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Hermione’s nose was tingly. Her fingers were, too. Flexing those fingers, she giggled, stretching the tendons in her hand and watching the strange way the slim muscles moved beneath the thin skin. Looking up, she saw Harry, glasses smudged and set slightly askew, hair mussed from his own hands—which she noted with a sense of strange intrigue, were quite large, calloused, but large. A broad smile lit his features and his deep laugh echoed around the Head dorm’s common room.
“See, post-war life isn’t all that bad, ‘Mione.” Nudging her shoulder, Harry's grin seemed to grow even wider, and an odd fluttering sensation tickled her belly.
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why not? Just because Ron—”
“Shhhh.” One tingly finger pressed against his plush lips, hard, messy, and wobbling a little as she tried to maintain some semblance of balance on the precarious edge of the cushion. “We agreed not to say his name, remember?”
Harry nodded, her finger still pushed against his pillowy lips, and she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up again. The tip of her finger lingered on his lips for just a moment, and she felt the warmth ebb as she pulled away.
“You’re right. No more talk of—” Harry paused, righting his glasses and sitting back against the sofa—“ him. ” Almost as an afterthought, he loudly added, “Or her! They can both sod off! We don’t need them!”
His voice rose with each word, and Hermione found the strange giggling sensation tickling her throat again. Hermione Granger wasn’t one to giggle. Laugh, yes. Snigger, definitely. But giggling like a drunk school girl was a new feeling, and she found she didn’t quite mind it, at least not in conjunction with the warmth of the half bottle of firewhisky swirling in her belly.
Tipping the bottle into each glass and pushing one towards Harry, she took a deep draw of the amber liquor. “Yeah, we don’t need them and their home-cooked meals and poorly knit sweaters and—”
“Hey, I like those sweaters.” Quirking a brow, Hermione’s jaw dropped open. “What? They’re warm.”
“You actually like those scratchy sweaters?”
“I—” Harry gulped, and the dip and bob of his Adam’s apple was distracting, the lines of his throat stretching with each swing. “Okay, fine. No. I don’t like them. I just, I don’t know… it was nice feeling like part of a—a family. Or, a family of sorts. You know?”
Softening, Hermione reached forward, placing her hand over his and squeezing. “I do. Yeah.”
“Well,” he cleared his throat, “that’s enough of that. I say we need another drink.”
Laughing, Hermione shook her head. “We haven’t even cleared—” But he had, at that very moment, tilting his glass back and pouring the entirety of his mostly full glass down his throat.
Hissing through his teeth, Harry winced, thunking the glass back down on the table. “You were saying?”
Brows raised, Hermione followed suit, swallowing every last drop around the lump in her throat. She sputtered, covering her mouth through a cough. “Bloody hell, Harry. This shite burns.”
“Hmmmm.” The bottle of Ogden’s she’d swiped from the cabinet of confiscated goods tinked against the rim of his glass as he poured them both another drink. “I say we play a game.”
“A game, Harry, really?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Well, for starters—other than Wizard’s chess, which I am absolute shite at, and Quidditch—I didn’t even realize you knew any games.”
“Rubbish! I know plenty of games. Like erm…” Harry gripped the back of his neck, peering up at her over the rim of his glasses.
Hermione laughed, a loud roar of a belly laugh that had her gripping her side. The boom of Harry’s own laughter followed and soon they were both in stitches, rolling back on the couch for no apparent reason other than the pleasant thrum of warmth flowing freely through their veins.
A door swung open from the corridor, and Hermione leaned forward, slapping one hand across Harry’s mouth and bringing her other up to cover her own. Their gasping laughs seeped through the cracks in her fingers and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she tried her best to feign some sense of composure.
“Tell me how,” a slow drawl sounded from the corridor, heavy footfalls slapping against the stone, “we are alone in an entire bloody castle and yet here I am, peacefully reading a book when I’m suddenly interrupted by the howl of your laughter. Do you have nothing better to do than drink the holiday away, hmm?”
Draco was dressed in, well, truthfully, not a whole lot. A pair of grey slacks hung low on his hips, white-blond hair stood up in every direction, and much like Harry, though entirely different, a pair of black-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose.
Peeling her hand off of his lips, Harry gasped for air. “Malfoy, you wear glasses?!”
“I do, indeed, Potter. Now mind telling me what the—”
“Wait, no. Glasses, really?” Harry fumbled from the couch, laughing as he pressed into the wall and made his way towards Malfoy.
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing out a heavy breath before looking up at Hermione across the room. “You got Potter pissed? Really, Granger? How…” he paused, eyeing the bottle of firewhisky on the coffee table, “responsible. Is that the bottle we swiped from those fourth-years a few days ago?”
Pressing her lips together, Hermione cleared her throat. “Nope,” she squeaked, swaying just a tad before dissolving into a fit of giggles at the sight of Harry trying and failing to rip the glasses of Malfoy’s face.
“Just let me—” Malfoy gripped Harry’s wrist, pushing him back.
“Don’t even think about it, Potter.”
Shouldering past her gleefully giddy friend, Malfoy strode into the common room, walking right up to Hermione and swiping the bottle right off the table. “Well then, looks like there’s no hope for silence in the foreseeable future. Might as well join in.” As he tipped it back, she watched his throat bob with a few heavy swigs directly from the bottle.
“Silencing charms exist—”
“Glasses, Hermione,” Harry howled, plopping down right next to her on the couch. “Malfoy wears bloody glasses! Thick ones, too! Who would have thought?” Shaking his head, Harry reached for his glass and downed another drink.
“Anyway,” Malfoy drawled, making himself comfortable in the chair next to her—as far away from the still hysterical Harry as possible, she noted. “Now that Potters settled down, what has you both in stitches, hmm? Anything salacious?”
“Hardly.” Hermione debated on telling him, she really did, but any drinking game Malfoy may be familiar with was probably not one she should play in such a state.
Harry, however, decided to chime in. “Drinking games!” Raising his glass, a brilliant smile stretched across his face. Though she wasn’t originally going to say it, she couldn’t even pretend to be irritated when he looked so cute, all giggly and genuinely happy. And, Hermione reasoned, if anyone in the entire world deserved happiness after the dark times they’d endured, it was undoubtedly Harry Potter.
“And this is funny because…” Arching a brow, Malfoy held Hermione’s gaze.
“Well, we couldn’t think of any.” She shrugged, but his brow stayed planted near his hairline. “Well, Harry couldn’t think of any and to be frank, I think we’re both right pissed as it is.”
“Noooooooo.” Harry’s weight pressed against her shoulder as he leaned over to look at Draco. “I’m sure Malfoy can help! That’s what he’s doing this year, yeah? Helping? I mean, I thought it was strange at first, what with Draco bloody Malfoy being named Head Boy alongside you, Hermione, but I see it now.”
As though that was explanation enough, Harry leaned back, leaving Hermione and Malfoy in shocked silence. It was true. Malfoy had returned to school after being acquitted thanks in large part to the drunken wizard next to her and her own testimony on his behalf, but he hadn’t been the same bully they’d known growing up. Hermione would almost, not quite yet, but nearly, consider him a friend.
“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” When neither spoke, Malfoy continued, “Let’s roll a die or flip a coin to see who gets to choose a game.”
“OH!” Harry popped up from the couch, finger firmly pointed skyward. “I have just the coin! It’s magical and has three whole sides !” He snorted to himself and Hermione felt a fond smile creep up on her lips. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”
Watching Harry amble around drunk was quite possibly the most entertaining thing she’d ever seen. Sure, he’d been pissed at Fleur and Bill’s wedding, and they’d shared a bottle or two of Elf-made wine on the run on particularly low nights, but after the war, Harry was a different person. There was a lightness to his step, despite the end of his romantic entanglement with the youngest Weasley, and a new sense of peace she hadn’t seen since their earliest days in Hogwarts. Harry was not only funny, but strangely fun to be around, and for the first time in a very long time, Hermione allowed herself to acknowledge the secret crush she’d harboured for her closest friend.
“Say, Granger,” Hermione turned to the blond, “do you happen to have any sober up potions stored in that handy dandy bag of yours?”
“Erm, my bag?”
“Yes, you know, that hideous beaded thing you lug around everywhere with the illegal undetectable extension charm?”
“How did you—”
“Ah, ah. I didn’t say I cared. I just asked if you had the potions.”
Furrowing a brow, Hermione thought about it for a moment. Did she have some in her bag? There were about ten texts and a dozen scrolls, some quills. She’d taken the tent out ages ago, but she’d left her first aid kit. And it had— “I do!”
“Let’s level the playing field, then. When Potter returns, you two down a half vial each, and I’ll take a few more swigs and grab another bottle before this one runs out.”
“There’s hardly a specific science to ‘levelling it out,’ as you say. And for that matter—”
“Merlin, Granger, do you even hear yourself when you speak? How can you possibly be this pissed and still up for a lecture?”
“Well, I—”
“Rhetorical question. You do know what that is, don’t you?”
Hermione nodded. She did, of course, but she hadn’t even realized she’d been nagging until he’d said something. Tonight was supposed to be fun, carefree, a celebration of the holiday with her oldest friend. While it hadn’t originally included Malfoy, she could hardly say he was an imposition.
The potion went down like sludge, coating her throat in a thick, sticky liquid that nearly made her cough it right back up, but it was effective, and within seconds at that.
Three glasses full of amber liquid sat in front of them as Harry twirled a coin between his fingers. “I choooose, red !”
“Surprise, surprise.” Malfoy's words lacked even the slightest edge, and though she was no longer buzzed, the sound of his voice still sent a shiver dancing across her skin. “I’ve got white.”
“Now that is a surprise. Black for me, then.” Hermione smiled as Harry’s fingers toyed with the coin. They’d used it before to settle disputes during their time on the run. All too often, the trio would find themselves at an impasse over the simplest things—they could agree to hunt fragments of a soul belonging to the darkest wizard to have ever lived, but doling out chores around the camp or choosing a meal was near impossible without her handy little invention. She was quite fond of it, the charmed three-sided coin, and she’d thought herself clever at the time, though she had no idea Harry had held onto it. Somehow the knowledge of him keeping something she’d made caused a sense of pride to wash over her.
“Right then, here we go.”
After tipping off Harry’s finger, it flipped and twirled in the air, landing with a thud on the table before glowing a bright white.
“Bollocks,” both Hermione and Harry said in unison, glancing at each other with matching grins.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a fun twist of events? Hmmmm…” Tapping his finger against his chin, a smug smirk curled on Draco’s lips. “Let’s play a game of Truth or Dare.”
Mouth hanging open, Hermione stared at him. “And how, pray tell, do you happen to know the Muggle game, Malfoy?”
“The past few months I’ve found quite a few Muggle-related things rather,” his eyes slipped from holding her gaze to roam across her chest, and she felt a rush of heat stain her cheeks, “fascinating.”
There had been a time just a few weeks prior when they’d nearly snogged. Granted, they hadn’t actually even done so much as kiss. Still, over heartfelt apologies and open, honest conversation about regrets they’d both harboured post-war in the dim firelight, she’d thought about it, and the way he’d leaned in, shallow breaths puffing from his lips, she’d thought he considered it, too.
“Okay, so who goes first?” Thank Godric Harry was still slightly oblivious, even with his buzz dampened by the earlier potion.
“I’d say I do. I did win, after all. Hmmm…” Malfoy sat back in the chair, glass in hand, finger swirling around the rim as he glanced between them both. “Potter. Truth or dare?”
“Psh, easy. Dare,” Harry said in an instant.
The curl of Malfoy’s lips made her stomach swoop in a weird way as he narrowed his eyes. “Kiss Granger.”
“What—”
“—What?”
Hermione didn’t even turn to look at Harry, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the smirk still curled between Malfoy’s cheeks. “You heard me. Kiss Granger.” He paused. “Or, you could always just drink. Simple enough.”
Picking up her tumbler in a rush, Hermione nearly tipped the glass back before pale fingers wrapped around it and pushed it down. “It was his dare, Granger, not yours. Unless, of course, you need a little liquid courage to end this thinly veiled dance of desire the two of you are all twisted up in.”
“I didn’t—it’s not—” she sputtered.
“I’ll drink. Your turn next, Hermione.” Instead of a small sip, Harry took a healthy swig of the drink, hissing through his teeth as he swallowed.
“Right then, erm…” Hermione pushed back against the cushions, staring down at the glass in her hands. Giving Malfoy a taste of his own medicine was too tempting, so she said sod all and did just that. “Malfoy, Truth or dare?”
“Why, Granger, I thought you’d never ask.” He hummed, as if deep in thought. “Truth.”
Well, that was easy. “What other Muggle things are you ‘fascinated’ by?”
“Oh, there’s quite an extensive list. One of my favourites is actually sitting in this room.”
“Come on, Malfoy, just answer Hermione’s question and stop playing around.”
“But isn’t that the point of all this?” Malfoy paused, leaning dangerously close, his knee nudging Hermione’s. “To play?”
“Hardly. It’s simple enough, just answer.” Harry huffed out a breath, gripping his glass.
“The works of William Shakespeare. While I do agree that the importance of certain plays is vastly over-inflated in modern society, I quite enjoy the works of ol’ Bill.”
Furrowing her brow, Hermione let her eyes linger on the twist of his lips. “In this room?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, being resident swot and all. I happen to have an early edition of his complete works up on the bookshelf. Remind me to show you sometime, love. Maybe I’ll even read you a few passages.”
“That’s enough teasing, Malfoy.” Harry’s knee pressed into Hermione’s thigh and the warmth from them both being so close was nearly too much. Though it wasn’t her turn, she took a sip of her firewhisky anyway.
“But did you really?” Malfoy’s curious gaze bore into her and Hermione shifted on the cushion of the couch.
“Yes,” she snapped. “You asked, I said truth, and I told you. Now, let’s move on.”
A warm palm landed against her shoulder, and Harry barked out a laugh. “It was bloody hilarious, mind you, fur and ears and the whole nine yards. How someone as brilliant as Hermione could make the entire potion perfectly and dose two of them correctly then mess up her own is just beyond me. I mean—”
“Enough. My turn. Malfoy, Truth or dare.” She almost wanted to take another sip of her drink just to ease her discomfort, but they’d been playing for quite some time, and the buzzing in her veins and warmth in her cheeks kept her from downing more until it was strictly necessary.
“Mmmm.” Draco had dragged his chair even closer, the ever-present press of his knee against hers not easing up. “Dare.”
She hadn’t expected that. Mulling it over, she glanced at Harry to see if he had any ideas of his own.
“That’s cheating, Granger. You have to come up with it on your own.” Malfoy really seemed entirely too sober for how buzzed both she and Harry were.
“I dare you to take three shots from the bottle.”
Scoffing, Draco grabbed the nearly empty bottle from the table and downed the rest in one go. Sucking in a breath and thunking the glass bottle back on the table, his lips curled into a triumphant smile. “Potter, your turn.”
“Draco. Truth or—”
“Dare.” Quirking one single brow, Malfoy stared Harry down, and Hermione felt a flash of confusion.
“I dare you to—” Harry paused, his eyes flicking to hers for a brief second before he scooted off the edge of the couch, settling on the table across from her and next to Draco. They were all so close now, and the steady pitter-patter of her heart kicked into overdrive. Harry worried his lip between blunt teeth before heaving a single breath and nearly whispering, “I dare you to kiss me.”
She had not expected that.
Hermione wasn’t sure what exactly she’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been that. When Malfoy leaned in at the same time as Harry, and his lean fingers slid along the curve of Harry’s jaw, pulling him forward, she found she couldn’t look away. Their noses bumped for a split second before Malfoy slanted his lips over Harry’s, and she watched her friend’s shoulders sag, reaching up to grip the blond’s bicep and leaning into the kiss.
As they pulled away, Hermione puffed out a breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding, watching the way they stared at each other for a beat too long. “I take it you hadn’t told her?” Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry’s quickly once more before pulling back, leaving a dazed and drunk Harry sitting on the table.
“Mmm… nope. Probably shouldn’t have done that. ‘Mione—erm, Hermione, sorry. I just—we just—”
“It’s fine,” she rushed out, because really it was. While she hadn’t been expecting the display, it certainly wasn’t unwelcome, and when she scooted back against the couch, she definitely did not clench her thighs. Clearing her throat, Hermione straightened her spine. “Malfoy, it’s your turn.”
“Really, Granger? Your natural curiosity isn’t simply eating you alive right now? Don’t you want to know… things?”
“It’s none of my—” Harry remained silent but slid forward just a tad, his knee clumsily bumping hers.
“He likes you too, you know. That’s why this hasn’t been more than just a few rough shags in alcoves here and there, not that I mind them,” he said to Harry, before turning back to her. She was positive her cheeks were on fire, and the swooping in her tummy was definitely just from the drinks.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Oh, sod all, she was drunk enough not to lie to herself. The display had set about a dull ache between her thighs, a liquid heat coursing through her veins.
“We’re friends, Malfoy. Nothing more.” Tearing her gaze away from Malfoy, she was surprised to find Harry’s brow furrowed, his lips pursed, and his palms rubbing against his trousers in a nervous tick she knew all too well. “Unless—”
“Truth or dare, Granger,” Malfoy interrupted.
“Truth,” she replied automatically, gaze still locked with Harry’s.
“Oh come on, love. Live a little.” Malfoy nudged her knee, and Hermione gulped around the lump forming in her throat.
“Dare.” The word was out there, hanging in the space between them before she even had time to register it.
It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?
“Kiss him.”
“Malfoy, we already—” A small squeak pushed past her lips as Harry cupped her cheek, resting his forehead against hers as a little puff of air danced across her lips.
“Kiss me,” Harry breathed, and she was loathed to do anything but just that.
Unlike Malfoy, her fingers didn’t know the curve of his jaw, her palms didn’t know the contour of his cheeks, and her lips most definitely were not accustomed to the softness of Harry’s kiss, but they could be. He kissed her like he meant it, softly, slowly, letting their lips learn the space between their breaths. Their lips moulded together, a slight press here, a pull there, and when his tongue swept along the dip of her lower lip, her fingers threaded through thick locks as she held him against her.
When they finally pulled back, a slow clap sounded from beside them. “About bloody time.”
Hermione felt the stain of her blush spread across her chest, creeping up her throat and coating her cheeks. Tucking a curl behind her ear, Hermione leaned back and tried to catch her breath.
“Whose turn is it?” she squeaked, eyes skating around from the floor to her lap, anywhere at all to avoid looking at either of them.
“Sod the game, Ganger. We just had a breakthrough! I say a toast is in order.” Malfoy reached for his wand, levitating glasses into each of their hands and topping off each one with a newly uncorked bottle of firewhisky. “To you both, truly, for that… stunning display.”
If she could have disappeared right then and there, she truly would have. Maybe she could charm the cushions to open up into a hole of sorts, and she could hide until they were both gone so she wouldn’t have to face either of them after all was said and done.
She’d just kissed her best friend.
She damn well would have snogged him silly, if not more, had the blond not interrupted.
“Oh, come on, Hermione. It’s not that bad. In fact, I quite enjoyed the show. A thousand points for Gryffindor,” Malfoy sniggered, raising his glass.
Clinking all three together, each of them took a hefty swig before setting their drinks back down. “I’m rather tired.” Feigning a yawn, Hermione stretched her limbs.
“No bloody way. Nice try. I’d rather like to discuss these revelations we’ve all had here tonight. Why, if I’m not mistaken, the floor is nearly even: we’re all right pissed and we’ve both kissed Harry. Yet I still feel like there’s something," Malfoy paused, tapping his chin as a small smile twisted his lips, "missing.”
Hermione knew exactly what was missing. Clearly, she had yet to kiss Malfoy, and if he and Harry had a closer relationship than she’d previously known, there was a very real possibility that Harry knew of their almost-kiss not too long ago.
“Are you scared, Granger?”
Never one to back down from a challenge, Hermione mulled it over. It wasn't as though she was opposed to kissing Malfoy, quite the opposite in fact, but she was a right rational witch, and kissing both Harry and Draco in one night was a bit much.
What would it say about her?
Would they tell anyone?
Why, oh why, did she want them both?
“I don’t bite,” he whispered, suddenly much too close, the lingering wisps of whiskey on his breath far more intoxicating than the draws she’d taken straight from the glass. “Unless, of course, you like that sort of thing.”
As his lips curled into a sinfully sexy smirk, inching closer with each passing second, she felt her resolve waver. She wanted this—wanted him. Godric, she wanted them both. Peeking to the side, she saw a delicate flush dusting Harry’s cheeks, his lips parted and hands gripped into fists. With eyes blown wide, he watched Draco slip into her personal space, tracing a lean finger along her jaw and tilting her face towards his.
Then, his mouth slanted over hers, firm, insistent, a steady press of lips. No teeth, no tongues, but brilliant nonetheless. It felt like a dam breaking, letting all of her reasons not to do this slide away as she gave in to the heat building behind his kiss. Deepening the kiss, Draco slid long fingers into her curls, scraping her scalp as she moaned into his mouth. She wasn’t quite drunk, barely even tipsy anymore, but the taste of his breath on her tongue sent her into a freefall of bliss.
Seconds could have passed, or maybe even minutes, but when he pulled back—pressing his forehead into hers as his eyes fluttered open, long blond lashes kissing those perfectly sculpted cheeks—she knew it hadn’t been nearly enough to sate the desire thrumming through her veins.
“Mmmm… Who knew you could kiss like that? She’s rather skilled, isn’t she, Potter?”
Like a bucket of water, the reality of her very best friend sitting less than a foot away hit her at full force. Before she could pull away, though, or extract herself from Draco’s insistent grip, a warm palm slid up her thigh. Panting out a breath, she chanced a glance down to see Harry’s hand drift higher, lightly gripping the flesh of her thigh as it inched its way up beneath her skirt.
There was one solid second where she swore she would stop it all.
One single instant in time where she lied to herself and said she didn’t want it.
Yet, when Draco lowered his lips to hers again, and Harry’s hand crept up to brush against the band of her knickers, she knew there was no turning back.
Clearly, they were familiar with one another, and Merlin, she wanted to know them just as well. She wanted to learn every scar smattered across Draco’s pale chest, she wanted to see every curve of muscle carved into Harry’s pecs. She wanted them both—together, as crazy as it might seem. And she might have fallen prey to the thought of it being entirely ridiculous if two sets of hands weren’t sliding along her body in tandem, sending her pulse soaring as she let every ounce of hesitation drain from her body.
Licking inside her mouth, Draco claimed her lips, exploring every inch as though he were drinking the very breath from her lungs. Nimble fingers slid under the lacy edge of her knickers and the rumble of Harry’s groan broke her from the reverie of Draco’s kiss.
“She’s bloody soaked,” he rasped, voice cracking, curving around the obscene words.
“Mmm,” Draco hummed against her lips, “already wet for us, Granger?”
When she didn’t answer, he nipped her lower lip and Harry slipped a single digit along the seam of her sex, causing her to gasp.
“Use your words, love,” the blond teased, a sly smile curving his lips.
“Y-yes.” She was practically vibrating with need, giving herself over to their wicked will for the night.
“Potter, hold off a moment. I think a change of scenery is in order.” Malfoy and Harry wore matching grins as Hermione watched on in awe. They were quite beautiful together—opposite in nearly every way, yet so very unexpectedly in sync. When Draco leaned over to Harry and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, Hermione couldn’t help but watch it all unfold, pressing her thighs together around Harry’s hand. Then they both looked at her, and it suddenly felt far too hot, far too cramped in the space around the couch.
Draco led the way, tugging Harry along who then grabbed Hermione’s hand. His dorm sat opposite hers in the narrow corridor, an identical doorway she hadn’t actually explored yet.
When the door swung wide, she was unsurprised to see how similar it was her own. The same four-poster bed sat on one wall, the same standard-issue dresser across the room. Draco’s trunk was shoved at the end of the bed, and his robes sat atop his desk in the corner, but any further observations were cut short as Harry tugged her to the edge of the bed, turning towards her before slanting his mouth over hers.
It was smooth, unhurried, a lazy tangle of tongues as his hands pressed into the small of her back, inching her closer as she threaded slim fingers through his thick locks. Time seemed to stand still, everything else melting away as she pressed herself flush against Harry’s chest, tasting and teasing his lips with her tongue and teeth. A soft groan from behind her was all the warning she got before two firm hands gripped her hips, and a firm body pressed into the curve of her back. Lips landed on the side of her neck, and she reached back with one hand to grip Draco’s hair, urging him to suck harder against the sensitive little spot just below her ear. He took the direction all too well, and she moaned as he bit into the thin skin, soothing it with hot licks of his tongue. She gasped, feeling exactly what it was doing to Draco pressed against her arse, and she arched into his hips, pressing her chest harder into Harry’s.
It was all too much: the whisky, the whims, the wills of their hands, their mouths. Just the thought of them together, even without her pressed between their bodies, sent a shock of want through Hermione’s system, a wave of desire rushing through her veins.
Harry pulled away, nipping at her lip with his hands trapped between her back and Draco’s torso, and leaned over to capture Draco’s mouth. Sandwiched between the two men, she could feel what they did to each other in the most intimate way. Both of them were hard, hot, nearly grinding into her as they snogged over her shoulder. It was different watching them together, yet being close enough to taste their breath as they panted between kisses. Each of them kissed her into submission, but with each other, it was a war of wills. Snapping teeth and sucking on tongues, they battled for dominance while grinding into her, and she fucking whimpered when Harry muttered, “Bed,” against Draco’s lips.
Fumbling across the short distance and tugging off clothes as he went, Harry crawled onto the bed first in nothing but his boxers. Draco, too, started pulling off his shirt, followed swiftly by his pants until he was left in a similar state of undress as he crashed into Harry, pressing her best friend flat on his back and crawling up his lean form. Hermione just stood there for a moment, watching, waiting, studying the way they handled one another without a whit of care for being gentle.
Pressing her thighs together, Hermione began to shed her layers as well. She was positively aching to be touched, torn between the overwhelming want eclipsing any sense of rationality and simply wanting to watch.
She wanted to touch them.
But in that very moment, she wanted them to touch each other more.
With her shirt tossed to the side, and her bra flying over to meet it, she toyed with the button on her skirt a moment longer as she watched Draco press his hips against Harry’s, grinding himself into waiting hips and hissing as he pulled back.
Looking over his shoulder, a sly smirk curled on his swollen lips. “Care to join, Granger?”
She nodded, unable to string together even a single syllable as she padded over to the edge of the mattress. Draco rolled off Harry and sat up, extending a hand. As soon as their palms touched, he gripped her hand and pulled her into the pile of them against the mattress. In her clumsy fall, she’d wound up between them, facing Draco with Harry at her back.
“I think we’ve stunned her silent, Potter.” The wicked grin plastered on those reddened lips promised a night full of delicious depravity, and her breath caught as Draco’s lips slanted over her own. His kiss was fire, flame, passionate in its sheer intensity, and she groaned into his open mouth. Fingertips dug into her hip as Harry pulled her arse back to grind against her. Flesh on flesh, she felt the rush of her magic tingling the tips of her fingers as she scraped Draco’s scalp and Harry continued his ministrations.
“Did that turn you on, love? Watching me grind my cock into Harry’s?” Thin lips brushed against hers as Draco spoke, and she nodded again before lean fingers pinched her chin, tilting her up to meet the molten silver of his gaze. “Speak, love. I know you have an abundance of words stashed in that brilliant brain of yours, and I want you to use them tonight.”
“Y-yes,” she nearly panted, focusing on the way Harry smoothed his palm up the curve of her hip, tracing the ladder of her ribs, and dancing on the edge of her breast.
Tutting his tongue, Draco held her gaze. “Yes, what ? You have to be more specific, Hermione.” It sounded like music, smooth, composed, a word that would choke up most wizards but spilt from the tip of his tongue with ease.
“Yes,” she gulped, “it turned me on.”
“Hear that, Potter?” His eyes never left hers as she felt Harry hum in response, his hands still tracking along every exposed inch of her skin. “She likes to watch. Quite the little voyeur, aren’t you, love?”
“Yes,” she whispered, feeling entirely too exposed.
He hummed in response, and she felt Harry’s lips press against her shoulder, stamping kisses across the bare skin. “I wonder, love, what over kinks do you have?”
“I-I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t exactly explored the wide world of sexuality in her limited experience, though she did have some knowledge from the Muggle magazines she’d found in Ron’s room at the Burrow, likely the result of a Ministry confiscation and delivered by Arthur himself. “I’ve never—I’ve never tried anything.”
“Ah. So our little swot seems to know a few things, she just doesn't know if she likes them. Noted.” He was still staring at her, holding her gaze long enough that she began to squirm. His fingers dropped from her chin just to trace the curve of her jaw as he pulled her into another sort of kiss—a slow, soft press of his lips. “Potter here likes it rough. Whips, belts, things of that sort. Don’t you?”
Blunt teeth sunk into her shoulder, and she felt Harry grind into her hips. “Mmm,” he agreed, “and Draco likes to be in control.”
Well, Hermione could have guessed that.
“So, my little lioness, what do you like?”
This, she wanted to say. Just this. Just them. She liked them just fine. “I’m not sure.”
Draco hummed, skirting a hand across her collarbone, down her chest until it landed on Harry’s, gripping it and dragging both of their palms across the supple skin of her tummy until lean fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her knickers. Draco pulled his hand away, but Harry’s remained, dipping lower to press against her slit, sliding through the slick. “Do you like this, love? Harry’s hands on you?”
Hermione nodded, but Draco gripped her chin again. Gulping, she breathed, “Yes. Yes, I like-I like Harry’s hands.”
Silver eyes narrowed and the corner of his lip twisted up in a devious little smirk. “Good girl.”
The smallest little whimper dripped from her lips. Between Harry’s fingers tracing her folds, circling, swirling, dancing around the edge of exactly where she wanted them, and Draco’s praise, she preened.
Gasping against Draco’s lips, she felt Harry’s long fingers dip into her sex, in then out, fucking her slowly, filling her and pulling out again until she was practically panting.
“Is that what does it for you? Praise, hmm?” The little smirk grew into a full-blown grin. “Do you like being called a good girl, Granger? Do you like Harry fucking you with his fingers while I tell you just how well you take it?”
“Yes. Yes, I like it.” Short little syllables spilt from her lips in puffs of breath as Harry’s fingers picked up speed.
“What if I told you that you have the most perfect tits, love?” Trailing a firm finger against her already pebbled nipple, Draco cupped her breast, squeezing, kneading, gripping the flesh as she moaned. “You seem to like that, too.”
“I do. I like it when—” Her breath hitched again as Harry pressed his palm against her clit, and she ground into the rapidly increasing pace of his fingers. Rocking into his hand, she leaned forward to capture Draco’s lips in a searing kiss.
Close. She was so close already. With just a few more strokes of Harry’s fingers and Draco’s light pinch of her nipple, she pushed through the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm. Her climax crashed over her. Arching her hips into Harry’s and biting Draco’s lips, she fell apart between the two wizards, moaning unintelligible words as she writhed and Harry worked her through it.
With a wicked glint in his eye, Draco pulled back, rolling over and grabbing his wand before muttering some spell she couldn’t seem to hear over the thump of her pulse beating against her ears, and every scrap of cloth between the three of them disappeared, leaving nothing but skin on skin on skin, and a need so great she didn’t think she could even breathe.
Vibrating with the aftershock of her climax, she barely registered Draco moving her around against the mattress. Hermione laid flat on her back, and Harry stretched out next to her on his side. Draco was pressed against her other side, tracing slow circles against her abdomen and grinning at Harry whose eyes were half-lidded, glued to the blond wizard.
“Love, tell me, what’s your favourite position?”
“What?” she breathed, eyes bouncing between the two.
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” Draco’s words lacked even a hint of bite.
“Erm, uhm,” she thought for a moment. “On top?” It was more of a question than an answer, but the way he grinned in return said she’d passed whatever test it was.
“Good girl,” he purred, pulling her into a languid kiss as she felt them shift around her again. Draco’s hand landed on her hip, and he pulled her onto her side, gripping the back of her knee and pulling it up over his thigh. In this position, she could feel the way his cock twitched against her sex, and she groaned. The mattress dipped behind her as Draco pulled back, smoothing a palm over the swell of her arse and tapping lightly. Her answering squeak left him looking entirely too smug. “Noted. You like that, too. Now be a good girl for us and ride Harry. He’s laid out and waiting for you.”
Sure enough, when Hermione looked over her shoulder, Harry was now flat on his back with both hands folded behind his head, clearly waiting for his next command. It struck her then, just how familiar he was with Draco and his propensity to be rather bossy in the bedroom. She couldn’t deny she was quite fond of the dynamic herself.
Gnawing her bottom lip, eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s splayed form and the wicked gleam in Draco’s gaze, Hermione rolled over. Nose to nose with her best friend, she sucked in a breath. This would change… Well, everything. Hell, it already had changed everything. If they did this—
“Hi,” he breathed, warm breath fanning over her parted lips.
“Hi.” It was barely a wisp of a word, floating in the scant space between their breaths and she pushed forward, pressing her lips to his to quiet her ever-active mind. It felt right, solid and fluid and too good to be anything remotely wrong.
A hand came up to hook under her knee, and Harry pulled her leg across his hips, spreading her open as he deepened their kiss.
“That’s right, love, doesn’t he taste positively delectable?” Draco’s voice ghosted across her spine just before she felt his lips kiss her shoulder.
“Yes,” she murmured against Harry’s lips, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw and draw him back in.
It was innocent enough at first, gentle kisses and soft sweeps of Harry’s hand along her curves, and Draco’s lips trailing across her shoulders, his fingers dancing down her spine. Before long, deep drags of Harry’s tongue stole the breath from her lungs as he gripped her mussed curls and canted his hips against her thigh. She could feel the solid length of him pressing against the supple skin, feel the silken steel of his arousal grinding into her. In response, her own body practically purred, her sex pressed flush against his hip as she ground into him in time with the broken thrusts of his hips. Strong hands gripped her curves as Draco edged her farther onto Harry. She broke the kiss, settling on her knees with shaky palms pressed flat against his chest. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
“Go on, love. Be a good girl and sink down on Harry’s cock.” She did as told, lifting slightly and grasping Harry’s length in hand. Notching him at her entrance, her eyes fluttered shut as she sheathed him inside of her cunt. The faint twitch of his cock made her gasp, still fully seated but yet to move. “He feels bloody fantastic, doesn’t he?”
“He does.” Resting her weight on her knees, she widened her stance a tad and felt him sink the rest of the way in, filling her to the brim until she was sure there wasn’t an inch of her untouched.
“Fuck, Hermione.” The curse slipped from Harry’s lips easily, and she took a second to savour the sting and stretch of him inside of her before lifting up and sinking back down again. Harry’s hands fell to her hips, long fingers splayed against her arse and palms flush against the swell of her hips. She could feel the tips of his fingers sink into the flesh as he lifted her a little and brought her back down again.
“You look gorgeous, love, taking his cock like that. Riding him so well. I think that deserves a reward.”
Pitching back, Hermione rested on her knees as her hands finally left Harry’s chest, moving in time with the short thrusts of his hips. A palm slid across one breast and she cracked an eye open to tufts of platinum hair for just a second before Draco captured her lips. He was up on his knees as well, slightly taller than her in this position, but just next to her on the bed. His kiss consumed her, a steady sweep of his tongue in and out of her mouth as she panted against his lips, gripping delicate blond hair between her fingers. She moaned into his mouth as Harry picked up the pace beneath her, fucking up into her with rough strokes.
Draco gasped against her lips, and she pulled back, looking down just in time to see Harry’s fingers wrap around Draco’s rigid cock. It was mesmerising, rising and falling on Harry’s cock while watching him stroke Draco in time with their own deliciously depraved dance. They moved all at once, synchronized, together. The timing was impeccable, and she drank in the sight of both boys soaked in pleasure. Draco’s hand gripped her breast, and she was shaken from her study of Harry’s hand twisting and wringing the pale expanse of Draco’s cock. Gripping a nipple, Draco pinched and twisted, and she hissed, crashing her lips into his again.
“Bloody hell, Potter,” he muttered against her lips, nipping at the bow of the swollen flesh. For as vocal as Draco had been just shortly before, it seemed any sense of eloquence failed him now. Long pale lashes kissed his cheeks as he gripped her breasts more firmly. She was bouncing in earnest now on Harry’s cock, so bloody close to finishing, yet not quite there.
Draco pinched her nipple a little harder, trapping her bottom lip between his teeth just as Harry’s thumb pressed against her clit, and she shattered in an instant, moaning and pulling on the fine hair still grasped between her fingers. With a few more strokes, Harry followed with his own orgasm, his cock twitching and spilling inside of her, coating her walls with the warmth of his spend as a low groan tore from his throat.
“Gorgeous,” Draco breathed, lifting her limp body off of Harry and pressing her back into the mattress next to his sated form. Once again, she was bracketed on each side by Harry and Draco, tracing little patterns on her flushed skin. Leaning over, she pressed a languorous kiss to Harry’s mouth, revelling in the little contented sigh he spilt against her lips.
Lost in the soothing motions of Harry’s tongue tangling with her own, she was surprised when swollen lips wrapped around her already sensitive nipple. If she had been spent before, her body wasn’t aware, because as soon as he sucked lightly, nipping blunt teeth against the peak, she moaned into Harry’s mouth. He pulled back, glancing over her shoulder, and she barely opened her eyes for a second long enough to see a sly smirk twist on Harry’s lips before he cupped her jaw and pulled her back to him.
Languishing in the rough tug of Harry’s lips, Hermione barely noticed when Draco pulled away from her breast. But when lean fingers dug into the jut of her hip, lifting her off the bed, she felt every inch of his length sink into her still fluttering sex. Gasping, she pulled away from Harry, eyes skating over the expanse of pale skin marred and marked from a life now left behind, tracking up and up until she locked onto his silvery gaze.
Harry’s lips landed where Draco’s had just been, sucking a nipple between his teeth and nibbling before soothing the abused flesh with the flat of his tongue. She was sated, utterly limp and nearly boneless as Draco pushed into her over and over and over again. Adjusting their grip, large hands splayed across her back as he arched her hips into the pounding motions of his own. Hermione’s shoulders were still touching the mattress when she planted her feet firmly against the soft cushion of the duvet. Her back was arched, guided by the grip of Draco’s strong hands, and she let herself fall into oblivion as Draco thrust into her with rough, even strokes. “Do you like this? Harry sucking on those pert fucking tits while you take my cock?”
“Y-yes,” she panted, pressing her eyes shut and focusing on just feeling things—feeling Draco’s fingertips bruise delicate skin, feeling Harry’s mouth licking and sucking the pebbled peak of her breast, feeling the pulse and thump of magic in her veins begging for release, begging for—
Stars burst behind her lids, galaxies of white spots dotting the dark and she moaned—loud, even to her own ears—as a swell of magic burst forth in the room, sweeping her up in a soul-shattering climax that shook the walls and sent things flying in all directions.
She couldn’t see the result, but Harry’s puff of breath, a short laugh washing over her damp nipple, and the sound of some things shattering, others bouncing off the wall, told her enough. Heaving in lungfuls of air, she tried to quell her racing heart as Draco picked up his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin deafening combined with the thrumming of her pulse. It wasn’t just the thumpthumpthump anymore but a flurry of noise, beating, pounding against her eardrums when his hips jerked out of time, stuttering and stopping as one final thrust signalled his own release.
Her body was humming, buzzing with unrealized magic and the aftershocks of her orgasm when Draco pulled out of her. Landing on her other side, she was caged between two hard bodies, slick with sweat and still recovering from their own highs. None of them spoke for a long moment, just the sound of gasping breaths and heaving chests punctuating the silence of the afterglow.
It had been… Well, she couldn’t quite describe it with anything as meaningless as simple words. Despite her vast knowledge and extensive vocabulary, no set of even the most eloquent words could possibly encompass the enormity of what had just happened—the brilliance of their coupling. So, instead, she remained quiet, reaching out her left hand to trace the curve of Harry’s jaw and soundly kissing him in the silence. Twisting around, she found Draco’s lips and kissed him as well.
When she pulled back, she saw Harry and Draco exchange a glance before they both leaned in, a tangle of tongues and wet lips trading sweet kisses. Hermione threaded the fingers of each hand through a head of hair—one blond, one brunette—and raked sharp nails against each scalp. Then she felt it, the push of their magic, the way her own begged to twine with theirs. It was nearly corporeal, her magic sparking at her fingertips as both boys pulled away, twisting in time to catch her eye. Biting her lip, she breathed the only sentiment that she could seem to think of at the time.
“Happy Christmas.”
With a brilliant grin, Harry echoed the same, “Happy Christmas.”
Draco only barked a short laugh as they all settled against the sheets, twisting three sets of legs together and hands wandering across every expanse of exposed skin between the three of them, but she knew he meant it, too.
Though it was silly, it was certainly true. It was after midnight and officially Christmas, and if the rest of the day could be spent in bed discovering new ways to learn every dip and curve of each of them together, well, it would be a Happy Christmas indeed.