry didn't try to squirm away when Hermione leaned toward him and slid her hands up his thighs. The denim of his jeans was worn and faded, torn in places, and it couldn't hide the definite bulge at his crotch. Hermione traced along the zipper placket with her finger, watching him carefully. "Let us do this, Harry," she said softly. "Please..."

Harry let out a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth and nodded, and Ron slid his hands around to help Hermione unfasten Harry's jeans. His hipbones were far too prominent and his stomach more concave than she remembered, but his skin appeared to be unblemished and for that she felt a rush of relief. Whatever they'd done to him, perhaps they hadn't damaged him in that way. She sank to her knees between Harry's spread thighs and slid her mouth over Harry's cock, working his shaft with her tongue. He arched up into her mouth, off Ron's lap, and a low moan spilled out of his throat, the first sound he'd made all evening. Hermione couldn't quite take him in all the way, as she'd never really got the hang of deep-throating, but she felt Ron's fingers wrap around the base of Harry's cock, just where her lips stopped, and he began stroking in time to her sucking. The taste of him, the smell of his skin and the feel of him under her fingers was just like the memory of it she carried with her all these years, so different and yet not so different from Ron, and she sucked harder, teasing him just the tiniest bit with her teeth and reaching between his thighs to gently cup his balls in her fingers.

Harry gasped and shuddered as Ron stroked faster, and Hermione sucked harder, wanting to taste him again, to make him feel and know who he was a part of, who would never let go of him again. He gasped again, jerking his hips up and coming with a hoarse shout that was quickly muffled by Ron's mouth, kissing him hard. She didn't let go of him until the last little tremor was gone and he was soft in her mouth again, and then she rose up off her knees and kissed them both - first Ron, because he had always loved for her to let him taste Harry on her lips, and then Harry, who was heavy eyed and panting.

Hermione straddled them both for a moment, her hands roaming over arms and chests as she kissed them, and Ron reached between them to rub his fingers over her knickers. "Feel that, Harry," he said into Harry's ear, his fingers pushing the damp fabric out of the way to gently nudge her clit before slipping inside. They moved so easily inside her, and she sank down on them for a moment, letting them stretch and fill her, her eyes locked with Harry's. His eyes were still dark and guarded but were no longer empty - there was feeling there, again, even if only a little. Ron slipped his fingers out of her and brought them up to Harry's lips, and Harry sucked them into his mouth, still watching her, making Ron groan.

Their Harry just might still be in there after all, she thought.

She slipped off their laps and yanked some of the pillows from the sofa, tossing them onto the floor behind her. There wasn't enough room on the sofa for what she had in mind. "Come here," she said, holding her hands out to both of them. They didn't need to be told twice, though Harry was a bit unsteady on his feet. Ron shucked his jumper and trousers and they both stepped into her arms, and for a moment Hermione felt perfectly content to just have the both of them there with her. Then she felt Harry's fingers at the clasp of her bra, and she smiled.

"Go on, Harry, take it off," she said. He stepped behind her, fiddling with the hooks and sliding the straps off her shoulders as Ron watched. His hands shook a little, and she figured he probably didn't have the energy for all this and standing too, so she tugged on their hands and pulled them down onto the pile of pillows, Harry between them. He turned to Ron, kissing him, and Hermione curled up behind Harry, resting her hand on his hip. She'd missed this so much, watching them kiss, the little glimpses of tongue between their parted lips and the soft breathy sounds they made. It always made her feel as though she should feel left out, but she never did, because they were hers.

Harry reached for Ron's cock, wrapping his fingers around it, but Ron pushed his hand away and grinned. "Not mine, yours," he said, moving Harry's hand to his own cock, still soft from his orgasm of a few moments ago. Harry made a small noise of protest, which Ron silenced with a kiss. "You can, and you will," Ron said quietly, in that voice of confidence he'd developed over those years of the war, the one that said he expected to be obeyed.

"Tired," Harry said, so softly that Hermione almost missed hearing it.

Ron smiled at that, his eyes glimmering a little with moisture, at finally getting Harry to say something, but he continued moving his hand over Harry's, up and down his cock, coaxing it back to hardness. "I know you are," he said. "But this is because you left us. No matter what happened to you, how bad it was - we love you. And we want to make sure you don't ever, ever forget that." Ron pushed up on his elbow and looked at Hermione. "Make sure he doesn't stop," he said, getting up and disappearing into the bedroom for a moment.

Hermione climbed over into the spot Ron had just left, watching Harry with his fist around his cock. His cheeks flushed red when he saw her, but he kept up his rhythm, his cock slowly coming back to life between his fingers. Even with the bruises and the too-stark bones and the circles under his eyes, Harry was beautiful, and she couldn't stop watching him. She brushed her fingers along his forehead, pushing back his fringe, and pressed a kiss to the scar on his forehead; it was faded and barely visible now that it wasn't serving as a barometer of Voldemort's emotions. Harry shivered.

"Hermione," he whispered, the motion of his hand slowing. "Can't..."

He was tired, and Hermione could tell. But he needed this as much as he needed rest, and he'd be getting both in short order. He needed this to heal whatever had happened to him. "Shh," she said, slipping her fingers between his and stroking slowly. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, relaxing into her touch.

Ron came back with a small jar in his hand and, and for a moment he stood there, watching them. Hermione glanced up and met his eyes, and he gave her a small, almost sad sort of smile before settling down behind Harry again. He ran a hand down Harry's thigh, and when he nudged Harry's leg over, draping it over Hermione's hip Harry moaned.

"Can't," Harry protested again, as Ron slid a slick finger along the cleft of his arse, and the word turned into another moan as he pressed that finger inside.

"Yes, you can," said Hermione quietly, still stroking the velvet skin of his cock. They'd only done this a few times, the three of them; the logistics of three people together weren't always the most comfortable, and they'd saved it for a few memorable occasions. But he needed to know, and remember, and this was the best way.

Ron kept up his gentle preparations for quite some time; adding more lubricant to his already well-slicked fingers, stretching wider, pushing deeper. Hermione knew he was taking his time because it had been so long for Harry, but also because it was part of the lesson, and she relished in every sound Harry made, every shudder and tremble and gasp for breath.

"Let go a minute, Hermione," said Ron, and Hermione lay back on the pillows, pulling Harry to her. She arched her hips up and Harry slid inside, fitting against her and inside her as perfectly as always. His whole body was bowstring taught, shaking with the effort of staying as still as possible. Ron settled behind him, and Hermione could almost feel him through Harry as he pushed into him, trying to hold back and not quite succeeding.

"Fuck," Ron whispered, dropping his head to rest briefly on Harry's shoulder. "Missed this - you - so fucking much." There were small sparkles of tears on Ron's lashes, and Hermione reached up to wipe them away. Harry jerked his hips, thrusting deeper into Hermione, pushing back out onto Ron, and they picked up a semblance of a rhythm that was neither graceful nor well-timed but was incredibly powerful all the same. It didn't take long for Hermione's orgasm to come crashing down on her, setting off a chain reaction among the three of them that left Ron flushed and sweating and Harry completely boneless and wrung out.

Untangling themselves was about as difficult as getting there in the first place, and Hermione watched the two of them collapse onto the pillows beside her with a great sense of contentment. Harry's eyes were closed; she expected he'd fallen directly asleep the minute he'd come; and no wonder, as tired as she was. She reached up to pull a throw off a nearby chair, handing the end to Ron, and they pulled it around themselves for warmth. Ron pointed his wand at the fireplace for good measure, stirring it up a bit to warm the room, then tossed his wand aside in favour of curling up next to Harry.

"He's really back, isn't he?" said Ron, in a slightly awed voice. He stroked Harry's hair, a gesture it seemed his hands were really too big to do gently.

"He is," Hermione answered, resting her hand on Harry's hip. She leaned over to kiss Ron softly, then bent to kiss Harry, and when she settled back onto the pillow again, she could have sworn she saw the corner of Harry's mouth turn up into a small, sleepy smile.