lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2021-12-18 04:09 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2021-12-18 04:09 pm
Entry tags:
[Solstitial Shorts]: Begin Like the Phoenix, PG-13, Harry/Hermione/Ron
Title: Begin Like the Phoenix
Pairing: Harry/Hermione/Ron, past Harry/Ginny
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, angst
Rating: PG-13
“Hey, mate, can we join you?”
Harry smiled a little as he kicked out two of the chairs at the table so that they were within easy reach of Ron and Hermione, but he knew his smile was strained. “Sure. I thought—I thought you’d probably want to wait a few days before we talked.”
Ron snorted as he plopped into the chair across the Leaky Cauldron table from Harry. Hermione took the seat next to Harry, eyes bright and piercing. Harry looked uncomfortably away. He had the feeling she would begin the interrogation about what was “wrong” with his relationship with Ginny any second.
“Why did you think that?”
Harry pulled his attention back to Ron. “I mean, because Ginny’s your sister, and the breakup was my fault? Not strange if you need some time to think about it, Ron.”
“The breakup wasn’t your fault, because you can’t control your feelings,” Hermione said. She leaned across the table, her eyes flashing in a way that, most of the time, Harry had only seen her use when she was upset with him. Now, she seemed to be upset for him. “Ginny told us. She said that you two broke up because you don’t feel emotionally connected to her.”
Harry looked into his mug of butterbeer and said nothing. Yes, that was true.
The other true thing was that he hadn’t felt emotionally connected to her since they broke up before the Horcrux hunt. He’d tried to miss her then, but he hadn’t spent much time thinking about her. He’d picked up their dating life again after the war because, well, he’d wanted to feel normal, and it seemed that everyone, including his best friends, expected him to date Ginny and marry her and have a family.
Harry had put away the doubts when he felt nothing after he kissed Ginny. He’d put away the fact that his eyes lingered as much on blokes’ chests and arses when he did his shopping in Diagon Alley as they did on women’s hair or pretty faces. And he’d looked away from them, anyway. How could he look at other people when he had such a pretty girl at home?
Pretty, Quidditch-playing, hot-tempered. Everything that he’d ever wanted.
But not, as Harry had slowly worked out over a period of two years, not all that he’d ever want in the future.
Ginny hadn’t been surprised when he’d broken up with her. She’d probably understood that there wasn’t much of a connection between them after he came back from the war.
But Harry didn’t understand why, still. Voldemort was dead. He was free to make his own choices, to love who he wanted. Why wouldn’t that be Ginny?
Hermione’s hand took his. Harry looked up at her and did his best to give her a smile that wasn’t as watery as it wanted to be. From the way that Hermione looked at him, he hadn’t succeeded.
“Harry,” Ron said, and coughed. “Mate.”
Harry braced himself. “Yeah?” Here it came, he thought, probably the news that he was disinvited from the Burrow for the next three months or so. However long Ginny would need to get over it, and however long the rest of her family would need to get over being upset for her.
“Have you ever thought,” Ron said, and ran his finger through a stain on the table, “that Ginny wasn’t what you needed?”
Harry paused. Wanted, sure, he’d come to the conclusion that she wasn’t what she wanted, even though he had no idea why. But needed?
“I thought she was,” he said softly. “Why wouldn’t she be? Ginny’s great. She’s a nice person, she doesn’t care about my fame, she plays Quidditch just like I do, we could have all sorts of interesting conversations.”
“But you’re not passionately in love with her,” Hermione finished.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know if I ever was after sixth year,” he admitted. He’d thought he would need to keep that to himself, because, after all, Ron was Ginny’s brother and wouldn’t like to hear it. But Hermione was giving him encouraging little nods, and Ron was listening, for all that his ears had turned bright red. “Maybe I latched onto her because she was there and pretty and doesn’t care that I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.” He sighed. “That’s going to be the hardest part to replace, you know. There aren’t a whole lot of people who don’t care about the press.”
“You’re looking at two of them.”
“I know,” Harry said, giving Hermione an apologetic smile. “And I’m more grateful than I can say that you’re still friends with me. But that’s not the same as dating.”
“No, it’s not,” Ron said, with a peculiar emphasis.
Harry frowned at him. Did Ron think Harry would go after Hermione now that he was single or something?
Before he could ask, Hermione broke in. “Harry, have you ever thought…” She paused for a long time, and then raised a Privacy Charm around the table. Harry appreciated it, given what she said next. “Have you ever thought about being with more than one person at once?”
Harry coughed, although he hadn’t had a sip of butterbeer in a while now. “What?” he croaked. “Like, two women in the bed at once? I don’t think that would have solved my problem with Ginny. She could get pretty jealous.”
Ron’s ears were turning red again, but he rolled his eyes. “No, mate. What Hermione means is, have you thought of dating two people at once?”
“And have two people I feel emotionally disconnected from instead of one? No, thanks.”
“If those two people were ones you felt emotionally connected to already, people who didn’t care about your fame…”
Harry gaped at Hermione. “I—Hermione? Ron?” His eyes darted back and forth between his friends.
Hermione smiled at him and leaned forwards. She kissed him lightly, then harder, brushing her lips over his in a way that Ginny hadn’t kissed him. She was more forceful, knowing what she wanted.
But oh, yeah, there was a spark. Harry gasped as he kissed Hermione back, reaching out to grip her hair and pull her closer. A contented rumble made its way up from her chest, as if she was purring like Crookshanks.
Harry let her go abruptly and turned to look at Ron, dread pooling in his chest. If this had been only Hermione’s idea and Harry had messed everything up—if Ron had agreed reluctantly and only because he didn’t want to leave Harry lonely—then Harry might have messed up Hermione and Ron’s relationship, too, by kissing her.
But Ron was watching him with a challenging glint in his eyes, as if Harry was an interesting chess problem. Then he leaned across the table and kissed him, hard, digging his hand into Harry’s robes and half-hauling him out of his seat.
Harry gasped, and Ron swept his tongue into Harry’s mouth like it was nothing at all. Harry shuddered and clutched him. He’d dreamed of kissing a bloke, just to see what it was like, but this was so much better than his dreams. Because it was Ron.
Just like kissing Hermione would probably feel better than any woman he’d ever kissed, because it was her.
Harry fell back into his seat as Ron let go of him and licked his lips, glancing around the pub. Luckily, Hermione’s Privacy Charm had held, and although the other people in the Leaky sometimes flung curious glances at the table, no one was reacting as if they had seen it.
“You’re—sure?” Harry blinked. His voice was deeper than he’d thought it would be, just like his lips were more swollen.
“Yes.” Hermione was glowing as if someone had cast a Lumos Charm on her from the inside.
“Been waiting for you, mate.” Ron licked his lips, and Harry’s eyes tracked the path of his tongue. “Do you know how stupid it feels, to be jealous of your own sister? Let’s not do that again.”
The way his hand rested on Harry’s on the table, they were never going to do it again. Harry extended his free hand, and clasped Hermione’s. She held on, reaching under the table to grasp Ron’s free one.
All connected, all joined, the way they had been ever since they were eleven, the way they’d been on the Horcrux hunt, all capable of communicating with eyes and smiles and laughter at old, worn jokes that only made sense to the three of them.
The really annoying part, Harry thought, as they stood and Hermione took down the Privacy Charm, is that I never thought about it before.
He put his arm around Hermione’s waist as they left the Leaky Cauldron, and Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry glanced sideways at him. It wasn’t unusual for them to do that, but still, probably rumors would start flying.
“All of this is going to be out in the open,” Hermione said firmly. “We’re not afraid of the press, remember? We don’t care about you being the Boy-Who-Lived. We’re together, and everyone should know that.”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “That Auror who was flirting with you at that gala last month, Harry? Spencer Finn, or whatever his name was? He’s not coming near you again.”
Harry sighed as he leaned closer to both of them at once, as much as he could while they were walking. He hadn’t liked Ginny’s jealousy, even though it had felt flattering to be wanted so much. But now he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t like jealousy; it was because it had been coming from the wrong person.
“Oh, I didn’t know about Finn,” Hermione said. “Tell me where his office is, so I can hex him.”
Harry threw back his head and laughed, and his two best friends, the two people closest to him in the world, pressed closer.
The ashes of his relationship with Ginny that Harry had thought would lie there for years until something kindled them again were burning softly and steadily after all. Harry should have known they could. He had known about phoenixes, after all, nearly as long as he had known Ron and Hermione.
And when they both pushed him up against the eaves of the house next to the Apparition point for another kiss, Harry reached out and pulled them both closer at once, more than ready to burn in this fire.
Pairing: Harry/Hermione/Ron, past Harry/Ginny
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, angst
Rating: PG-13
“Hey, mate, can we join you?”
Harry smiled a little as he kicked out two of the chairs at the table so that they were within easy reach of Ron and Hermione, but he knew his smile was strained. “Sure. I thought—I thought you’d probably want to wait a few days before we talked.”
Ron snorted as he plopped into the chair across the Leaky Cauldron table from Harry. Hermione took the seat next to Harry, eyes bright and piercing. Harry looked uncomfortably away. He had the feeling she would begin the interrogation about what was “wrong” with his relationship with Ginny any second.
“Why did you think that?”
Harry pulled his attention back to Ron. “I mean, because Ginny’s your sister, and the breakup was my fault? Not strange if you need some time to think about it, Ron.”
“The breakup wasn’t your fault, because you can’t control your feelings,” Hermione said. She leaned across the table, her eyes flashing in a way that, most of the time, Harry had only seen her use when she was upset with him. Now, she seemed to be upset for him. “Ginny told us. She said that you two broke up because you don’t feel emotionally connected to her.”
Harry looked into his mug of butterbeer and said nothing. Yes, that was true.
The other true thing was that he hadn’t felt emotionally connected to her since they broke up before the Horcrux hunt. He’d tried to miss her then, but he hadn’t spent much time thinking about her. He’d picked up their dating life again after the war because, well, he’d wanted to feel normal, and it seemed that everyone, including his best friends, expected him to date Ginny and marry her and have a family.
Harry had put away the doubts when he felt nothing after he kissed Ginny. He’d put away the fact that his eyes lingered as much on blokes’ chests and arses when he did his shopping in Diagon Alley as they did on women’s hair or pretty faces. And he’d looked away from them, anyway. How could he look at other people when he had such a pretty girl at home?
Pretty, Quidditch-playing, hot-tempered. Everything that he’d ever wanted.
But not, as Harry had slowly worked out over a period of two years, not all that he’d ever want in the future.
Ginny hadn’t been surprised when he’d broken up with her. She’d probably understood that there wasn’t much of a connection between them after he came back from the war.
But Harry didn’t understand why, still. Voldemort was dead. He was free to make his own choices, to love who he wanted. Why wouldn’t that be Ginny?
Hermione’s hand took his. Harry looked up at her and did his best to give her a smile that wasn’t as watery as it wanted to be. From the way that Hermione looked at him, he hadn’t succeeded.
“Harry,” Ron said, and coughed. “Mate.”
Harry braced himself. “Yeah?” Here it came, he thought, probably the news that he was disinvited from the Burrow for the next three months or so. However long Ginny would need to get over it, and however long the rest of her family would need to get over being upset for her.
“Have you ever thought,” Ron said, and ran his finger through a stain on the table, “that Ginny wasn’t what you needed?”
Harry paused. Wanted, sure, he’d come to the conclusion that she wasn’t what she wanted, even though he had no idea why. But needed?
“I thought she was,” he said softly. “Why wouldn’t she be? Ginny’s great. She’s a nice person, she doesn’t care about my fame, she plays Quidditch just like I do, we could have all sorts of interesting conversations.”
“But you’re not passionately in love with her,” Hermione finished.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know if I ever was after sixth year,” he admitted. He’d thought he would need to keep that to himself, because, after all, Ron was Ginny’s brother and wouldn’t like to hear it. But Hermione was giving him encouraging little nods, and Ron was listening, for all that his ears had turned bright red. “Maybe I latched onto her because she was there and pretty and doesn’t care that I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.” He sighed. “That’s going to be the hardest part to replace, you know. There aren’t a whole lot of people who don’t care about the press.”
“You’re looking at two of them.”
“I know,” Harry said, giving Hermione an apologetic smile. “And I’m more grateful than I can say that you’re still friends with me. But that’s not the same as dating.”
“No, it’s not,” Ron said, with a peculiar emphasis.
Harry frowned at him. Did Ron think Harry would go after Hermione now that he was single or something?
Before he could ask, Hermione broke in. “Harry, have you ever thought…” She paused for a long time, and then raised a Privacy Charm around the table. Harry appreciated it, given what she said next. “Have you ever thought about being with more than one person at once?”
Harry coughed, although he hadn’t had a sip of butterbeer in a while now. “What?” he croaked. “Like, two women in the bed at once? I don’t think that would have solved my problem with Ginny. She could get pretty jealous.”
Ron’s ears were turning red again, but he rolled his eyes. “No, mate. What Hermione means is, have you thought of dating two people at once?”
“And have two people I feel emotionally disconnected from instead of one? No, thanks.”
“If those two people were ones you felt emotionally connected to already, people who didn’t care about your fame…”
Harry gaped at Hermione. “I—Hermione? Ron?” His eyes darted back and forth between his friends.
Hermione smiled at him and leaned forwards. She kissed him lightly, then harder, brushing her lips over his in a way that Ginny hadn’t kissed him. She was more forceful, knowing what she wanted.
But oh, yeah, there was a spark. Harry gasped as he kissed Hermione back, reaching out to grip her hair and pull her closer. A contented rumble made its way up from her chest, as if she was purring like Crookshanks.
Harry let her go abruptly and turned to look at Ron, dread pooling in his chest. If this had been only Hermione’s idea and Harry had messed everything up—if Ron had agreed reluctantly and only because he didn’t want to leave Harry lonely—then Harry might have messed up Hermione and Ron’s relationship, too, by kissing her.
But Ron was watching him with a challenging glint in his eyes, as if Harry was an interesting chess problem. Then he leaned across the table and kissed him, hard, digging his hand into Harry’s robes and half-hauling him out of his seat.
Harry gasped, and Ron swept his tongue into Harry’s mouth like it was nothing at all. Harry shuddered and clutched him. He’d dreamed of kissing a bloke, just to see what it was like, but this was so much better than his dreams. Because it was Ron.
Just like kissing Hermione would probably feel better than any woman he’d ever kissed, because it was her.
Harry fell back into his seat as Ron let go of him and licked his lips, glancing around the pub. Luckily, Hermione’s Privacy Charm had held, and although the other people in the Leaky sometimes flung curious glances at the table, no one was reacting as if they had seen it.
“You’re—sure?” Harry blinked. His voice was deeper than he’d thought it would be, just like his lips were more swollen.
“Yes.” Hermione was glowing as if someone had cast a Lumos Charm on her from the inside.
“Been waiting for you, mate.” Ron licked his lips, and Harry’s eyes tracked the path of his tongue. “Do you know how stupid it feels, to be jealous of your own sister? Let’s not do that again.”
The way his hand rested on Harry’s on the table, they were never going to do it again. Harry extended his free hand, and clasped Hermione’s. She held on, reaching under the table to grasp Ron’s free one.
All connected, all joined, the way they had been ever since they were eleven, the way they’d been on the Horcrux hunt, all capable of communicating with eyes and smiles and laughter at old, worn jokes that only made sense to the three of them.
The really annoying part, Harry thought, as they stood and Hermione took down the Privacy Charm, is that I never thought about it before.
He put his arm around Hermione’s waist as they left the Leaky Cauldron, and Ron put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry glanced sideways at him. It wasn’t unusual for them to do that, but still, probably rumors would start flying.
“All of this is going to be out in the open,” Hermione said firmly. “We’re not afraid of the press, remember? We don’t care about you being the Boy-Who-Lived. We’re together, and everyone should know that.”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “That Auror who was flirting with you at that gala last month, Harry? Spencer Finn, or whatever his name was? He’s not coming near you again.”
Harry sighed as he leaned closer to both of them at once, as much as he could while they were walking. He hadn’t liked Ginny’s jealousy, even though it had felt flattering to be wanted so much. But now he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t like jealousy; it was because it had been coming from the wrong person.
“Oh, I didn’t know about Finn,” Hermione said. “Tell me where his office is, so I can hex him.”
Harry threw back his head and laughed, and his two best friends, the two people closest to him in the world, pressed closer.
The ashes of his relationship with Ginny that Harry had thought would lie there for years until something kindled them again were burning softly and steadily after all. Harry should have known they could. He had known about phoenixes, after all, nearly as long as he had known Ron and Hermione.
And when they both pushed him up against the eaves of the house next to the Apparition point for another kiss, Harry reached out and pulled them both closer at once, more than ready to burn in this fire.