Wide awake, Ron glared into the dark, silent night. Glaring into nothingness would usually seem a little silly to him, but this wasn't just any dark and silent night. No, this was the darkness of his dormitory and the silence currently deafening him was from one bed over. Ron was glaring because Harry's bed was too silent. There were no little exhalations of air, no grunts, no rustlings of the sheets. Ron had never told anyone, but he always felt a little better knowing that Harry was in the next bed over, the little noises Harry made often lulling him to sleep.

This night, however, was different. Not because Harry wasn't there, -- he was, Ron was sure of it -- but because Hermione excelled at silencing spells. Of course, Neville would have chosen that week to sleep out in the greenhouses with the Bubotuber seedlings; Ron couldn't even drown out that silence with Neville's snoring. Why couldn't Seamus or Dean make a little more noise, damn it?

It'd been a week since they'd told him. Sat him down at a table in the common room, Hermione with her hands folded primly, like a schoolteacher about to scold a wayward child, and Harry looking sheepish, never quite meeting Ron's eyes.

"We're together," they'd said.

"We didn't want you to hear it from somebody else," they'd said.

"You're our best friend," they'd said. "We don't want to lose you over this."

Ron did the only thing he could. He'd smiled, told them he was happy for them, assured them they wouldn't lose him as a friend, gone upstairs, and punched a hole through the wall. Then, because he couldn't very well explain things to Hermione, he had to get Pomfrey to heal his hand. She gave him a lecture on expressing frustration in a healthy manner and a person-shaped pillow to accompany said lecture. The person-pillow cried one of several phrases (According to Pomfrey, "Hurt me, not your friends!" and "Beat the stuffing out of me!" were its favourites) every time it was poked. Ron had shoved the vile thing in his trunk as soon as he'd returned to his room.

The rest of the week, of course, had got increasingly excruciating from there. Despite Hermione's assurances, it seemed that everyone had already learned that she and Harry were dating.

Seamus had punched him in the arm and said Ron would find a nice girl soon enough and wasn't that Mandy Brocklehurst a sweet bit of tail?

Lavender and Parvati, appearing as though someone had just died or something, had approached him after exchanging significant looks.

"Oh, Ron," said Lavender, clucking sadly. "Remember, this won't last forever."

"I'm fine," Ron had managed through gritted teeth.

Lavender clucked again. "Poor, brave friend. Grief has stages and denial is only the first."

She was right. Ron, for his part, had to deny his urge to throttle Lavender.

"This too will pass," agreed Parvati solemnly, attempting wise, but getting stuck somewhere around stupid.

Even Ginny had shot him a sympathetic look or two. Gah. He hadn't expected his baby sister to feel sorry for him. In fact, as much as he hated to admit it, he'd hoped she'd be somewhat jealous of Harry and Hermione's relationship, too. But Ginny's arm was linked with Dean's and she'd had nothing to offer but pity.

It annoyed Ron that everyone thought he was so transparent. It also annoyed Ron that every remark was geared toward Hermione and most involved subtly putting her down. Did everyone else forget that Harry was involved here, too? He'd lost two people in one sentence and, now that it was the only thing he could think about, Ron realised he hadn't wanted to lose either of them.

But instead of doing something about it -- God, he couldn't possibly tell Harry and Hermione how he felt -- he was fixedly watching the darkness, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole, bed and all.

What could they possibly be up to? An image of Harry, arms around Hermione and stretched out on top of her, came to Ron unbidden. In his mind, he saw Harry awkwardly place a kiss on Hermione's lips, then look up again, just to check and see whether or not he'd done anything wrong. Hermione would giggle and pull Harry's head down again, but her kiss would be an expert one. Ron was sure there had to be tonnes of books written about that sort of thing intended for girls. And, if such a thing existed, he was also sure Hermione had read every last one.

Ron knew that in a matter of moments, Harry, being a quick study, would begin matching Hermione's mouth. Ron thought of Harry trailing tiny kisses down her throat, shifting so his hands might tentatively roam over Hermione's side. Hermione would rub Harry's back, urging Harry on with quiet, sure noises. Maybe Hermione would let Harry work a hand under her shirt. Maybe her natural curiosity would lead to her placing one small hand on Harry's waistband, checking his face to make sure Harry wanted her there. Harry would suck in a breath and nod because no boy could say no to such an offer -- not Ron, certainly, feeling his cheeks burn at the mere suggestion.

The urge to punch things rose with Ron's cock. He forced himself to think of other things: Quidditch, Snape in a bathing suit, England. He was not getting hard thinking of what his best friends were doing one bed over. He wasn't.

But almost unconsciously, Ron's hand moved to the front of his pyjama bottoms and he began stroking himself slowly through the rough fabric. The image of Hermione's lips on Harry's changed to her mouth on his own. He was sure her lips were incredibly soft, much softer than any other girl's Ron had kissed, not that he'd kissed very many. Then, Hermione's thick hair and delicate features became Harry's angular ones, his eyes intently searching Ron's. He imagined Harry would grab the sides of his face and press his lips into Ron's roughly, Harry's face coarse due to a day's worth of stubble.

Suddenly, Hermione was there with Harry, as they lay stretched out on either of Ron's sides. Harry's tongue probed Ron's mouth, while Hermione's hands reached just inside his pyjamas, brushing against the patch of hair there. In the dark room, Ron had to bite his lip to keep from moaning, his own hand having now worked its way inside his bottoms. He briefly considered grabbing his wand and casting a Quietus himself, but then his thumb brushed against the now-wet head of his cock and he realised he was too far gone to stop now. He began rubbing himself a bit faster.

In his fantasy, Hermione tugged his pyjamas down to his ankles. Wearing only her uniform skirt and socks, -- this was his fantasy, after all -- she straddled Ron's hips and positioned herself so he could thrust inside her. She was wet, so wet, and Ron thrashed and bucked as Hermione slowly rocked on top of him. Harry had stopped kissing Ron, watching them both with his lips barely parted. Quickly, Harry began crawling towards Hermione, kissing his way up her thigh, her stomach, and finally taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking gently. The image was so vivid that Ron had to bury his face into his pillow to muffle his cries.

Harry licked his way down Hermione's body again, as Ron and Hermione's rhythm matched up perfectly. Then, Harry's tongue was moving his way up Ron's chest, kissing and nipping his sensitive skin. God, Ron hoped-didn't-hope that Harry really had a tongue like that. Ron could hear Hermione's moans growing louder, breathier. He thought about her doing something that clenched around Ron's cock like a vise, and he had to suck back yet another moan, clutching his prick tightly. The name 'Hermione' formed soundlessly on his lips.

Ron thought of Harry capturing his mouth again, as his friend guided one of Ron's hands to Harry's already open trousers.

"Please, Ron, please," Harry would plead, every word traced on Ron's lips. "I need it. Need you."

God! The idea of Harry begging as Ron clutched Harry's cock -- slender and pink, nestled amongst thick, dark curls, undoubtedly -- was too much for Ron. He stroked himself firmly, pretending it was Hermione contracting around him, and then he was coming, coming, so fucking hard. Fuck, yes, Hermione, Harry, GOD, love you so fucking much. Unable to suck back his final gasp of pleasure, Ron felt wetness spread over his skin and the thin cotton bottoms.

Spent, Ron swallowed hard, trying to push away the picture of the three of them together along with his guilt. He stared up at his canopy for awhile, breathing slightly laboured, his hand still around his overly sensitive prick as he tried working up the energy to clean himself up.

Got to get up, Ron. You're sticky. On the count of three, okay? One. Two. Thr--

To his left, Harry's curtains suddenly rustled and he saw Hermione crawl out of Harry's bed. Harry's arm was outstretched and she tenderly ran her hand along it in a silent good-bye. Ron's stomach plummeted and he scrunched his eyes in pain, only half-remembering his hand was still shoved into his pyjamas.

They're in love, he realised painfully.

"You awake, Ron?"

Ron started at Harry's voice. "Yeh," he replied, voice thick. He hoped Harry would mistake that for the sound of someone who'd been dead to the world moments before. "Why?" Ron edged his hand from his prick, surreptitiously wiping the evidence onto his sheets.

"Budge over." Ron shifted so Harry could crawl into the bed next to him, trying not to notice his friend's leg pressed against his or that Harry's lips appeared a little more red and swollen than usual. Ron blinked several times, quite relieved that he'd just come, though his wet drawers were a bit worrisome. "Hermione just left," Harry informed him.

"Oh? Did you get in her pants?" Ron couldn't keep the bitter edge out of his tone.

Even in the dark, Ron could see Harry's eyes go wide. "Ron! God, you're blunt when you're sleepy."

"Am not," replied Ron stubbornly. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be more polite. "How are...how are things going between you two?"

Harry didn't answer right away, his breathing highly audible in the quiet room. "I think I might love her."

Now it was Ron who couldn't believe how blunt Harry was being. "Oh?" he said again, unable to keep his voice from cracking on that syllable.

"Yeah, I really think so. I mean, I haven't had a lot to compare to, but it feels...right."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Ron squeezed his eyes shut again, wishing desperately that he wasn't actually having this conversation. Maybe he'd fallen asleep straight after wanking and this was his subconscious having a laugh.

Harry shifted, so he was facing Ron, head propped up on his hand. "Except..."

"Except?" Ron bit his lip. He hadn't meant to jump on that word so quickly.

Continuing as though Ron hadn't interrupted, Harry said, "Except...there's something missing. What I mean to say is, we've decided. Decided that there's something missing when we're together."

He hadn't any idea what Harry was on about. "Missing?" Ron thought he felt Harry's eyes on him, scrutinising him. "What's missing?"

"You."

"What?" Surprised, Ron rolled over to face Harry.

"Y-you," stammered Harry, suddenly sounding unsure. "Hermione and I. We, erm, wa-want you. With us. Er, both of us. If you'll have us."

All the air left Ron's body when Harry leaned over, capturing his mouth with his own. Harry's kiss felt better than he possibly could have imagined. Then, remembering his sticky pyjamas again, Ron shifted away before they became problematic. "Yes," he said, nodding his head vigorously. "I want you. I want Hermione. Yes."

"Brilliant," Harry breathed. "She's waiting for us right outside."

Ron feared his pyjamas might soon become problematic, after all.