The Night Watchers

Calliope

Story Summary:
Harry needs a little help to keep Voldemort out of his mind, and his best friends are there for him.

Posted:
06/17/2004
Hits:
4,366
Author's Note:
This is a trio fic, as in, it depicts a romantic/sexual relationship between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. If this is not your cup of tea, please click the back button. Feedback (other than ship complaints) is always welcome and appreciated!

Harry doesn't really remember how it started, except that by the time he'd managed to escape the Dursleys for the last few weeks of summer, Voldemort had increased his assault on Harry's mind to the point where Harry was afraid to close his eyes at night. His first night back at the Burrow, he ends up a quivering heap on the floor, but Ron just offers him a hand up and helps him back into bed. The second night, he thrashes his way out of bed again and doesn't wake up till Ron slaps him hard round the face.

"Sorry, mate," he says, in a voice that does a poor job of hiding his worry. "I thought you were going to... hurt yourself or something." He hauls Harry to his feet, steers him to the bed, and climbs in beside him. "This way you'll hit me and not the floor," he explains matter-of-factly, pulling up the thin quilt.

Harry wakes sometime during the night to find Ron's arm carelessly tossed around his waist and his breath on his shoulder, and he finds it easier to close his eyes again.

This works for a few nights; something about his solid presence helps fend off the worst of the assaults, but when Harry sees the bruises forming under the freckles after a particularly nasty night of dreams that left Harry's head throbbing for hours, he won't let him back in his bed. He tells himself that's the reason why, ignoring the memory of how Ron's breath on his neck made his palms sweaty and his breath ragged. It's a good feeling, and he wants it, but he feels selfish for wanting it, and he tells Ron it can't go on.

"Your mum'll wonder where those come from," Harry mumbles, gesturing to an ugly purple mark on Ron's shoulder before he climbs into his bed alone.

Ron nods and says it's all right, but they both know it isn't.

That night Harry's thrashing and moaning is loud enough to wake Hermione in the next room; she appears at their door with her hair all a-frizz and eyes round with concern. Ron picks Harry off the floor again, and Hermione tuts exasperatedly, shedding her dressing gown and whipping back Harry's quilt. She climbs onto the bed, against the wall, her nightgown creeping up her thighs. Harry blinks and looks away, feeling as though he shouldn't be seeing that expanse of creamy skin.

"Get in," she says practically. Ron protests and she rolls her eyes. "Oh honestly, Ron, you think Harry is in any shape to argue? Just do it."

She's right, of course. Harry's shaking with exhaustion and the memory of red, slitted eyes in his mind, and he doesn't resist when he's folded into bed between them. It's crowded, but they manage somehow. Hermione's breasts are soft against his back, and though she isn't pressing against him in a sexual way, he's instantly hard. It doesn't help that Ron's thigh is rubbing against his, and he tries to stay exactly between them, touching them as little as possible. They don't ask or expect him to talk, and he feigns sleep, trying to will his erection away. If they realise how they affect him, they'll go away and he doesn't want that, because the feel of them on either side of him helps him close his mind. He finally manages to sleep, and when he wakes in the morning Hermione kisses his forehead before she sneaks back to her room, and Ron elbows him with a tentative grin.

"All right?" he asks.

"Yeah," answers Harry.

And he is all right for a while. He doesn't always sleep well, but the visions are less and his scar doesn't hurt so much it makes him sick anymore, though it still prickles constantly. Hermione and Ron aren't shy about touching him, be it a hand resting casually on his hip or a cheek against his shoulder. Hermione never has been, and it doesn't surprise him that she curls up to him so readily. It gives her another reason to fuss, though it's a different kind of fussing than her usual nagging; it's softer somehow.

He isn't used to being touched. It's a foreign language to him, these gestures of affection, and he has a difficult time with the translation.

He's most surprised at Ron, how easily he allows Harry to lean on him, and the night he feels something hard and warm against his back he's not sure what to do. He doesn't know whether to press back against him or move away, but moving away from Ron means moving closer to Hermione, and that means problems of a different sort, so he tries to stay put.

It doesn't work.

He leans back into Ron, waiting for... what exactly, he isn't sure, but he doesn't expect Ron's hand to slide down his thigh.

"Er..." he croaks, not sure if he wants Ron to stop or to go ahead and what makes it worse is Hermione's right there, and he can't tell if she is awake or asleep in the darkness.

"It might help," says Ron, and his voice has a crack to it. His hand moves higher up Harry's thigh again, over his hip, and Harry can't bite back the moan that comes out when Ron's fingers brush along his belly. Ron's hand trembles a little, and that makes Harry feel better somehow, to know that he isn't sure either.

"But..." Harry protests. "Hermione, she's..."

There's a hand on his face now, feather-light, and Hermione says, "It's all right," as her lips brush against his cheek. She doesn't kiss him, but presses her forehead to his, and she's cool against his feverish skin. It's this that makes Harry relax – if it were wrong, Hermione would tell them. She always has.

Ron's hand slides into Harry's pyjama bottoms and Harry tenses. He's unprepared for the feel of a hand other than his own around him, but Ron's hand is large and warm and soon Harry relaxes. Ron isn't trying to do this as fast as possible; he's actually almost taking his time, and Harry feels oddly grateful for that. Hermione shifts closer to him, her breasts pressing against his chest through her thin nightgown, and Harry wants to touch them badly but doesn't quite know how to go about it. She doesn't kiss him, though she's so close, and he wonders for a moment if she's ever kissed anyone at all. She simply holds him, and he lets her, because he can't think of anything else besides the warm, glowing heat in his belly and the feel of Ron's body moulded to his as he touches him.

Harry's never felt this close to anyone before, and it's intoxicating. He's hyperaware of every little sound – their quickened breathing, his own moans, the soft sound of skin against skin – and every touch makes him shiver. There's so much he wants to do, to touch the both of them, and he isn't sure where to start so he clumsily reaches for Hermione and kisses her.

It's nothing like kissing Cho, even though he can tell Hermione's as inexperienced as he is, but she isn't crying or reminding him of death and graveyards and that's enough for Harry. He kisses her, and she kisses him back, her small tongue darting out to slide against his. Ron moans, soft and hot in Harry's ear, and he knows Ron's been watching them kiss. It's a sound that makes Harry twitch and shudder under Ron's touch and he breaks the kiss with Hermione, gasping for breath.

"Relax, Harry," says Hermione, and loosens her hold on him enough for Harry to turn back a bit and kiss Ron. It's awkward and uncomfortable but he doesn't care. Ron kisses more roughly than Hermione, and Harry suspects this is Ron's first kiss. It doesn't matter though, because he likes kissing Ron just as much as he likes kissing Hermione and he only wishes he could kiss them both at once. They're both stretched out against him, Hermione soft and curvy, Ron long and gangly, and when he feels Hermione's hand joining Ron's it's just too much for him. Ron clamps his mouth down hard over Harry's just before it's over, and Harry's glad because it smothers the moan he can't hold back.

"Sorry," he mumbles, catching his breath, but Ron kisses him again to shut him up, a little less clumsily this time, and Hermione clears away the mess as if it's no big deal. Harry sinks into the pillow, and he's barely conscious of the fact that his scar isn't prickling at all before sleep overtakes him.

The visions are easier to keep away, after that, and he's grateful.