Just a Little

Hermione

Harry's face is drawn tight. I think he's feeling worse than he admits. Wait, of course he is. If I've learned anything about men after these two, it's that if they admit they're in pain, it's usually really ten times worse there's something to be gotten out of it. Such as pampering of all sorts in bed.

Ron's face is buried in Harry's hair. By the slight shaking of his shoulders, I think he might be crying. I won't ask, though.

I lean forward and again gently kiss Harry on the lips, his face still cradled in my hands. When I pull back, he opens his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. Damp emeralds framed by jet-black lashes.

"I love you," I whisper. Ron raises his head just enough that he can turn to look at me. His blue eyes are no less damp than Harry's, like a wet sky. He rests his cheek on Harry's head. "I love you, too."

Ron smiles gently, reaching an arm out to pull me in tight. We wiggle a bit until Ron is leaning back against the wall, Harry is seated between his legs and I'm seated between Harry's.

"I wish this hadn't happened," I whisper. I should have seen the Death Eaters when they Apparated in, but I was too busy watching my boys. I'm still amazed at the abandon with which they deal with each other. When we were first together, they seemed to use me for a conduit, but in the last year or so, I've caught them together more than once. And they know how much it turns me on to watch them kiss. I haven't tired of seeing that yet and I don't think I will for a long time.

If we live that long. I'm afraid that Ron is marked for death and Harry is marked for a drawn-out death if he doesn't agree to whatever Voldemort wants of him. As for me...I believe I'm marked for death. I just don't know if I'll be raped first or not.

"I'm sorry," I hear one of them whisper.

The sound is so low, I'm not sure if it's Ron or Harry who whispers it until I hear Ron's reply of, "Don't be daft." Ron shifts a bit until I'm leaning back onto Harry's shoulder and Harry is leaning on his so that we can both look him in the face. "What are you sorry for?"

"Everything...Voldemort...this," Harry replies.

"Nonsense," I retort. "We willingly followed you. If you had tried to leave us, we'd still follow. Get that through your thick skull. I love you and I'm staying by your side."

"And I love you too, you git," Ron adds.

Ron

He's doing it again. Blaming himself. I think Hermione's blaming herself, too, for some reason. It's not really anyone's fault. I could argue that whomever set up the wards around Hogsmeade are to blame. I could blame Harry's stomach for craving food from the Three Broomsticks. I could blame the stars for being misaligned - and wouldn't the Centaurs love that - but I won't.

I press another kiss to the top of his head, then lean far forward and kiss Hermione on the forehead.

Harry begins to shiver. Shock. How I know this shiver is different from being cold, I don't know.

"Hermione, wrap Harry up from your side," I direct as I wrap my arms around him and pull him tight against me. Hermione turns around and wraps her arms around him, creating almost a sandwich.

Hermione begins planting small kisses along his jaw and neck. Harry closes his eyes and continues to shiver.

"Harry, you've got to get through this," I tell him harshly. I bend my head to touch my lips to his ear, adding, "We need you. Not the world needs you, we need you."

His voice, at first, is barely above a whisper. "How? I failed you."

Hermione speaks before I can think of an adequate reply. "If you didn't look so damned sexy when you're feeling sorry for yourself, I'd slap you for that. You didn't fail us."

"Yes, I did."

"Goddamnit, you wanker, you didn't fail us," I yell at him. He can be such a stubborn bastard sometimes when overcome with unnecessary guilt. "We were all caught off guard. Hermione was the only one with her eyes open, but you know she can't tear her eyes away when we kiss." That elicits a small chuckle from Harry and a faint blush from Hermione.

"Well, it's a turn on," she protests.

Rather than say anything else - because I know Harry will find some way of feeling guilty and turning it on himself - I grab the hair at the back of his head and pull so his face is tilted upward toward mine. Briefly noting the surprise in those green eyes, I lower my lips to his. Running my tongue along the seam of his lips, I coax his mouth open and delve into it, tasting the crevices of his mouth.

Kissing Hermione is wonderful. She's curves and softness, sweetness and home, and I love the way she curls into my chest like a cat when we kiss. Kissing Harry is something completely different. He's angles and hardness, spice and outdoors; there is no middle ground when I kiss him. Maybe that's what turns Hermione on.

Harry

To use an old cliché, Ron plunders my mouth like a pirate. And I love it. It seems the more gentle Hermione is, the more forceful Ron becomes. I reach upward to grasp his head, holding it to mine, kissing him back.

And, despite the lingering chill of the Dementor, despite the persistent chill of the dungeon, and most especially despite Voldemort, I am getting incredibly aroused. I can feel Hermione's eyes upon us and hear her breathing become erratic. As Ron threads his fingers through my hair, I feel Hermione climb across me to sprawl herself between us.

I break the kiss off to look down at Hermione. Her eyes are soft with arousal as she looks at Ron and I. Her eyes have the ability to melt me when she looks at me that way. I feel no pain, I feel no despair.

With a wicked little grin, she grabs my head and pulls me down so quickly I barely have time to brace my arms on Ron's thighs. Her tongue invades my mouth in a very un-Hermione-like way. I would almost say she was mimicking Ron's kiss.

I move my hands from Ron's thighs to Hermione's breasts, shifting my weight back onto my legs, kneeling between Hermione's parted legs. Hermione has placed herself snug against the V made by Ron's parted legs and I think I can feel her wiggling against him. Which explains why Ron pulls me away from her mouth so he can kiss her roughly.

She arches up into my hands, moaning. I lean forward and nibble her neck, feeling one of Ron's hands trailing downward to rub against her stomach, teasing at moving lower.

What began as a comfort snog to get me out of the self-pity well I frequently find myself in has flared into a conflagration. Given the situation we're in, we're all so...so...needy that the smallest affection is a torrent of hope.

Hermione frees a hand to scratch my back, causing me to hiss in pain and pleasure. Some of what I have suffered was a whip to the back and Hermione's fingernails drag across all the lashes. Then she makes it down my side and around to the front, caressing me through my trousers.

Before I can moan like I need to, searing pain burns through my scar. As fast as I can, I disentangle myself from my two lovers and jam a fist to my forehead.

"Harry?" Ron croaks. He hasn't gotten his breath or voice back.

"Harry?" Hermione asks quietly, if a bit hoarsely.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a high, cold voice mocks. Oh, fuck. "This isn't what I expected. Nor is it the report I was given."

Sitting on the stone floor and leaning back against the wall, I survey Voldemort through slitted eyes. The smile on his face is even worse than it was before.

"I was told you were gay, Harry, but that's not the whole story, is it?" He seems amused, which is the last thing I want. I keep my mouth shut. Just when there was some bright spot in this nightmare, the darkest part of all returns.

"Girl!" he hisses at Hermione. Turning to look at her, I see her glare defiantly upwards. She hasn't moved from Ron's embrace. When Hermione doesn't reply, Voldemort thrusts a hand out and Hermione rockets toward him, probably due to a silent Summoning Charm.

Hermione is pinned against Voldemort, silent tears suddenly pouring down her cheeks. He bends his head and strokes her cheek with one skeletal finger. "Hmm, this isn't exactly what I would have chosen, but I can work with this."

Ron and I shoot each other a confused glance. Both of us are as jumpy as Crookshanks around Scabbers. An awful laugh draws our eyes back to Hermione and Voldemort.

"Girl," he begins, his voice sibilant and as enticing as a man who is half-snake can be. "Choose."

No...he can't mean what I think he means. I swallow hard. Of course he means that. He killed Cedric for no other reason than he was there.

"W-w-what?" Hermione stammers, sniffling, not wanting to understand.

"Choose between your lovers. One shall live, the other shall die."