Broken Mirror – 3/50 for the OT3 Boot Camp Challenge
Hermione stood in front of the mirror, eyes critical and body bare. She looked herself up and down, following the scar that marked her torso. She looked at the curse marks she'd gotten from some rogue Death Eater some months earlier, and at the purpling bruises that still marred her skin after that Strangling Curse nearly got her last week.
It was hideous.
She was disgusting. Disfigured, marked, branded with reminders of the worst time she'd ever faced. She'd forever have them, mementos of the war. Utterly revolting.
As she stared into the mirror, she could almost imagine that it was the one who was cracked. That the shadow of a woman she saw in the reflection was the result of a faulty mirror rather than a faulty woman.
Her hands, which had up until then limp at her sides, lifted to push her hair back, and then moved to wipe a few stray tears from her eyes.
She kept up her eye contact with her mirror-self, trying to find something in the unfathomable depth of the reflection's eyes. Maybe some sort of self-acceptance, of comfort. She saw none, just the cold assessment that she was beyond repair, physically. The war had been over for long enough that she'd had time to deal with some of the psychological consequences of engaging in it at such a young age, but she had yet to reconcile with the fact that her body was never to be whole again.
She didn't realise the door of her bedroom had been opened until her eyes met blue ones in the mirror. She watched as Ron gave her a once over and then turned a worried glance at Harry. She shifted her gaze to the intense green of Harry's eyes, and he met her look steadily.
Through some sort of unspoken agreement, both boys reached for their robes, silently undoing the intricate buttons. They un-tucked their shirts and then pulled them up and over their heads, pulled off their trousers, toed off their socks and shoes, and finally rid themselves of their pants.
Finally, both of them as vulnerable as she felt, they came to stand at her sides.
"Harry," Ron's voice was quiet but even. His gaze was sharp in the mirror, and Hermione was transfixed. He pointed at an angry red slash across his stomach. "Look at this mark on my stomach. Some Death Eaters ambushed me and used a cursed dagger to cut into my stomach. It will be there forever, if the Healers are correct."
Harry took Ron's hand and moved it away from his stomach, kneeling in front of Hermione to get at Ron. He traced the scar with his fingers and placed a kiss on the mark, careful not to touch any other part of Ron's anatomy. Then, standing and meeting Hermione's eyes again, he said, "You're still perfect, Ron. I love you."
Hermione was silent, both struck with emotion and still feeling melancholy.
Harry continued speaking. He pushed his fringe up and out of the way, pointing at the famous scar. "Ron, look at this scar I got when I was too young to know what it meant. It has caused me all sorts of pain and problems, and will always be there to remind me what happened. I hate it, but I accept it, you know."
The conversation was almost casual, and Hermione watched as Ron stepped in front of her, kissed the scar, and leaned his forehead against Harry's.
"You're still perfect, Harry. You know I love you."
They continued on like that, with Ron pointing out the burn on his forearm that he'd gotten, Harry showing the bruising on his ankle, which had only recently healed from a nasty sprain. They went back and forth like that with various things they didn't like about themselves.
Finally, they turned to her, and she didn't know what to do.
"Hermione," Ron began. "We love you, you know that."
She nodded.
Harry continued, "Since we love you so dearly, we have to tell you that keeping things to yourself won't help any."
"Tell us what's wrong."
Hermione shrugged. "I'm scared," she managed. "How can you love me-" she took in a ragged breath, gesturing at her reflection, "when I look like that?" It frightened her, being so close to tears.
They both stared at her reflection, silent and unmoving.
Then, just as she began to feel a little self-conscious, Ron lifted his hand to her face.
"How could we not love this face? I love your eyes, Hermione. And your lips. I would kiss them all day long, if I didn't have to share with Harry, of course."
To prove his point, he lowered his lips onto Hermione's, and she sighed into the comfort and reassurance he provided. Short and sweet was all it was, and he was pulling away again before it really had time to begin.
Then Harry was speaking, taking her hand to place it on her stomach.
"I love your stomach, Hermione," he said, blushing slightly for the first time since he'd entered the room.
She grimaced, and he continued hastily.
"I love watching your reaction when we kiss down your stomach, and I love the idea that one day, there could be a little person growing in there. Another like you. It gives me more hope and happiness than you can imagine."
He leaned down to kiss her stomach, and Hermione closed her eyes. A spark of warmth went through her at their words.
Ron pointed out how he loved her knees, which were apparently perfect, and Harry admired her hair – supposedly long, voluminous, and bloody brilliant to cling to in the throes of passion. They both spoke wonders of her toes, and Harry talked about her neck.
"That little patch of skin just under your ear – I love it," Harry said with a small grin. "I know you do, too.
The mood began to lighten.
Not to be outdone, Ron said, "I love the insides of your thighs," and kneeled down to push her legs apart slightly and kiss the sensitive skin. Somehow, they communicated that Harry should lick at that spot beneath her ear, and a flush began to rise in her chest.
They were ganging up on her, and it wasn't fair. She felt confident enough to speak again.
"Ron, I love your back," Hermione admitted. "All rippling muscles and strength. And when you're arching your back…" she gave a shiver. "I love it."
Then, turning to Harry, she smiled warmly. "And Harry, I love your mouth. Lips, teeth, tongue, and all. I can think of, off the top of my head, ten different things you can do with a combination of those four things. And when you do any of those things to Ron, and he's arching his back, well…"
She left the words unspoken.
Somehow, she realised with a start, they'd moved away from the mirror. How strange. She didn't miss the reflection of herself, but couldn't stand not being to make eye contact with both.
She bit her lip.
Ron leaned down to kiss it, "I love when you do that," he said when he pulled away. "Drives me crazy."
She giggled, and then laughed out loud when Harry pushed her back and trailed his fingers up and down the sides of her stomach.
"I love your laugh," he said. "So sweet and innocent – you wouldn't know the type of person you can be behind closed doors."
She laughed again, closing her eyes against the onslaught of feelings and emotions. They whispered things they loved about each other, and Hermione revelled in the warmth it brought her.
"Ron, I love your throat and the things it can do," Harry joked. Ron grinned.
"I love your arse," Ron returned.
Hermione laughed, and they both turned their gazes to her. She felt the mood switch from light and teasing to something a bit more instinctual and intimate.
"Do you know what I really love about Hermione, Harry?" Ron asked, voice suddenly low. She felt something press against her hip, and realised it was Harry lying beside her.
"Hmm…?" Harry murmured into her ear. She shivered.
"I love the way she gets all flushed when I kiss her… here."
Harry watched Ron at work, then met Hermione's eyes.
She let out a whoosh of a breath after struggling to keep it in, and Harry nodded at Ron. "You're right, it's delectable," he agreed with a smile. Then, "Do you know what I really love?"
"What?"
Hermione let out a mewl when Ron spoke, saying something about the vibrations he'd caused. Harry didn't let her make any more noises, no matter how cute and delicious they were, because he said, "I love the little sounds she makes when I kiss her."
To prove his point, he slotted his lips against Hermione's, engaging her in a little battle for dominance, taking and then giving and finally taking once again. She let out breathy sounds against his lips, and he grinned.
He pulled away, despite her protests, and met Ron's eyes. "See?" He asked.
Ron nodded.
Hermione watched as they did that curious mental-speaking thing that they always seemed to do, but got restless as time ticked away and they didn't seem any closer to doing anything.
"You know what I really, really love about our Hermione?" Ron asked.
"I think I do. Our Hermione is about the most impatient woman in the world, I'd say. She'd get started without us if we weren't quick enough."
She cleared her throat sharply. "Ahem, boys."
"Oh," Ron said, smirk audible in his tone. "I see she's already gotten started."
"I don't know about you, mate," Harry began in a choked tone. "But I'm going to drop this little game and join in as soon as I can." He latched his lips onto the nearest expanse of skin that was available to him, and kept his eyes on Ron.
"You're right, Harry." Ron said.
"Enough talk," Hermione protested. She stifled a gasp as Harry did something positively sinful with his fingers and teeth. "Get on with it, Ron."
"I love you, too," he said lightly.
"You know I love you both," Hermione answered, breathless.
"I love you both, also," Harry piped up, wry smile twisting his lips.
Hermione made a sound of protest. "Less talking, remember Harry? Ro-oh! Oh!"