Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was an uncommonly warm day at the Camp for Muggleborn Integration, Networking, and Goodwill Experiences. The air held the haze of late summer, the sun’s golden rays tinting the world with the sepia tones of an old photograph. The spires of Hogwarts were gilded but indistinct in the distance, a shimmering filter of heat obscuring them. Birds flitted through the dark green leaves of the bowers of the Forbidden Forest, and nectar-drunk bumblebees bobbed between daisies in the grass below. The dappled shade didn’t quite reach the ring of cabins squatting alongside the forest, but a breeze drifting up from the cool waters of the Black Lake kept the heat just this side of tolerable. Hermione fanned herself, surreptitiously unsticking her shorts where sweat and humidity made them cling to her thighs as she surveyed her camp.

Groups of ten- and eleven-year-olds in camp shirts trailed after counselors like baby ducklings. Their lime-green shirts were stamped with a logo: a campfire built from wands, with Camp M.I.N.G.E. emblazoned across the top. Hermione had regrets about delegating the shirt design to Luna without more oversight. By the time she opened the box to unpack them, it was too late to remake them. The incoming Muggleborns still hadn’t stopped tittering about it two weeks into camp.

Groups of campers moved between a mixture of Muggle and magical activities. Hagrid was introducing a giggling cluster of children to a pen of Jarveys near the forest. The dog-sized ferrets were gamboling, a never-ending stream of rude comments flowing from their mouth. There was a craft lesson happening on the other side of camp, the children watching as Luna demonstrated how to braid a bracelet of brightly colored cord. On the edge of the lake, the charmed rowboats were completing a circuit of the lake, the Giant Squid’s arms waving gently as it basked. Lee Jordan was demonstrating basic broom skills, and behind him was the archery range. Hermione frowned to see it empty. She consulted her clipboard, a color-coded timesheet clipped to it. As she thought, Ron was supposed to be manning that station.

Suddenly, shouting shattered the calm, a burst of comingled voices, masculine and angry. Hermione’s head whipped around. She couldn’t see the source of the sound, but she immediately knew. That was Ron’s voice… and Draco’s.

Again.

Hermione dropped her clipboard and raced towards the shouting, stumbling as she rounded the corner of a cabin. She skidded to a halt at the sight in front of her. Ron had Draco’s white camp counselor shirt by the collar, faces only inches apart. A semi-circle of campers surrounded them, yelling protests or whooping encouragement while Neville attempted to herd them away. She couldn’t make out what Ron and Draco were shouting in the cacophony, nor did she care. Their wands were scattered in the dirt by their feet. Whether they disarmed each other or dropped them in their bloodlust was hard to say. Hermione summoned them wordlessly, then sent a shower of red sparks into the sky with a loud bang.

The campers startled, heads whipping towards her, but Ron and Draco remained locked in their scuffle. Campers parted before her, and many began retreating to their cabins as she pointed her wand at the pair. Ron drew his fist back, and Hermione sent her next volley of sparks directly between them. It exploded between their faces, the sound and shockwave sending them tumbling backwards into the dirt.

Hermione shouted, “Show’s over! Everyone back to their cabins! Neville, Luna, could you…?” She didn’t wait for a response before marching over and standing over the two men, glowering down with hands on her hips. “You two, my office, now,” she hissed.

“Hermione, he was–” Ron started.

“Granger, your boyfriend–” Draco spoke at the same time.

“Shut it, both of you. My office, NOW,” she repeated, then spun on her heels and strode back to the office, hearing the shuffling of them climbing to their feet and following.

She held open the door and stood to the side, glaring as they trudged in, twin sullen expressions on their faces. She followed them into her cramped office and slammed the door closed behind them.

“In front of the campers? What were you thinking?” she spat.

“He insulted my mother!” Ron said. The men had positioned themselves as far as possible from each other in the small space, but the tension in the room was still fit to burn.

“You insulted mine first!” Draco retorted.

“It’s not an insult if it's the truth,” Ron said, voice dark.

Draco started to move toward Ron, fists clenched. Hermione held up her wand again, and both men froze.

“Enough! I cannot believe you two!” She began pacing in the limited space, frustration bubbling over. “This camp was designed to demonstrate that the Wizarding World has moved past its prejudices. The whole point is to foster connections that would have been impossible before the war. You agreed,” she pointed at them both in turn, “that this mission was important. You both agreed that you could put the past behind you. Those first years out there are looking at all of us to learn how this world works. It’s the Muggleborns’ first exposure to the Wizarding World, and it is many of the purebloods' first exposure to a world outside of their parents’ control. You cannot set this example! It undermines everything we are meant to be doing here.” Hermione looked between them, vulnerability showing beneath her anger. “This was my idea, my plan. It has been years in the making. If you undermine the camp, you undermine me.”

For the first time, Ron looked sheepish. “Hermione, I’m sorry. I know how important this is. It’s just… Why is Malfoy even here? He and his family are part of the reason this needs to exist in the first place!” he said.

“That’s why I am here, you tosser,” Malfoy replied, exasperation pulling his voice thin. “I am trying to make it right. And it's a better reason than you have! You’re just here to hang on to your girlfriend’s coattails, like always.”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Ron said. His cheeks and ears were crimson, broad shoulders held back defiantly. “My motivations aren’t the ones in question here.”

“Stop calling me his girlfriend, you know I’m not,” Hermione said, rubbing her temples. “No one’s motivations are in question here. If you would just talk to each other, you’d understand that you agree on a lot more than you know.”

Malfoy scoffed, turning away from Ron with a sneer. Ron’s face was stony, chin jutting out in the mulish way she knew meant that his heels were dug in and he was no longer listening.

“Just stay away from me and I won’t have to ruin your pointy little face,” Ron growled.

“Fine by me, Weasley. If I never set eyes on you again, it would vastly improve my life.” Draco said, a sneer twisting his handsome face.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath through her nose and silently counted to five. Hermione had read every people management book she could get her hands on before becoming Camp Director. She sorted through the conflict resolution techniques she had learned, but none of them accounted for how utterly childish they were being.

Hermione said, “That isn’t good enough. You’ll never solve anything that way. You can’t always avoid each other, and then you just blow up when you’re forced together. You need to work this out, once and for all.” An idea dawned on her, a story from a primary school friend bubbling up in her memory. “So, we’ll just have to give you plenty of chances to figure out how to work together.” She summoned a camp shirt from one of the boxes stacked under her desk. With a swish of her wand, it grew much wider, the neck hole splitting into two.

“Granger, just what do you think you’re–” Draco started, then shouted with surprise when another wave of her wand dragged him across the room to stand chest to chest with Ron. Before either man could react, Hermione forced the enlarged shirt over both their heads, trapping them together. Hermione waved her wand again. Bold black writing formed across the front.

THE GET-ALONG SHIRT

Ron and Draco were both shouting now, shoving against each other and trying to wrench the shirt off. A quick sticking charm foiled their efforts, and the shouting redoubled. Ron reached for his wand. Shock splashed across his face when he came up empty, and Hermione twisted to show where they stuck from her back pocket.

Ron started forward but jerked against the shirt. He shouted, “Give me back my wand right–”

Hermione silenced them with a wordless wave of her wand. “This is a get-along shirt. Muggles use them when children won’t stop fighting. You will keep this shirt on until you have worked out your issues to MY satisfaction. Or, you are both fired and will be going home.” They shouted futilely at her, gesticulating wildly with the arms that weren’t stuck in the shirt.

Hermione waited, hands on her hips, until the thrashing settled down. Once they had calmed into sullen glares, she reversed the silencing spell.

“This is absurd, Hermione! You can’t seriously expect me to be attached to him all day!” Ron burst out.

“I’m not a Muggle child, Granger. Give me my wand back immediately!” Draco snarled.

“Oh, you’re not? Because you were certainly acting like one!” She glared between the two, and they withered slightly. “I have tried so many techniques to help you work peacefully together, but you insist on acting like children. Well, if you’re going to act like children, you’re going to get treated like children!” Exasperation sent her voice shrill, and Ron and Draco both cringed. “Now, you can come with me and work on your issues, or you can take your wand and go home. Up to you.” She held the wands out.

Ron glared at Hermione, teeth grinding in his jaw. He looked at his wand, and Hermione’s stomach dropped. She took a breath, then raised her chin defiantly. If she had to finish out the week short-staffed, it would be easier than spending so much time managing their conflicts.

“If Weasley is too cowardly to do it, do I still get to stay?” Draco asked, eyes on his wand.

Ron spun in the shirt, chest to chest with Draco once more. “I am not a coward!”

“Looks to me like you’re running away… again,” Draco drawled.

Ron blanched, jaw clenched and eyes hot.

“Draco, enough. I see what you’re doing. You can’t get out of this by provoking him. If he leaves because you’re being a total arse, you’re out too. I won’t permit you to abuse each other,” Hermione said.

Draco scowled, but kept his mouth shut.

Hermione nodded. “Good. Ronald, are you in or are you out?”

Ron gritted his teeth, then nodded stiffly. “I’m in.”

“Draco?” She asked.

“Against my better judgement, I’m in,” he drawled.

“Excellent!” Hermione said. “Follow me.” She opened the door of her office and stepped into the bright afternoon light. She retrieved her clipboard and looked it over, trying to look as though she had a plan. She had no idea what she was going to do with them, but she needed to project confidence.

Her salvation came, as it often did, in the form of Harry Potter.

“Hey Hermione, we’re just about ready for the… ropes… course…” Harry was jogging up from the Quidditch pitch. His voice faltered as he noticed Ron and Draco behind Hermione. He looked from her to them, confusion and concern growing on his face.

“Perfect!” Hermione chirped, false chipperness in her voice. “Ron, Draco, you’ll be helping Harry run the ropes course. It’s the perfect opportunity for some cooperation.”

“Do I want to know?” Harry asked.

“Ron and Draco are setting a team building example for the campers,” Hermione said, her voice bright and brittle.

“Fighting again? Ron, c’mon mate, you gotta just learn to ignore the tosser,” Harry said with a sigh. “He’s not that bad anymore, he’s just got a terminal case of not-knowing-when-to-shut-up.”

Draco made a small noise of displeasure, and Harry grinned at him.

“Harry, please talk some sense into her! She’s gone barmy this time,” Ron pleaded.

Harry put his hands up, shooting a cautious look at Hermione. “I’m staying out of it. I don’t want to end up in there, too.”

“Traitor,” Ron hissed.

“Hey now, don’t get shirty with me,” Harry said. Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line to hold back her chuckle as Harry beamed at his joke.

Draco clicked his tongue. “Of course, you would run to Saint Potter for backup. Have you ever accomplished anything without him?” he sneered.

“Real rich coming from you, Malfoy. I’m sure your father will be hearing about this. Oh, wait. No, he won’t. Because he’s still in Azkaban,” Ron snarled back. There was a struggle inside the shirt as they jostled, shoving at each other.

“You sure one of them isn’t going to end up dead?” Harry whispered to Hermione, watching the pair teeter as the shirt resisted their attempts to push each other away.

She winced as they overbalanced. Fighting against each other, they weren’t able to catch themselves. Limbs wheeled in all directions, each man’s attempt to catch themself pulling the other down again. Hermione fought a laugh as they toppled in cartoonish slow motion to the ground. Benny Hill couldn’t have staged it better. They both yelped with alarm as Draco landed on top of Ron, braced on his knees and free arm to hover above him.

“Get off me!” Ron bellowed. He tried to roll away, but the action caught the fabric of the shirt and swept Draco’s arm from under him.

He landed on Ron’s chest with a loud “Oof”, immediately scrambling to regain distance. “Stop pulling me, you idiot!” he hissed as they lurched again, legs tangling.

“You stop pushing me!” Ron snapped back. They were kicking up a cloud of dust now, wriggling in the dirt, trying to right themselves with one arm each.

“This is going great,” Hermione muttered, massaging her forehead against the headache that had been growing since this started.

Harry snickered, shaking his head. “I admire your optimism, Hermione, but I think those two might be a lost cause.”

“No, this can work. They just need to break the cycle of provoking each other,” Hermione muttered to Harry. “The point is to work together,” Hermione said, voice raised over their shouting. “You need to coordinate your efforts.” Two pairs of furious eyes snapped to her. The heat and anger in their blue and grey eyes focused on her. In any other situation, it might have been intimidating. Now, though, she rolled her lips in to prevent smiling at how ridiculous they looked. “Go on, help each other up.”

Draco glared at Ron, then at her, then at Harry, for good measure. Harry held up his hands innocently. Hermione shifted back on her heels, rocking idly up and down as if they had all the time in the world. Draco groaned, then looked back down at Ron. Ron was glaring up at him, but finally holding still. Draco got his arm under himself again and hoisted himself off Ron onto his knees. The resistance of the shirt nearly tugged him back down, but Ron’s hand flew up and braced his shoulder. With a small nod, they sat up in unison. There was more shuffling and swearing as they got their legs untangled and got onto their knees.

“Three… two… one,” Ron muttered, and they surged upwards together. They were finally on their feet again, dirty, panting, and tight-eyed. Hermione sent a scourgify over them, then walked over to fix Ron’s hair. The ginger strands slipped smoothly through her fingers as she brushed them out of his face. Angry though he was, he still leaned into her touch, posture softening.

She and Ron weren’t a couple, it was true, but they were something more than friends. They had dated for a while after the Battle of Hogwarts, but they were too young and too wounded. They needed to figure out who they were in the aftermath of war, and it was hard to do that in the confines of a relationship that everyone thought would end in marriage. The breakup had mostly been a relief, and their friendship remained strong.

In the back of her mind, she always thought it was likely that someday the banked coals of their early love would ignite again. Not being together didn’t stop them from falling into bed together frequently over the last seven years. They weren’t monogamous. One of the things they both needed to explore was their respective sexualities, and there had been other men and women for both of them. Sex with Ron was too good, though, and the comfort and familiarity of each other’s bodies too soothing a balm. Her touch had always calmed him, as his steadied her.

Draco, on the other hand, excited her. He had been circling in her periphery since he re-entered society after his home arrest ended. He alternated between flirtation and self-castigation. She knew what he wanted, but didn’t think he deserved. She had been suspicious at first, walls up and on guard for manipulation. Over time, with the evidence of his changed ways undeniable, she had softened towards him. He was intelligent, curious, funny, and, God help her, beautiful. His aristocratic features and patrician nose belonged on a statue, and his Quidditch-toned body looked equally carved from stone. She couldn’t help flirting back, or imagining what that body would feel like under her hands. The only reason she hadn’t asked him out herself yet was that she knew it would infuriate Ron. But her resolve was crumbling the more time she spent with him. If he ever made a move himself, she didn’t have it in her to refuse.

Without thinking, she finished smoothing Ron’s hair and turned to fix Draco’s. He startled at the motion, and she paused, hand hovering over the silvery locks. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t pull away as her fingers carefully brushed the mussed hair to the side, tucking it behind his ear. A blush had gathered on his cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if it was caused by her casual touch or his tussle with Ron. She glanced at Ron. His eyes were narrowed on her hand.

She winced. Why had she thought it was a good idea to hire both of her potential love interests? Probably because she had been so caught up by the idea of spending the summer with each of them that she forgot that they despised each other.

A polite cough sounded behind her, and Hermione whipped her hand away from where it had dropped to linger on Draco’s neck. Harry was watching, eyebrows disappearing under his curly mop of hair. “The, uh, ropes course. It’s time. That is, if you’re done here,” he said.

Hermione flushed, nodding and bustling over to Harry. She didn’t know what had come over her. This was not the time for reminiscing and daydreaming about past and future lovers. It was just seeing them both so flushed and mussed. It was easy to imagine them freshly fucked. There would be no more of that, though. She boxed up her desire and shoved it deep down within herself. That had nothing to do with what was going on here; this was a strictly professional team-building exercise. She could compartmentalize. She was good at it.

Strictly professional.

Hermione turned and started towards the Quidditch pitch. Her gaze was fixed ahead, feet marching with purpose. The ropes course was perfect. She’d have Ron and Draco show the kids how it was done, and they’d have to work together to avoid another fall. She knew this could work. If they could interrupt this pattern of fighting, they could learn to trust each other. Or, at the very least, tolerate each other.

Footsteps pounded the ground behind her as Harry jogged to catch up with her, his longer legs quickly closing the distance. He slung a sweaty arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, pitching his voice low for her ears. “What was that all about?” he asked.

Hermione glanced back at where Ron and Draco were following, looking away from each other as if they could make the other disappear by ignoring them thoroughly enough. She looked back at Harry and sighed. “They won’t stop fighting, and they won’t talk about it. I thought maybe some forced proximity could make them work it out.”

Harry rubbed his stubbled jaw, contemplating. “Well, if nothing else, it's humiliating enough to make them think twice before getting into it in public again. But that’s not what I meant. I was talking about you and Malfoy,” he said, green eyes bright with mischief. “Since when do you touch him like you touch Ron?”

Hermione stiffened under his arm, her steps faltering. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, voice more shrill than she had intended.

Harry laughed. “You know,” he said. He mimicked her, stroking her hair with a simper and batting his wide, moony eyes at her.

“I did NOT look like that!” Hermione protested, batting away his hand.

“Mhm, sure,” he said, arm sliding from her shoulders. They had reached the pitch, where the hoops were now joined by more poles erected across the field. High above the ground, an intricate spiderweb of ropes stretched between the poles, punctuated by platforms here and there.

A nervous group of campers was clustered near the ladder to ascend the course with Neville, the kids staring up at the ropes with trepidation. Harry approached them, an easy grin on his face.

“Hello, campers!” he called.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” they chimed in unison.

“Welcome to the Hogwarts Ropes Course!” he said, gesturing proudly. “Isn’t it cool? It’s going to be a lot of fun, but it will also teach you something. This ropes course is designed to show you what makes Hogwarts really special: the bonds between you. Here, you will test your mettle but also strengthen your teamwork skills! This course is not meant to be completed on your own. You will work together in small teams to help each other reach the other side.” Harry grabbed a broom, kicking off to zoom around the course and show the kids the challenges and safety features. All eyes were locked on him, awe on many faces as he deftly maneuvered the broom through the ropes.

“And to give you a more practical demonstration of how it’s done, counselors Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy will be completing the course for you to watch!” Harry finished, unable to fight his grin as all eyes swung to the lime-green pair. Gasps and giggles broke out as the campers took in the situation. Neville’s eyes were saucer-like, a guffaw breaking from his lips. “They’ve got a little extra handicap to make it a challenge, so don’t worry. We’ll let you kids use both your hands.”

Ron and Draco were both beet-red, looking with disbelief at the ropes above them.

“You’re joking, Hermione,” Ron said.

“Hermione, you can’t mean for us to complete that like this,” Draco hissed. The shirt flapped as he gestured with his trapped hand, highlighting its uselessness.

“It was designed for children, you two big strapping men will be fine. As for only having one hand… well, I suppose you’d better work together, then.” Hermione said, hands on her hips.

Ron and Draco exchanged a look.

“If you’re scared, you can admit it,” Ron goaded.

“Scared your incompetence will drag us both to the ground, maybe,” Draco retorted.

“I’m not going to fall,” Ron replied, shoulders squaring, “but I’m not going to pull your weight if your delicate hands give out.”

Hermione watched with narrowed eyes, fidgeting with her wand again. “If you’re quite done posturing…?” she asked pointedly, gesturing them forward. Both men shot her a glare, but approached the ladder. Hermione swished her wand, and the rungs widened to make room for two bodies side by side. They stood, surveying it for a moment before Ron grabbed the rung and started to step up. He was immediately yanked back down by the neck when Draco didn’t move with him.

Ron coughed and massaged his throat, croaking, “Why are you just standing there? You have to move with me!”

“Why should I follow your lead? You shouldn’t have moved until I told you to,” Draco replied.

“I’m not following your orders!” Ron said. He looked back at Hermione, who was watching with crossed arms and an impatient tap of her foot. He sighed. “Look, we have to coordinate. How about we count off together?”

Draco looked back at Hermione and then surveyed the giggling campers. Resignation shuttered his face. “Fine. On three.”

“One, two, three–” They counted in unison, lifting themselves onto the rung on three. They stood a foot from the ground as they contemplated how to take the next step without a free arm.

“I think… the only way is to hold on to each other,” Draco finally said.

“No way. I am not touching you any more than I have to,” Ron replied. He experimented, shifting his weight and trying to release his grip on the rung without tumbling down. Finally, he sighed, banging his head on the ladder repeatedly. He looked at Draco and nodded. “Fine.”

Hermione could see their arms crossing around each other’s backs under the shirt and stifled a giggle. Harry landed next to her and leaned on the broom.

“You’re a scary witch, Hermione,” he said, watching the men hold each other steady as they took turns grabbing the next rung and pulling themselves upwards together.

“But it’s working, though!” Hermione crowed triumphantly as they reached the top. As they both bent at the waist to get a knee under them on the platform, their clothes stretched tight, highlighting two firm asses and muscular legs. Ron was wearing shorts, Draco joggers, as Muggle clothes were required for the camp. Hermione’s managerial satisfaction in watching them succeed on this strictly professional team-building exercise warmed her belly and caused heat to rise in her cheeks. Their muscles bunched and corded as they hauled themselves onto the platform, dropping their grips on each other’s waists. Hermione caught herself swallowing, her mouth full of saliva, and immediately shoved more feelings into the box of inappropriate lust she was building in her mind.

They set out across the ropes, each clutching a higher rope with one hand and shuffling their feet across another carefully. Ron teetered suddenly, and Draco’s arm snaked out under the shirt to wrap around his back again. They found a rhythm, moving together and holding onto each other when they needed to, though Hermione could still hear the faint murmur of their bickering.

They looked tight-jawed and angry, but were making quick progress, moving between the platforms swiftly. Hermione was impressed by their physical prowess; their athleticism making the feat look trivial. She happily surveyed the group of campers. They were staring up at the two men in awe, impressed and excited. A burst of clapping and whooping rang out when Draco and Ron completed a difficult segment. Both men looked at the cheering kids, then their eyes met. Hermione swore she saw a ghost of a smile pass between them.

They were approaching the final section, and Hermione let out a small hum of pleasure at their progress. Her eyes returned over and over again to where they held each other. She couldn’t stop imagining Draco’s graceful fingers dimpling Ron’s skin, the rasp of Ron’s calloused palms across Draco’s side. She licked her lips, heat flaring in her. Then she shook her head and dragged her gaze up to their faces. She didn’t know why she was having such a hard time focusing.

Draco was looking down at her, and she could tell from his reaction that her face must be giving her away. His lips were parted, face painted with surprise and intrigue. Their eyes locked, and Hermione felt the inappropriate lust box rattle ominously at the heated look in his eyes. Draco’s steps faltered. Ron didn’t notice him hesitating. He ran into Draco, the length of his body briefly against Draco’s. He didn’t bump him hard, but Draco reacted like he had been struck. His eyes widened, turning and pulling away from the press of Ron’s body too quickly. He slipped, his foot leaving the edge of the platform and finding only air. He started to careen backwards off the edge, and Hermione gasped and stepped forward, hand stretched towards them.

Just as he began to fall, Ron’s arms wrapped around his chest, inside the shirt and out. His muscles bulged as he threw himself backward onto the platform, dragging Draco with him. He managed to reverse Draco’s momentum, sending the men crashing to the platform, with Draco between Ron’s spread legs, Ron’s arms still around Draco. The campers all shrieked and gasped. Neither Draco nor Ron was moving, their bodies entwined and faces mere inches apart, staring at each other.

“Hey, you alright?” Harry called, and they sprang to life as if released from a Full-Body Bind.

They scrambled away from each other as much as possible within the confines of the shirt and stumbled back to their feet.

“Totally fine, Harry. Proper heroic even,” Ron called down. The campers tittered around them.

“Heroic?” Draco snapped. “You just corrected your own mistake! You pushed me!”

“You stopped!” Ron retorted. They were in each other’s faces again.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. Just when she thought things were moving along, they regressed again. “Just complete the course and come down, please, the kids are waiting to start.”

Stony-faced and scowling once more, Draco and Ron crossed the final rope to the last platform. The platform lowered itself automatically, depositing the taciturn men on the ground. Hermione walked to greet them. They were flushed, turned away from each other as far as possible. She placed her hands on each of their arms and smiled up at them.

“Great job, both of you. You did even better than I hoped,” Draco’s scowl softened at the praise, but Ron scoffed. “Next thing, you’re going to help me prep for dinner. Without magic.”

They both groaned in unison.

It was a short walk to the mess hall, where Hermione perched on a table and directed them while they worked in silence. They were growing skilled at being each other’s second arm, but the tension between them was still electric. They chopped vegetables together as Hermione contemplated what was missing.

They were cooperating and weren’t actively hostile at the moment, but things seemed no easier between them. As she watched them dice, she thought about the roots of their conflict. It went deep, but no deeper than hers with Draco, and she had learned to live with him. To like him, more than she cared to admit. But Draco and Ron seemed to rile each other up in a way no one else could. It was almost primal, physical. She studied their body language, hoping the lines of their bodies as they worked would tell her something.

Ron was standing awkwardly, his hips angled away from Draco and his shoulders hunched. The large shirt hung down to his thighs like a tent. Hermione’s eyes narrowed. His body language was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. He was still flushed, even though things were calm now. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, and his eyes were bright, almost glassy. She sucked in a breath through her teeth suddenly. She recognized that look. That was how he had looked when Molly had nearly caught them shagging in the pantry. They had to go back to dinner without getting off, sitting through a torturous half hour of socializing before they were able to sneak off again.

He was turned on and trying desperately to hide it. She would bet her favorite copy of Hogwarts: A History that he was hiding a massive erection under that baggy shirt. Her eyes swung to Draco. Because of him? She noticed how their shoulders rubbed together inside the shirt, Draco’s behind Ron’s to make room for their arms. Where was his hand? She remembered the slide of his arm around Ron’s back earlier. Her cheeks flushed, her chest hot. Ron’s lower back was so sensitive. Caressing him there during sex always caused him to arch harder into her.

Draco turned away from Ron, bending to reach a tomato that had rolled away. Even through the shirt, Hermione could see his taut arse rub against Ron’s thigh as he bent. She swallowed. She had covertly admired Draco’s behind many times. It was a firm, round peach of an arse, begging to be bitten and bruised. Had Ron noticed it too?

Hermione examined Draco’s posture as he straightened back up and held the tomato still for Ron to dice. He was tense too, the tips of his ears pink. The neck of the shirt was biting into his neck as he leaned away from Ron as much as possible, and she noticed his hips were also canted away from Ron’s.

She hadn’t thought through the intimacy of what she was making them do. The proximity, yes, the forced cooperation. But she hadn’t considered how their bodies would rub against each other, or how warm they must be in their shared body heat, the mingling smells of sweat and cologne. She clenched her thighs, biting her lip.

As she watched, Ron reached across the cutting board. His broad back slid against the front of Draco’s chest. Draco’s nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight. Now that she had spotted it, the mutual attraction was so obvious. Working together, they scooped up the pile of diced tomatoes with the flat of the knife and dropped them into the bowl. Hermione stood suddenly.

Both looked up at her in unison as if they had forgotten that she was there.

“Okay, boys, well done. Let’s go to my cabin for the next task,” she said, confident voice not belying the way her knees were shaking. She didn’t know what exactly she was going to do there, but she was sure she had found the root of the tension.

“Seriously, Hermione? We’re not done?” Ron groaned, clutching the countertop with white knuckles.

“Surely we’ve done enough? We did that whole meal prep without so much as a cross word!” Draco protested.

“You’re almost there,” she said soothingly, “there’s just one more thing we need to do. It’s just talking, really,” she said, opening the door for them and gesturing for them to go. They exchanged a glance, looking away as soon as their eyes met. The walk to her cabin was quiet, with tension rigid between all three of them. Hermione stepped forward to unlock her cabin and held open the door for them. Ron started to move forward into the familiar space, but Draco hesitated. Hermione offered him a reassuring smile, and he reluctantly matched Ron’s step into the room.

The cabin was a single room, made of exposed wood, with only a bed, a dresser, and a writing desk with a wooden chair. Hermione followed Ron and Draco into the room, avoiding looking at the bed, where Ron had been underneath her only a few days before. It was all she could think about. She shoved it down in the inappropriate lust box. This was not about her desires.

Hermione closed and locked the door behind them with a resounding click. She turned and surveyed Ron and Draco. They stood in the middle of the room, discomfort palpable. The material of the shirt was strained as they leaned away from each other. Their bodies were equally taut; all hard, tense lines.

“You boys were so good today,” Hermione crooned, her voice pitched low. Draco cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her, but Ron’s eyes were widening in recognition of her tone. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, throat tight. She was overstepping, she knew she was, but she couldn’t stop. “I think you made real progress in figuring out how to get along. There’s just one more thing. We haven’t found the root of your issues yet.”

Ron’s face was flushing, brows furrowed. “We know the root of our issues, Hermione. He’s a wanker, we fought a war against each other, and we’ve hated each other since we were kids. Case closed.” His voice was pleading, desperate. He knew her so well.

She ignored it.

“Is it, Ronald? I think there is something else. Because all those things are true for Draco and me, but we’ve learned to get along wonderfully. Haven’t we, Draco?” Hermione turned her attention to Draco. He stiffened even further, grey eyes in suspicious slits.

“You’ve…” he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. His pale hair was dark with sweat at the roots, high pink spots on his cheeks. He continued, voice thick, “You’ve been very kind in letting me make it up to you. More reasonable than I deserved.” He paused, then glanced at Ron and away again. “Except for this. This has been very unreasonable.”

Hermione hummed, considering them. “Unorthodox, I’ll grant you. But do the ends justify the means?” Hermione circled them, brushing closer than necessary to pass them. Her hand trailed a light caress across their backs as she passed, and she watched in satisfaction as twin shivers ran through them. She took a seat in the wooden chair alongside the bed and gazed up at them. They shuffled around to follow her, movements no longer clumsy. They were used to moving together now. She nodded in satisfaction. “I think I know what the problem is now. And I can help you solve it.”

“Hermione, enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t fight with Malfoy anymore, I promise. Just let me out of this.” Ron pleaded. He strained further from Draco, and the shirt stretched then recoiled, tugging them back together to bump shoulders. Draco’s eyes slid closed at the touch, and when they opened again, they burned into hers. She lifted one eyebrow, a question. Was she right? Should she continue? His head dipped, almost imperceptibly.

“Draco, your problem is that you’re a spoiled brat,” she said, and his lips twitched. Whether he was amused or angry, she couldn’t say. “You aren’t used to wanting something you can’t have, and that makes you angry.” Draco’s eyes flashed, tipping his head to the side and smirking at her, never breaking their gaze.

Next to him, Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. “That’s not exactly an epiphany, Hermione. A blind erumpent could tell Malfoy wants to shag you. You should see the way he stares when you’re not looking, bloody disgusting.” Ron’s fist clenched and unclenched by his side, shoulders hunched as he shifted restlessly. He looked angry, unsettled… jealous. “If that’s it, then you can leave me alone. I’m not stopping her,” he grumbled, his voice bitter. He finally turned to look at Draco for the first time since they got to the cabin. His jaw was jutting out, defiant, defensive.

Hermione’s eyes flicked between Draco and Ron. Draco broke his heated stare at Hermione to turn towards Ron as well. Ron sucked in his breath through his teeth when their eyes met, his fist clenching again in anticipation of violence.

Hermione shook her head. “And that is your problem, Ron. Even after everything, you still can’t see past your insecurities. You can’t see when someone wants you back, even when it punches you in the face.”

Ron froze, body going rigid and face drawing pale. His eyes snapped to Hermione, wide and questioning, then back to Draco. “What? No, you’re mental. Tell her she’s mental, Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged with a smirk, but Hermione could see tightness around his eyes. He was playing it cool, but he was nervous. Hermione’s heart was beating so hard she could feel it where her fingers were gripping the edge of the chair. She knew she was right, but if neither of them would admit it, this would all go belly up in an instant.

“She’s mental,” Draco drawled smoothly, glancing at Hermione and then back to Ron. “But she’s not wrong about what I want. Is she wrong about what you want?”

Ron looked as though he might faint. His face was pale, jaw slack, as he looked from Draco to Hermione and back. Even through his shock, Hermione recognized the look in his eyes. Calculating, strategizing, recalibrating. Slowly, he shook his head no. Draco’s shoulders sagged, exhaling a tightly-held breath.

Hermione swished her wand, and the Get-Along shirt vanished. Both men stumbled slightly as the tension they had been leaning against disappeared. Hermione toyed with her wand, hands slick with sweat and shaking.

“Well, that’s that, then,” she said. It struck her that she had just made herself a third wheel to both of the men who occupied all of her fantasies. It was so like her to compulsively problem-solve herself into losing all her romantic prospects in one swoop. Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away. “I’ll just… leave you to figure it out from here.” She started to rise from her seat when both men wheeled on her.

“What? You’re going to cast that Bombarda and then leave?” Ron asked, indignant.

“Granger, no. We still need mediation,” Draco said at the same time. Both of them stepped towards her, boxing her in.

“What do you want me to do? Tell you to kiss?” she asked, laughing bitterly. The laughter died on her lips when they didn’t join in. Draco’s tongue had darted out at her words, wetting his lips as though parched. Ron’s eyes flashed, tracking over her body. They both looked like they very much liked that idea. They shifted closer, looking down at her with heat in their eyes. Not shutting her out of their new connection, but creating space for her. Warmth filled her belly, and a buzzing started in her head. The inappropriate lust box inside her rattled, then burst open. She reeled at the thought. The two men in her life that she wanted most of all, kissing, because she told them to.

“I can do that.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Conflict Resolution Blowjobs

Hermione’s nostrils flared as she breathed in hard. She sat back in her chair, taking in the scene in front of her. Both men’s white counselor shirts had gone slightly translucent with sweat, sticking to their bodies. They swayed towards and away from each other, equally drawn and repelled.

Ron snuck a glance at Draco’s face, eyes fixed on his parted lips. Draco’s gaze was hovering somewhere around Ron’s chest, where Hermione could make out the faint, peaked shadows of his nipples through the damp fabric.

“Draco,” she began, voice huskier than she intended. His eyes shot to her with trepidation and relief. “Do you want to kiss Ron?” she asked.

Draco scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not fair,” he complained. “I already had to do the first confession. You’re favoring him!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Ron, will you just kiss Draco already?”

Ron stared at Hermione for so long that she began to think he would refuse, then he nodded. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. His hand came up, rested briefly on Draco’s chest, then slid up, wrapping around the back of his neck. His long, freckled fingers disappeared into the soft blonde hair at the nape of Draco’s neck. He pulled Draco towards him. He paused, lips centimeters apart. “Blimey, you’re really going to let me do this? I keep waiting for you to hex my bollocks off,” he muttered.

“Shut up and do it before listening to you talk makes me change my mind, Weasley.”

Ron grinned, then pulled hard on Draco’s neck, sending them crashing together. It was like watching two comets collide. Hermione watched with rapt, glassy eyes as they melted into each other. The tension that had been holding them rigid flowed out of them through their locked lips and into the kiss. She could see Draco’s tongue seeking entrance into Ron’s mouth. Ron granted it with a groan as his free hand grabbed a handful of Draco’s arse. Hah! She knew he liked Draco’s arse as much as she did. Draco’s hands were roaming as well, stroking down Ron’s muscled arms to wrap around his waist.

She squirmed in her seat as Draco broke the kiss to taste his way down Ron’s jaw, sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of his neck below his ear. Ron gasped, hips jerking involuntarily. Their groins rubbed together. Draco moaned, shifting his hips closer to chase the sensation.

“Wait, wait,” Ron said, pushing Draco away from him. Draco swayed back towards him, glassy eyes fixed on Ron’s lips, but Ron held him back. “Okay, so maybe you were right, Hermione, and some of our problem is… this,” he said, gesturing between them. “But all that shit I said is still true, too. Making out isn’t going to make me forget everything he did. He hasn’t even apologized!”

Draco’s languid posture stiffened, squaring up to Ron. “I have tried to apologize—multiple times. You refused to hear it!” he snapped. Draco pushed his hands through his hair in exasperation, shoving it back off his face.

Ron glanced at Hermione, blue eyes glinting with mischief. It was the look he gave her when Harry fell into a trap in chess. She groaned internally. Of course, he wouldn’t make this easy.

“Are you ready to hear it now, Ronald?” she asked, crossing her arms and giving him A Look.

He smirked at her and nodded, then faced Draco expectantly once more.

“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed, eyebrows drawn together.

Ron smirked again, drawling, “I don’t believe you.”

Hermione groaned, falling back in the chair to stare at the ceiling. Perhaps the slotted wood boards could tell her what she had done in a previous life to deserve being edged by the sexual tension of the most emotionally constipated men on the planet.

Draco threw his arms up in frustration. “I am. I’m sorry, I believed my father’s bullshit. I’m sorry I let the Death Eaters in. I’m sorry I was a twat in school. I’m sorry for all of it, okay?” Draco growled, anger overtaking apology in his voice. Hermione sat up again at his tone, tightening her grip on her wand. Just in case. Her eyes darted between them like she was watching a quaffle fly back and forth.

“You think you can just say you’re sorry and that is enough? I’ll forgive you, just like that?” Ron asked, moving closer, chest to chest with Draco again.

“What do you want me to do? Beg? Get on my knees?”

“Yes,” Ron crooned. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated like a cat poised to pounce. “I want you to get on your knees. You don’t have to beg. I just want you to prove it to me.” His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip, leaving it glistening. His smile stretched, confident and dark as the nightfall. “You can, though, if you want. Beg.”

Draco’s eyes widened, his face flushed, and his jaw slackened. His fists clenched, corded muscle and veins standing out from his pale skin. Hermione sucked in a surprised breath at Ron’s audacity. She scrutinized Draco, waiting for his retaliation. To her surprise, his fists stayed where they were.

“Making out isn’t going to make you forgive me, but sucking you off will?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Could hurt,” Draco muttered, glancing warily down at the intimidating bulge in Ron’s shorts.

“Only do it if you really want to, Draco,” Hermione reassured him. “But I am here to mediate. I wouldn’t let him get out of hand.” Her arousal, dampened by the pause, flared back to life at the contemplation on his face.

Slowly, Draco sank to his knees next to the foot of her bed. Hermione’s mouth fell open with a shocked exhale. The sight caused the warmth in her to whip up into a roaring flame. She clenched her thighs together, craving friction.

“I don’t remember reading about oral sex as a conflict resolution technique in any of the management books I read,” Hermione said, leaning forward to get a better view of Draco on his knees, “but I can certainly see how it might be effective.”

“Is this how he apologized to you?” Ron asked, palming himself through his shorts briefly before beginning to undo his belt with shaking fingers. Draco glared up at him from the ground, fists clenched at his sides. Hermione could see a bulge tenting his joggers, but he made no move to touch it.

“No, he just freed all of his house elves,” she said, rocking in the chair as her cunt pulsed with her heartbeat.

“I’m still here, you know,” Draco grumbled, shooting her a glare.

Ron reached back and grabbed his T-shirt at the back of his neck and pulled the damp shirt off in one motion. Hermione greedily stared at his broad back and toned arms, freckles only broken by the twisting scars wrapped around his arms. She didn’t get much opportunity to admire his body from this angle, and drank in the flat plane of his stomach and the well-muscled curve of his ass peeking over his pants. Keepers spent most of the game with their hands off the broom, and that effort showed in divots of his abs and bulky muscles of his thighs.

Draco took in a shuddering breath, enraptured by Ron’s body. His eyes were also hungrily flying over Ron’s newly revealed skin reverently. His hand slid to his crotch, rubbing over the tent in his trousers as if he couldn’t help himself.

Ron lowered the zip and pushed his shorts and pants down just past his hips, just far enough to release his cock. It jutted out, red and bobbing. He reached down, stroking himself with a loose hand, smearing precum down his length. Hermione shifted restlessly in her chair, wriggling against the hard surface. Her mouth was flooding with saliva at the sight of his hard cock. She didn’t have a huge amount of other experience, but she knew Ron’s cock was pretty. Long and thicker at the base, tapering slightly before his smooth and well-shaped head. From Draco’s expression, he seemed to agree with her. He looked entranced, pupils blown out and cheeks flushed.

Draco’s hands slid up Ron’s thighs to rest on either side of his cock. Ron moved his hands to Draco’s, interlacing their fingers. Their hands twisted together, pale, lean fingers entwined with thicker, freckled ones. The sight sent an electric shock of arousal through her. Draco leaned forward, his neck stretching long as his mouth hovered centimeters from Ron’s cock, open mouth exhaling hot breath over it. Ron’s fingers clenched hard around Draco’s. Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes fixed upward. He grinned, a crooked and lupine flash of teeth.

Hermione shifted in her seat, fixing the image in her mind. Ron and Draco’s sharp profiles focused on one another, Ron’s cock bobbing between them like a threat and a promise. Her heart stuttered when Draco’s tongue darted out to lick at the swollen head. She slid a hand between her legs to rub against. The throbbing in her core was maddening, but she held herself back.

Draco circled the tip with a pointed tongue, then took it into his mouth. Ron groaned at something Draco did with his tongue, and Hermione desperately wanted to be closer. But this wasn’t about her; she was just here to mediate. She rubbed at her throbbing core again, sighing at the slight relief.

Draco’s head bobbed up and down, and Ron moaned again. He lifted their joined hands, stretching them up, then slowly stepped forward, pulling Draco further back by his arms. Draco shuffled on his knees, shifting to adjust, and allowed himself to be stretched back, hands and head pinned to the bed behind him. His back was arched, knees spread. Ron stood between them, weight balanced on his hands on the bed. Ron was bent over Draco, his cock angled to slide down Draco’s throat. He was holding himself back, panting with the head of his cock between Draco’s swollen lips.

Hermione’s restraint crumbled under the weight of her longing. She wrestled the button of her shorts open and wiggled her hand into her knickers, finding a flood of slickness waiting for her. Her cunt was throbbing and slippery, and she gathered wetness to bring it up to circle her clit.

“Can you take more, Draco?” Hermione asked. Ron’s head swiveled to her, smirking when he saw her hand. Draco’s eyes darted to her, and Ron gasped as Draco moaned, long and helpless, around his cock. He pushed his head up off the bed, taking as much of Ron’s cock as he could from his pinned position. Hermione groaned, low and feral, as her fingers circled faster.

“You know what my real problem is with you, Malfoy? You’ve always thought you are above me. Just because of your daddy’s money,” Ron growled. He began to slowly pump his hips forward, pushing Draco’s head back against the bed. “And the worst part is, all that shit you say, about me not being good enough– ah,” his voice broke as Draco let his jaw go slack, taking more into his mouth. Hermione could see his throat and jaw working as Ron let out a garbled moan.

“What is the worst part, Ron?” Hermione prompted gently. Ron tipped his head towards her, but his eyes were fixed down, locked on Draco.

“You just say what I’m already telling myself,” he groaned. “You take my worst thoughts right out of my head and throw them in my face. And it hurts even more because, despite all that–” he stopped, panting as he bent even further over Draco, sliding achingly slowly in and out of his mouth. Hermione barely caught his next words. “Despite all that, I’ve always wanted you.”

Hermione’s heart swelled, warmth filling her. He was being so vulnerable. Pride flushed through her. Then Draco made a garbled noise, trying to speak around the cock in his throat. She couldn’t understand what he said, but she knew from his expression and experience that it was something snarky. Harry was right. He couldn’t help himself when he thought of a quip, even when it would make everything worse. Ron just whimpered at the vibrations around his cock. Hermione noted another benefit to this conflict resolution method; having Draco effectively gagged definitely made it easier for Ron to be honest about his feelings.

Hermione watched greedily as his length disappeared behind Draco’s stretched lips. She swirled her fingers around her clit harder, barely stifling a moan as Draco swallowed down Ron’s cock. She clenched around nothing, eyes fixed on the straining bulge in Draco’s trousers, one he was helpless to soothe.

“That was before, Ron. He doesn’t think he’s above you now,” Hermione said. “Look at him. He loves being on his knees for you.”

Indeed, Draco’s hips were pulsing futilely in the air, seeking relief, attention. His head chased Ron on the withdrawal, cheeks hollowed and tongue working. Ron groaned, staring down with rapt attention at where Draco was wrapped around him.

“Fuck, you really do, don’t you? You look so good like that.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She slid out of her seat, dropped to her knees, and crawled towards them. Draco’s hips bucked in the air as she slid her hands up his thighs, avoiding touching his length. She worked the button open, struggling a little with the tension of the fabric, then carefully lowered the zipper and worked his trousers down. His cock pushed up his black pants, a wet spot starting on the fabric. Draco bucked again when Hermione tugged down his pants, letting his cock bob free.

She sat back on her haunches, watching the slide of Ron’s cock into Draco’s mouth as his pace increased. He was muttering praise now, telling Draco how good he was taking it, how tight he felt. Draco’s hands were still pinned, knuckles white against Ron’s. From this close, Hermione could see the distension of Draco’s throat as Ron bottomed out in his mouth, the spasm as he suppressed a gag. She swallowed hard, in sympathy and lust.

Ron released Draco’s hands and dropped a hand to Hermione’s head, shaking fingers caressing her. One of Draco’s hands flew to his own cock, stroking over the weeping tip of it, then squeezing the base. His other went to Ron’s cock, wrapping around the exposed length. Ron pulled back, straightening up and groaning as Draco chased his cock, pumping and sucking as he went.

“Fuck, Draco, I can’t… I’m not gonna last, so good… Where… where should I…?” Ron panted. One of his hands was in each of their hair, anchoring himself.

Draco pulled his mouth off Ron with an audible pop. “Right here, Weasley. I’ve wanted to know what you taste like for years.” Draco sat forward, settling his weight onto his knees and toes. He tipped his head back, pumping Ron’s cock against his closed mouth. Slowly, he opened his mouth and extended his long tongue, resting Ron’s cock on it as his hand glided across the shaft.

Ron groaned again, breath fast and fingers tight in Hermione’s hair. His eyes were focused on Draco’s mouth, open and waiting, tongue caressing the underside of his shaft with every movement of Draco’s hand. Hermione’s eyes were fixed there too, her hand inside her shorts again, working fast circles over her clit to match Draco’s pace. The tension was rising, spiraling upwards as she climbed higher and higher, watching Draco’s sinful tongue and decadent expression.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ron moaned, drawing out the last word as he shuddered and ropes of cum burst out. He painted Draco’s tongue and mouth, pulses of white splashing onto his lips and cheeks, dripping into his waiting mouth. Draco fastened his lips around Ron’s head and sucked, causing Ron to buckle over him, clutching his hair.

Hermione broke then, watching the cum drip down from Draco’s lips as Ron moaned over him. She pressed hard along her clit as all the tension pushed her higher and higher until she shattered. She plunged down, quaking and shivering as pleasure flowed through her body.

Hermione panted, stroking herself softly through the come down as Draco released Ron and sat back. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away most of the cum that had missed his tongue. A droplet still clung to the corner of his mouth, and Hermione’s hand moved on its own. She gently cupped his cheek, and he turned to look at her, eyes bright and feverish. She gently smoothed her thumb down his cheek, catching the droplet. Draco leaned into the touch, his head heavy in her hand. She brought her thumb to the center of his lips and pressed gently there.

“Suck,” she whispered.

Draco groaned, his still-hard cock twitching in his hand. He parted his lips, and she slid her thumb into his warm mouth. His tongue laved at the pad of her thumb as he sucked it clean. She shuddered, cunt pulsing, at the clever undulation of his tongue. No wonder Ron hadn’t been able to hold on. She longed to find out what else he could do with it, but restrained herself, pulling her thumb from his mouth and dropping her hand back to her lap. She reminded herself of her role in this. She was just here to facilitate Ron and Draco working out their issues. She couldn’t let herself– or them– get distracted by her desires.

She looked at Draco’s plush, swollen lips, the sharp line of his jaw, his grey eyes dark. His pupils were wide, stormy irises merely a thin ring around the black, as he stared at her mouth.

Just a mediator, she reminded herself.

But still, just one kiss couldn’t hurt, could it?

She leaned towards him, and he moved to meet her. Their lips pressed together, slotting together and moving so naturally it could have been their thousandth kiss, not their first. His kiss was electrifying, consuming her mind, narrowing the world to just him. Her tongue swiped over the seam of his lips, and he parted them. His clever tongue met hers. She could taste familiar salt and musk– Ron. She broke the kiss, chest hot and tight with want.

“Baby,” Ron said, tipping her head back with the hand still in her hair and leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. His kiss, though familiar, never failed to send a pulse through her. “Was that your first kiss?” he murmured into her mouth. He groaned at her nod. He broke the kiss and pivoted to Draco. His hand left Hermione’s hair to cup Draco’s face with both palms, pulling him up and pressing a searing kiss to his mouth. “You don’t know what it does to me to know that my cum was still in your mouth the first time you kissed her. No matter what happens now, I’ll always have that,” he spoke into Draco’s mouth.

Draco surged up, hands flying to tug at Ron’s hair as their mouths clashed, tongues dueling and teeth nipping. “You’re such a possessive bastard,” he growled into Ron’s mouth.

“You like it. So does she.”

Hermione used their distraction to shimmy out of her shorts, her ruined knickers sticking to her legs as she dragged them down. She returned to her chair, crossing her legs primly at the ankle, knees together.

“Ronald,” she said, voice firm. They broke their kiss, turning to look at her. “Are you satisfied?”

Ron looked like Crookshanks after a big meal and a nap in a sunbeam. Lazy, smug, and deeply pleased, smiling with a crooked grin down at Draco. He tucked his softening cock back into his pants, pulling them and his shorts up. He offered Draco his hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Yeah, that was brilliant,” he said.

“So you forgive him? Is there anything else you need to get off your chest?” Hermione asked, adopting the soothing-yet-firm tone that her conflict mediation book recommended.

Ron’s smile twitched. “Yeah, I reckon I can forgive him now. Though I might need another reminder later about how very sorry you are,” he teased, nudging Draco with his elbow.

Draco didn’t share his playful attitude. His cock was still bobbing, trousers and pants just below it. Tension radiated from him, shoulders tight and jaw set. His gaze moved between Hermione and Ron, hot and hungry.

Hermione smiled warmly at them. “That’s great! We’re making such great progress. Now, Draco, it’s your turn. To say your piece–and get your satisfaction.”

A lupine grin spread across Draco’s lips. Ron’s Cheshire grin widened, eyes bright with anticipation.

“So, what do you need to say, mate?” Ron asked confidently, his hand meeting Draco’s stomach and trailing down to circle his cock. He stroked him lazily, fingers gentle and teasing. Draco’s head dropped back, groaning and thrusting into the loose ring of his fist. He grabbed Ron’s wrist, stilling it and pulling his hand away. He yanked off his shirt and slid his joggers the rest of the way down, stepping out of them.

Hermione drank in his naked form, relishing in the hard lines of his pale body. The obscene vee of his broad shoulders narrowing to his waist. The round, tender swell of his arse. His pale skin, chest painted with even paler scars. A marble statue, Hermione thought again. He should be in a museum. He climbed onto the bed and settled against the headboard, legs spread and cock standing rigid.

“Go on, Ron,” Hermione urged. She unsubtly scooted her chair so that she could still see as Ron crawled onto the bed and stalked towards Draco. He looked over at Hermione when her chair screeched against the floor. She nodded down at Draco’s cock. Ron smirked at her, then leaned over Draco, his bare chest and stomach dragging over the weeping head of Draco’s cock as he kissed Draco. Draco groaned as he slid back down, settling on elbows and knees between his thighs.

She had never seen him in this position before, not from this angle. Ron’s back was arched, the smooth curve of his bum prominent. She wanted to sink her teeth into it. She sat on her hands.

Hermione could feel wetness pooling on the wooden chair under her, but resisted touching herself. She could ignore the pounding in her cunt for a while longer, needing to focus on what was happening on the bed. To mediate, of course.

Ron’s head lowered, pressing wet kisses down Draco’s shaft. He wrapped his lips around the base, sucking, before moving back up to the head with a broad, flat-tongued lick. Hermione chuckled, recognizing her signature opening move. Ron glanced sideways at her, winking before swirling his tongue over the head and closing his lips around it. Draco groaned, fisting her pillows.

“Draco, you’re supposed to be telling Ron about your feelings,” Hermione reminded him, and he dropped his head back against the headboard, huffing a helpless laugh.

“It’s just– Oh fuck, do that again– I grew up getting everything I wanted, being told I deserved it,” he panted. “Then I got to Hogwarts and you had what I wanted and I couldn’t take it from you.”

Ron moved off his cock and locked eyes with Draco, working his jaw. He opened his mouth and let spit drip from his tongue onto Draco’s cock. Draco groaned loudly as Ron used the spit to ease the glide of his rough fist as he worked Draco up and down.

“What did you want that Ron had?” Hermione asked, giving in and finding her sopping core with her fingers again. She dipped them into the entrance, working them in as her muscles clenched down on them.

Ron’s head bobbed as he took Draco into his mouth again. He hummed encouragingly. Go on. Draco’s head fell back against the headboard with a loud thunk, eyes on the ceiling.

“First, it was just Potter’s friendship. Then it was the whole trio. Friends, not cronies. And your family. Everyone loved you.” His hands found Ron’s hair, holding him as his hips started thrusting up off the bed. “Then in the war, you were always on the right side, it wasn’t even a choice, you and your whole family. Then– Oh god Ron, your mouth is so tight, fuck– then you had Hermione.” His thrusts grew wild, erratic.

Hermione’s fingers delved deeper, straining to reach deep inside, pressing against the place that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her name from Draco’s mouth made her clench hard around her fingers and she moaned.

Draco continued, voice ragged, “And you, it was you, I wanted you and you wouldn’t even look at me, would never even consider… hated me… wanted so bad…” he sobbed. His words were becoming garbled now as Ron’s hand and mouth worked up and down.

Hermione was close, but wouldn’t let herself come before Draco. She tore her eyes from his cock to check his face and saw that he was still staring at the ceiling, red-faced and panting.

“Draco,” she gasped, “Look at him. You have him now. Both of us, if you want.”

Her voice was syrupy thick, but Draco’s eyes flew to her, locking on her fingers buried in her cunt, then down to where Ron was wrapped around him. He moaned, low and broken, and his whole body buckled as he came. Hermione followed suit, crumpling in on herself as she spasmed around her fingers.

Ron swallowed, releasing Draco with a noisy pop and crawling forward to kiss him again. Draco’s arms wrapped around Ron, pulling their chests together. Hermione smiled, heart fluttering at the sight.

She did it.

Conflict mediated.

Perhaps not the most orthodox method for the workplace, but it got the job done.

“Hermione? C’mere, baby,” Ron said, hand outstretched to her.

Hermione stood, legs shaking, and walked to the edge of the bed. Draco’s arms wrapped around her, hauling her onto the bed. She laughed, crawling the rest of the way towards them. Ron kissed her, his hands stroking down her back. Draco’s eyes were locked on her bare thighs, and he ran his fingers through the wetness gathered there.

All three of them jumped at a loud rap on the window. Heart pounding, Hermione scooted off the bed to peek through the curtains, holding them tight to prevent anyone from seeing into the cabin. There was an owl there. Tied to its ankle was a scroll bearing the Ministry Seal. Hermione frowned, carefully letting the owl in and untying the scroll.

“Come back here, Hermione. You can read your mail later,” Ron said.

“Just one minute, I’ll be right there. I need to see what this is.” A knot of worry formed in her stomach. She wasn’t expecting anything from the Ministry. She popped open the wax seal and began reading, then blanched and rolled the scroll tightly again. She grabbed her knickers and shorts, wriggling into them.

“Love, that doesn’t look like you’re going to be right here,” Draco said, sitting up and patting the bed enticingly.

“I just have to do something in the office. It’s fine!” Hermione’s thoughts were racing, her mind already far from the cabin. “Just lock the door after you when you go, okay?” she said over her shoulder as she slipped out, the door closing with a click behind her.

She didn’t pause to see them look at each other, crestfallen.