[fic] maybe i just wanna be yours ; hp, harry/ron/hermione

[delacourtings]

maybe i just wanna be yours. harry potter. harry/ron/hermione. 2,946. t. ao3.

harry’s always had a place in ron and hermione's bed. he’s the only one of them who doesn’t see the spot as permanent.

for hptriadfest.

Harry slowly slides out from underneath the arm placed across his stomach and gets out of the bed, wincing as Ron’s breathing hitches. Harry stills, an excuse about how he's just going to get a glass of water ready and waiting on his lips. Ron lets out a loud snore, and turns over, placing the arm that had been wrapped around Harry around Hermione and Harry lets out a sigh of relief. He grabs his wand and casts a Quietening Charm while he collects his various pieces of clothing from around the room, frowning as he finds his left sock hanging off of a succulent. He shakes his head, slips on his sock, and finishes getting dressed.

Once he’s outside, he pauses. He doesn’t want to go home but he doesn’t really want to go anywhere else either. The place he really wants to be is back inside, warm and cozy in the middle of the bed, Ron and Hermione on either side of him. But he can’t do that. He can’t stay. Harry made firm rules for himself when they first started this and not staying over is the most important one. If he stays over, he’ll start getting used to it, start expecting to do it every night, begin to think the three of them being together is their new normal. And as much as he desperately wants that, as much as he wishes to make Ron tea in the morning and tease Hermione about always doing the crossword in pen, he can’t let it happen. Not even once. If he does, he’ll inevitably be heartbroken when Ron and Hermione finally end this, finally decide they don’t need him to spice up their relationship with each other anymore, they want it to go back to just the two of them. Harry’s presence is no longer required. Harry has to swallow a lump that arises in his throat just thinking about it.

A twig snaps somewhere in the distance, startling Harry. He hurriedly Apparates away. The longer he stays outside the house, the better the chance of Ron or Hermione waking up and realizing he’s snuck out in the middle of the night. Harry’s never said he can’t be a coward when it comes to certain things, especially his relationships, but the last thing he wants is someone catching him in the midst of one of his cowardly acts.

“Ugh,” he says as he appears outside of his favorite pub. He still hates Apparating, even after all this time. He steps inside, feeling pleased once he sees the place is mostly deserted.

He sits down at the bar, a few stools away from a woman with her head down on the bartop, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth. He spots the bartender and sends her a small smile. She returns his smile and holds up a finger, letting him know she’ll be over in a minute. Harry nods and looks down at the bartop. Before long his thoughts drift back to Ron and Hermione, just like they always do. He’s starting to think that maybe he should end this before it’s too late. Before he’s in too deep. A small voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s already in too deep and if he weren’t so thick, he’d realize he’s been in love with both of them since he was about fifteen, and probably always will be. Harry does what he always does when someone tries to tell him to do something. He completely ignores it.

His usual drink of choice floats through the air and lands down on the bar top in front of him.

“Alright, mopey. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry looks up and is greeted by the wonder that is Wilfred Evergreen. She’s one of the most beautiful people Harry’s ever seen, with rich umber brown skin and a smile that can turn Harry’s mood around in a matter of seconds. Well, usually. If she wasn’t completely uninterested in men and he wasn’t completely besotted with two other people, he’d probably be in love with her. She’s said as much herself. They just click. She’s become one of his closest friends since he first stepped foot inside her place a few years ago, attempting to escape from some overzealous Prophet photographers. He knew they’d get along when she threatened to hex anyone with a camera who came within a five-mile radius of the pub.

Harry shoots her a small smile. “I’m fine.”

Wilfred snorts. “Bullshit.”

Harry shakes his head. “Seriously, I’m fine. I don’t wanna bother you with my problems.”

“You’re not bothering me. Go on, spit it out. What is it? Girl troubles? Boy troubles? Non-binary partner troubles?”

Harry shakes his head. “I told you, I’m fine. I don’t expect emotional labor from you. I’m sure you get enough of that.” Harry looks around the bar pointedly.

Wilfred looks surprised which makes sense, Harry supposes, since most of the times she’s seen him he’s been so pissed he wouldn’t have been able to pronounce emotional labor, much less understand the concept.

A smile starts to overtake his face and he begins to tell her that Hermione is the reason why he knows what emotional labor is. Hermione is the reason he knows most things, honestly. But thinking that makes him think of Hermione and Ron and himself and the situation he’s in. The smile quickly leaves his face and he downs the rest of his drink, nodding in thanks to Wilfred as it magically fills back up.

“You’re right. We are always expected to perform emotional labor for people. It’s fucked up. But I’m a bartender, Harry. Being an emotional soundboard is basically my entire job.”

“I guess that’s true, “ says Harry, still not looking too sure.

“Besides,” Wilfred says, tossing her locs over her shoulder, which Harry knows means that she means business. “You didn’t expect it from me. You’re actively telling me you don’t want to burden me. I’m telling you I want you to tell me. So go ahead, lay it on me.”

Wilfred leans down, and folds her arms, resting them on the countertop of the bar. Which Harry takes to mean that she’s not moving until he tells her what’s going on with him. A theory that’s proved correct when one of the regulars stumbles up to the bar demanding another round and Wilfred doesn’t move, just yells, “Get it yourself, Rob! Dickwad.”

Harry watches as Rob ambles behind the bar, muttering about how much of a shithole this place has become. “I thought he’d gotten a lifetime ban.”

“He did. He weaseled his way out of it. You stop trying to weasel your way out of answering this question. What’s wrong with you?”

Harry sighs.

He takes a large swig of his beer, debating whether or not to tell her. He’s seen Wilfred in shirts with PROUD BLACK LESBIAN on the front, has seen the enamel pin she always wears that reads ASK ME ABOUT MY PRONOUNS. He thinks she would be okay with it, that she would be a safe person to confide in. But still, there’s always that little bit of doubt. He’s done some research on the Muggle internet, read stories about how even people you might expect to be open about things like this, suddenly close their minds if a relationship has more than two people in it. But from what he knows of her, Wilfred is the most open person in London, possibly the world. If he were to tell anyone, the safest person to tell would be her.

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m sort of seeing someone. Two someones actually.” He glances up at Wilfred to see her reaction but she doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “At the same time? Like, we’re all together. The three of us.”

Harry looks at Wilfred again. She just nods, urging him to go on. Harry lets out a sigh of relief.

“It’s great, don’t get me wrong. I love being with them. I do. I just think that maybe that’s the problem. Like I’m into it more than they are. Plus...I don’t know. I think maybe they’re just in it for the...” Harry avoids Wilfred’s eyes and mumbles “physical stuff.”

Wilfred rolls her eyes at his bashfulness but it’s a fond eye roll.

“But it’s more than just that for me. And I don’t think I can keep pretending that it’s not. It’s too hard.” The last sentence comes out soft, like a whisper.

Wilfred makes a noncommittal noise. “Have they told you that? That they’re only in it for the sex?”

“Not in so many words…”

“Harry,” Wilfred groans.

Harry winces. “I know, I know.”

Wilfred looks at him disapprovingly. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“That I should form an open life of communication and just tell them how I feel,” Harry mumbles, his voice long-suffering

Wilfred grins. “It’s like you’re a Legilimens!”

Harry lets out a small huff of a laugh. “I wish. Maybe then I would know what they’re thinking.”

Wilfred groans dramatically. “Oh my god, Harry, just ask them. You’re such an idiot. Men, in general, are such idiots. Every day I thank Merlin I’m a lesbian.”

Harry chokes on the shot of liquor he’d just brought to his mouth.

Wilfred grins wickedly. “Knew I’d get you with that one.”

Harry chuckles.

“Seriously, though. If you don’t think it’s healthy for you, then obviously you should end it. But I really think you should discuss how you’re feeling with them before you go do anything that drastic. You don’t know what they’re thinking unless you talk to them.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “I know. You’re right.”

“Always am.”

Harry laughs but it’s true. She always is.

If Harry were a smarter man, he would leave, sneak back into Ron and Hermione’s and bring this up with them in the morning. But Harry isn’t a smart man, at least not when it comes to situations like this, which is why he stays at the bar for another hour or two before he finally goes home and decides to avoid Ron and Hermione until he can sort himself out. Or rather, he attempts to ignore Ron and Hermione. It’s a lot harder than he thought it would be. It’s around the week and a half mark since Operation Avoidance commenced when Ron and Hermione corner him in his kitchen.

“Harry James Potter!” A shrill voice comes from the living room out of nowhere.

“Shit!” Harry exclaims, dropping his cup and getting tea and shards of porcelain all over the kitchen floor. He gets down on his knees and starts to pick up the broken pieces of the cup but they start floating into the air and piecing themselves back together.

Harry looks up and sees Hermione pointing her wand at him. It takes him a second to realize she’s fixing the cup and not actually threatening him. Well, she’s not threatening him yet.

“Why are you avoiding us?” She says once she’s cleaned up the mess, crossing her arms. Ron stands a few feet behind her, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, looking at Harry meaningfully.

“What? I-I’m not,” Harry splutters.

Hermione makes a disbelieving noise.

“You’re a shit liar, Harry,” Ron replies.

“No, I’m not.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Ron says, a pleading look on his face. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Harry insists. “Everything’s fine.”

Ron shakes his head. “We know that’s not true. Everything was fine and then…”

“Is it us?” Hermione asks. “Did we...did we do something?” Her voice sounds small and Harry hates making her feel like this, making her sound like this. Hermione’s voice has always been firm and strong and loud. It’s one of his favorite things about her.

He can’t look at her right now. He turns to look at Ron but he’s just as bad. He looks uncomfortable, the hurt shining in his eyes. Merlin, he hates this. He needs to get this over with, just go ahead and rip off the band-aid.

“You’re right,” he says. “I have been avoiding you. I was doing it because...because I didn’t know how to say this.” Harry looks down at the floor, unable to look either of them in the eye for this part. “I think...I think we should stop...this. Whatever this is,” says Harry.

“What?” asks Ron.

“I’m sorry?” asks Hermione.

“This...thing...” Harry gestures to each of them in turn, “we have going on between us. I think it’s time we end it.”

“What? Why?” Ron asks, confusion clear in his voice.

Harry looks at him, sees the hurt that was in his eyes a few minutes ago now etched onto every line of his face, and his resolve starts to crumble.

“I just—-“ he says, his voice breaking.

“No,” Hermione says firmly before Harry can say anything else.

Harry turns to her, frowning.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. We’re not letting you do this.”

“We’re not?” asks Ron. Hermione glares at him. “I mean, we’re not.” He says again, more firmly this time.

“You can’t stop me,” Harry says.

“Yes we can,” Hermione replies.

“Are you serious right now?” Harry asks, unable to believe this is actually happening.

“Completely serious.”

“You can't just say no,” Harry reiterates. “You can't just stop me.”

“Look,” Hermione says, “Obviously if you really want to end this we can’t stop you. But I don’t think you actually want to do this, do you?”

Harry’s heartbeat quickens. Hermione’s always been good at seeing through his bullshit. “You don’t?”

“No,” she narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t.” They stare at each for a moment and out of his peripheral vision, Harry catches Ron looking back and forth between the two of them. If it were any other time and situation, he’d laugh at the ridiculousness of it, at how funny Ron looks.

After a minute, Hermione’s gaze softens. “I think you’ve conjured up some noble, self-sacrificing bullshit that you’re using as an excuse.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise at the curse and Ron’s do the same. Hermione hardly ever curses, unless she’s extremely angry or upset.

“Oh, you’ve done it now,” Ron mutters.

“Not the time, Ronald!” Hermione snaps.

“Sorry,” Ron apologizes, looking sheepish. Harry sends him a quick smile to let him know he appreciates the effort even though he doesn’t think anything is going to lighten the mood now.

“Look, I’m not—-“

Hermione cuts him off. “Yes, you are.”

Ron nods. “It does seem like something you would do. You are a bit of a martyr, mate.”

Harry frowns. “I am not.”

Hermione snorts. “Yes, you are.”

“Look,” Harry starts but Hermione cuts him off.

“No, you look. We love you, Harry. What part of that is so difficult for you to understand?” Hermione exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

“I-I“ Harry doesn’t know what to say. His heart is beating much too quickly and too loudly in his chest. He’d hoped for this but he buried that hope so far down because he didn’t think there was a chance of getting what he wanted. Getting something he wants, something he wants so desperately, with every fibre of his being, isn’t something he’s used to.

There’s a brief moment of silence before Ron says, gently, quietly, “We always want you with us, mate. Always.”

Harry’s throat starts to dry up and he has to clear his throat before he can let out a croaky, “Really?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathes, “Really.”

”Oh. I thought...” Harry trails off.

“Well, that was your problem,” Ron says. “You shouldn’t have done that. You know what your brain is like.”

That gets a small grin out of Harry, who’s thankful that Ron’s trying to alleviate the tension in the room, to make it easier for him.

“He’s right, you know. You are so thick sometimes, Harry. It’s ridiculous.”

Harry and Ron both chuckle at that which gets a smile out of Hermione. The tension in the room starts to ease.

“I’m sorry. For avoiding you. I just really thought that it meant more to me than it did to the two of you. That you were just in it for the sex and that you’d eventually get bored of me and go back to each other.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione says, coming over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Ron follows and wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder. Harry wraps his arms around Hermione, leans his head into Ron’s chest. “We could never do that.”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. “If we could, we would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Harry laughs as Hermione swats her hand at Ron and misses.

He knows they’re going to have to talk more, that he’s going to actually communicate with them about what he wants, the thought of which isn’t as scary as it used to be, now that he knows the two of them want the same thing, but right now he just wants to bask in this, in this feeling. He feels so content.

With Ron cracking jokes, Hermione pretending like she disapproves of his antics, and Harry going back and forth between them, changing which side he’s on depending on the situation and his mood, all of them together. This is what happiness is, what love is, what home is.

He used to think that nowhere would ever feel as much like home as Hogwarts did but now, he’s pretty sure that here, with Ron and Hermione on either side of him, is even better.