Felix Calamitas

by LassieLowrider

They've had other partners before, but they know that what's right for them is what's most familiar. It was only natural that they'd end up here. Or: Harry gets dumped, drunk and then spurred into action. It goes as he expected, but not as he hoped. Ron and Hermione? They're not certain what just happened, but they sure need to make things better.

I don't own anything, credit for the idea goes to cjmasim in HP Rare Pair Fest 2020/2021.

OT3-time ahead! Harry/Ron/Hermione.

CW for active alcoholism - Harry takes to the bottle to cope with his... everything.

As the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, free time was in short supply for Harry. It meant that work occupied more of his life than Voldemort had ever done, something that at first had seemed impossible, but as time went on he got used to it.

When Ron and Hermione finally decided that their on-again, off-again relationship was going to be 'on' for the foreseeable future, Harry minded the lack of free time even less. Not that he was unhappy they'd finally decided to make a go of it, of course not, but he felt even more of a third wheel than usual, now that they were firmly in the off-the-market camp.

He drifted away from them, and he knew it too. He'd get a girlfriend or a boyfriend, spend even less time with Ron and Hermione – they were more Ron-and-Hermione than two separate entities, like the three of them had been the single entity the-golden-trio back in school – both because he had a partner and because there was no room for Harry in the Ron-and-Hermione constellation. No matter what his wishes and personal feelings about that were.

Then Harry'd get dumped – it was inevitably always he who got dumped, and he couldn't even blame any of them. He wasn't ever home long enough to notice the cracks in the relationship before those cracks got blown wide open and left him unmoored again – nowhere to go but back into orbit around Ron-and-Hermione. He'd spend time with them, as much as he possibly could, before the glances they threw each other got to him, and the old heartbreak reared its ugly head again. Then he'd start drifting off, back into the single's club, and it wouldn't take long until he was, once again, off the market.

Harry knew that most of the people dating him were doing it for the status, they were signing up for dating The Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Won, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and – as rumours had it – next in line for the Minister's chair. He was a hero, always in the middle of every social occasion, and who didn't want to be seen on his arm?

He knew they didn't actually sign up to date Harry, the man who wakes up in the middle of the night screaming from memories of those he didn't save, the man who was drunk almost every moment he wasn't working, the man who was eerily codependent on friends he hadn't properly talked to since the war ended.

Ron and Hermione had told him they were worried about him, but he'd waved them off – Voldemort was most definitely dead, almost every other dark wizard was too frightened of Harry to even think of attacking him, and really, Ron and Hermione had much more important things to think about! Themselves, for one. The concern was touching, but not necessary.

Harry had always been good at keeping things close to his chest, more so if it was something that hurt him, and fifteen years out of school and mostly under his own command had not changed that about him, and not even Ron or Hermione could get him to spill his worries unless they were pulled out of him.

He did try, with every one of his relationships, however. Maybe the attempts weren't quite as stringent after several years of failed relationships as they'd been in the very beginning, but he did as good as he could. He couldn't fool himself into believing it was his best he did, but he did what he could under the circumstances.

He made sure to go to lunch with his partner at least every other day, made sure to always send an owl if he had to cancel or if he was delayed. He made a concerted effort to remember anniversaries, birthdays and any other special occasions. He even made sure to remember how they took their tea, something very few of his partners had ever reciprocated.

Lunch was usually at The Leaky Cauldron, the pub since a few years back owned by Neville and Hannah Longbottom, partly because the food was genuinely top-notch, but mostly because Harry knew Neville and Hannah would make sure to keep everyone he didn't want to see away from him.

Eliza had sat down in the seat opposite his and made no effort to pick up the menu – not that she needed to, it didn't change often, but she usually glanced through it at least. That, even more than the fact that he'd eaten breakfast alone that morning, made his inner investigator sit up and take notice. It was not a sign of everything being picture-perfect in their relationship, that was for sure.

He took a deep breath before he put his menu down, having a feeling he knew what was coming. It didn't make it any easier to bear, however, when Eliza – with whom he had genuinely enjoyed dating and cohabiting – gently told him that she had already moved out, and they would probably never see each other again.

Unlike many of his dumpings, however, she told the truth – it wasn't her, it was him, and she wasn't equipped to deal with the trauma growing up fighting in a bloody war had given him – nor was she willing to learn. She apologised, stood up, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and then walked out of the bar and his life.

Harry sat back in his seat, staring into space. He wasn't very surprised. He had hoped that maybe this one, this time the relationship would actually lead somewhere. Eliza had the same kind of hectic schedule he had, knew what the responsibility meant, even if hers was being the proprietor of a store in Diagon.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, making a face when he got his fingers caught in his beard.

He leant forward, hand reaching out to the barrel replica, and as if on autopilot, he sent off his order. It was an ingenious application of the modified Protean charm Hermione had made for the DA way back when, and Harry couldn't help but feel a small thrill of pride shoot through him. Not that he had any right to feel that pride, no right whatsoever, but Hermione had made that spell, and now she was allowing Neville and Hannah to use it, all without even asking for recognition.

While he waited for his order to arrive, he sent off a Patronus to Kingsley, warning him that he'd be taking a few days off – despite his best efforts, he was a department head, and it was heavily frowned upon when one of those decided to go AWOL.

"Hey Harry, you alright?" Hannah asked, using a damp rag to wipe the table off before putting the bottle of Ogden's down in front of him. He quirked a rough grin at her, her sunny disposition never failing to cheer him up even when he was in the shittiest of moods.

"Oh, you know how it is, Hannah – love comes and goes, but Ogden's remains!" he replied, uncorking the bottle before raising it in a salute to her. She didn't look any less worried about him when he drank a good quarter of the bottle in one go and then didn't belch fire - the only sign it was firewhiskey was the small ringlets of smoke coming out of his ears. "Keep them coming, would you?"

"Did you get dumped?" she asked sympathetically, while her fingers twisted nervously in her pristinely white apron.

"What gave it away?" There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice, badly masked by fake cheer and the gruffness caused by the firewhiskey. Hannah clasped his shoulder for a beat, and he could feel the warmth left behind for a good long while after she'd left.

He was on his third bottle when his vision was obscured by a mass of pale blond hair - had it not been for the immediately following hug he would've thought Malfoy had finally snapped and decided to throttle him.

"Luna?" Harry asked incredulously, There was an almost imperceptible slur to his words, the firewhiskey that would've been enough to leave most other wizards down for the count barely affecting him – at times like that he cursed his magical power because sometimes he just wanted to get proper blackout drunk and have a good old brawl. Even if that brawl would lead to a personal scolding from the Minister of Magic, it would feel good.

"Hi Harry," Luna replied, still clinging to his neck like a limpet. "Hannah said the nargles was affecting you even more than usual, and you needed someone with a level head. So I came to see if I can help you with them!"

It took some careful manhandling, but Harry managed to adjust their positions enough that he could get the bottle to his lips and hug Luna at the same time, so all in all it was a very successful operation.

"How does one treat a Nargle infestation, then?" He couldn't help but ask, fondness colouring his words.

"Like this!" She hugged him harder to demonstrate, and somewhere within him, something snapped. Focusing, as much as his alcohol-muddled mind would let him, he managed to cast a wandless privacy spell, adding a muffliato for good measure, before he broke down, sobbing into her shoulder. The public did not need to know that the Head of the MLE was breaking down in the back booth of a pub in the middle of the day.

Had it been anyone but Luna he would have been ashamed of the gutwrenching cries he let out, the sobs shaking his entire body, terrified of seeming weak. He'd taken it on himself, aided by literally everything that had ever happened in his life, to be the protector of every one of his friends, and if he showed weakness how could they trust him to protect them? Luna, however, was what he'd imagined having a sister was like, and he knew that no matter what he said or did, she'd always trust him.

"The Wrackspurts have been so mean to you, Harry," Luna said once his keening cries had calmed, the usual dreamy quality to her voice almost entirely gone. He took a deep breath, pulling back from her damp shoulder, wincing at the crusty feel of tears drying in his beard. Sometime during his fit, she'd started humming what sounded like a lullaby and carding her hands through his hair. He had a feeling the lullaby involved words like 'heliopath' and 'snorkack', rather than the more traditional themes.

"I don't know what to do, Luna," Harry finally said, once he felt like he was all cried out. He had a feeling that he'd be trying to rehydrate himself for a week, just to replace all the salt and fluid he'd just cried out on Luna's poor shoulder. "I just… I haven't felt this lost since the war ended, and then there was at least an end goal to focus on… but now?"

Luna was the kind of listener Harry usually hated – mostly because if it was anyone else, they'd remind him too much of someone desperately trying to be Dumbledore; fake serene smile and faux concern. Luna was as genuine as Albus Dumbledore had ever been, even if he'd never carded his hands through Harry's hair. The mental image of that was almost enough to shock him sober, so to be on the safe side he took another large swig of the firewhiskey.

"What do you want to do? Decide that, and then do it." She had a very refreshing outlook on life, even if it had to be taken with some reserve. On the other hand, Harry tended to be rather negative in his outlook (not lacking reasonable cause), so the two together did usually find a good average optimistic realistic way of looking at life and the future. She had sounded a bit glum, as glum as she ever did, but then cheered up dramatically. "I think you should tell them. You'll be happier having told them, and if they don't like what you say, I'm going on a Snorkack hunt in Sweden next Monday. Having the Ministry's best Auror on my side can't be bad!"

"'M not an Auror. I'm the department head, and who thought putting me in charge of people was a good idea?" he groused back, not fully comprehending what she'd actually said. "Most of my work is budgetary nowadays – I don't want to know economic terms but I – wait. What did you just say?"

"I'm going to Sweden on Monday?"

"No, before that!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, laughing a laugh that sounded more like tinkling bells than anything. He sometimes doubted if Luna was really entirely human – he'd heard Aunt Petunia talk often enough about changelings and considering this was the magic world nothing would surprise him anymore – but he loved her like a sister. Terrified of her, but in a brotherly fashion. Nothing would prepare him for the utter curveballs she threw, however. "I think you should tell Ron and Hermione that you're in desperate love with them, and have been since you were at Hogwarts."

"…that's exactly what I thought you said," he replied, voice faint.

"Well? Off with you, then!" She looked at him, head tilted far enough to almost rest on her own shoulder, big eyes blinking owlishly at him.

He could see how it would play out – he'd go over there, open the gate he'd helped ward, knock on the sky blue door (the colour of Ron's eyes, Hermione had called it, and even back then he'd agreed – silently, because friends do not notice friends' eye colour in that kind of detail), and then he'd tell them everything he'd wanted to say for so long. He'd lay it all out for them, see the revulsion dawn on them as they understood what he was saying, and then – hiding their disgust – they'd let him down gently. The three of them would drift further apart than they already were, and after almost no time at all, it would be like they'd never known each other. He'd go to Sweden with Luna, find an empty cave in the wilds and then never come out of it again. Maybe start a Snorkack sanctuary?

A vanishingly small part of him could see another way – of the understanding dawning, the love shining out of their eyes, the open arms welcoming him into the warmth… That small part was enough for him to decisively stand up, careful to not drop Luna, but rather set her down on the bench beside him, before brushing himself off. As an afterthought he drained the bottle of firewhiskey – he'd need all the support he could gather if he'd get through this with what remained of his sanity intact.

"I'm going to – go do that," he said, pretending he didn't see the surprise on Luna's face. To be fair, he was also surprised at what he was going to do. "I'll see you on Monday, once I've disgraced myself and then retired from the department."

Harry Potter turned on his heel and disappeared from The Leaky Cauldron, leaving a heartily surprised Luna behind. That was not what she'd expected, but Harry always was a man of action. A glance at the Order Barrel showed that he hadn't closed his tab and, with a surreptitious glance around, she ordered as complicated a mocktail as she could (very, it turned out). If he showed up for Sweden, she'd pay him back – otherwise, it was payment for services rendered.

Harry wobbled when he came out of Apparition, and had a brief moment of thankfulness that he hadn't splinched himself irreparably. If he was drunk enough to actually wobble he was most certainly drunk enough to forget half of himself somewhere over the Cotswolds, or so he guessed. He'd never been drunk enough to splinch himself.

He was aware he was woolgathering just to avoid the inevitable end to the evening. It wasn't, in reality, inevitable, but it was what he'd decided to do so, clearly, it was how it would end – the only ones who'd ever managed to make Harry Potter change his mind was Albus Dumbledore (dead), Luna Lovegood (instigator of this particular foolishness) and Hermione Granger (one of two recipients of this foolishness). He whimsically wanted to believe Dumbledore would support him in this endeavour, which meant that – democratically – he had to go through with it.

Harry wasn't scared of much, but when he laid his hand on the wrought iron garden gate he realised that what lay beyond was enough to rival every single nightmare he had ever had. He could feel the welcoming twinge of the wards, could hear a faint echoing buzz from the visitor ward and could picture how empty and cold his life would be if the night ended as he expected it to.

With a deep breath, he opened the gate and stepped through. It felt like the kind of thing that, once opened, could not be shut – the gate swinging shut behind him felt very final, and had he not been filled by liquid courage he would have turned around and gone home again. From the gate to the door, it was ten solid paces (fifteen, if you wobbled like Harry was doing).

When he reached it, he put his palm on the pristine door (still as blue as the day it had been painted) and just looked up at the house. It was storybook perfect, something he knew continued through the entire property – all in stark opposition to the sterile Interior Design magazine his flat had become. Having no personal touches made everything easier when switching partners biannually, and if he didn't particularly enjoy being at home he wouldn't mind being at work – two bludgers hit by one bat, simple.

Harry clenched his hand into a fist, letting it rest for just a moment on the door – the last moment to turn back and give up on this fool's errand, he could imagine Snape's long-dead voice say snidely – before raising it and bringing it back down, banging on the door like it was the only thing standing between him and salvation – which it very well might have been.

It didn't take long before Hermione opened the door, her face lit up when she saw who it was and pulled him into the hallway, and before he had the time to say anything she was already calling for Ron.

Before Harry really had understood what happened – partly because of the good amount of firewhiskey he had drunk, but mostly because Hermione always was a whirlwind – he'd been bullied into the sitting room, down on the couch, and was twisting a cup of tea in his hands. It smelled of bergamot, and he quirked a smile at how well they knew him – Earl Grey had always been associated with comfort for him.

Ron tumbled through the door to the sitting room, banging his shin on a chair on the way, and it was while clutching at his leg and moaning he dropped into the armchair across the table from Harry. Not even Ron's antics was enough to make Harry properly smile, however, and had he been slightly soberer he would have caught the worried glances the two threw each other.

"I…" Harry began haltingly, twirling the cup between his hands, eyes trained on the middle of the table. "I'm – uh. Well, Eliza dumped me. Unsurprisingly."

"Oh no, Harry! I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasped, and he could hear Ron murmuring platitudes behind her. He powered through, knowing that if he didn't he'd soon lose his nerve entirely.

"Luna came by – I think Hannah must've called her, Eliza dumped me in the Leaky, and… well, Luna told me something I think I've needed to hear for a good long while." He could almost hear the cogs whirring in Hermione's head, the desperation to understand a puzzle she hadn't received quite all the pieces to just yet. He was aware he was rambling, and slurring quite badly too, and knew that their concern was rising at an ever-increasing speed. He set the teacup down, knowing that if he didn't it would crack any minute.

"What… what did Luna say, mate?" Ron asked, hesitatingly – Harry was too caught up in his own thoughts and fears to wonder why he sounded so apprehensive. He didn't dare look up, knowing he'd lose his nerve if he met either of their eyes now.

"I – she told me to grab destiny by the horns. Not in so many words, you know Luna, but the gist of it is the same. So. That is to say – I'm in love with you. Both of you. I have been since – forever," he finally managed to say, hands clasped in front of him. Ron and Hermione went abruptly quiet, and he thought he could have heard a pin drop.

He looked up from his lap and regretted it as soon as he saw the dawning realisation – and the growing revulsion – in their eyes. For a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, they just stared at each other, before Harry gulped and apparated away. Left behind were Ron and Hermione, hands reaching for the space where Harry had just been sitting.

For a long moment, they just stared at the empty sofa, before Ron let his hand sink to rest on his knee.

"Well. I think we royally screwed that up," he finally said, voice dry. The only reply Hermione could muster was a rough sob. When he looked over at her, she had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking and tears dripping from her chin. He got up from his chair, only to take the three steps necessary to reach her, bodily lift her and then sit down again, now with her in his lap. She only sobbed harder, clutching at his shoulders.

"Where did he go? Can you – we need to find him, Mione, we can't let him just…" Ron finally managed to choke out, clutching Hermione to him like she was the only thing keeping him sane. She only keened in reply, and he had never heard her cry like this; not even during the aftermath of the war, when they had to bury classmates, friends, and family alike. He decided desperate times called for desperate measures, so he pushed her away from him, grasped her by the shoulders and shook her carefully. It was enough to make her look at him, and it actually looked like she saw him, as well. "You need to pull yourself together! I'm not – I can't find him, I don't know where he'd go, but you do."

"Did you see… did you see his face?" she finally murmured, more out of it than he'd thought. She took a deep, raspy breath before she continued. "He looked like we'd torn his heart out in front of him…"

"Yes, but where is he?" A long time ago Ron had taken it upon himself to be the steady one in times of crisis; not that he could do much about the cause of panic, but he could pull the others out of it. Lately, it had been only Hermione's panic he needed to abate, but there had been a time when he could bring comfort to Harry as well. He knew that they could figure everything out, but only if they could find Harry – if they couldn't find him, everything would be moot.

"He looked so sad… I haven't seen him that sad since…" With a gasp, she looked him in the eyes, and this time he could tell she saw him. "I haven't seen him this sad since I kissed you at Hogwarts, but he wouldn't go there, so the next logical stop is – The Forest of Dean."

"Are you sure?" he asked, hands gentling on her shoulders now that she didn't him grounding her anymore. "Why the Forest?"

"He would think the beginning of the end was when you left us – and then came back. Knowing him, that's when he figured out he liked us, as well." Hermione stood up from his lap, brushing herself off, and with a twist of her wand her hair was up in a bun and no trace remained of her prolonged crying fit. "What are you waiting for? Get up! We need to go, we need to find him before he leaves!"

With a rueful chuckle, Ron stood up as well, getting ready to apparate to a clearing he'd once apparated blindly to. He had not thought he'd ever go back, but for Harry, he'd go to the gates of Hell (and further still), if only to hold his cloak while he kicked the door down.

Ron and Hermione landed in the clearing, wands drawn just to be on the safe side, but it didn't look like they would have to fight their way through the forest. Five feet from where they stood were the remnants of the campfire Harry and Hermione had built all those years ago – the only trace still left to show that once this had been a hideout for Undesirable Number One. Barring that burnt patch of ground, the clearing was empty.

Hermione spun on her heel, frantically scanning the clearing for any trace of Harry.

"I don't understand, where…" she muttered, looking ready to start digging if that would mean they'd find him. She spun around again, before jerking to a stop and raising her wand. "Oh, I'm such a fool. Am I a witch or not? Point Me Harry Potter!"

Her wand twitched in her grip, and as she opened her hand and spread her palm, it spun around – once, twice, and three times it spun around. It was enough to make Ron wonder if it would even give them a direction to follow, or if Hermione had been wrong about where Harry would be. When the wand stopped – in the way that meant Harry was close by, not the way that meant he was too far away to pin down – the two of them breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

They only needed to glance at each other before they set off, almost running, through the forest, careful to dodge around obstacles on their hunt for Harry Potter. Hermione kept a close eye on her wand and corrected her course whenever it spun, and Ron – his trust in her infinite – follows her lead.

When they reached the pond where Ron had dragged Harry from the depths, they were greeted by the sight of Harry, leant back against the thick trunk of a looming oak, morosely skipping stones across the surface of the clear water. It was obvious he was drunk – the impression furthered by the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey by his side.

Ron and Hermione hesitated once they'd reached the oak tree, flanking Harry, who just kept skipping stones. The three of them hadn't been simultaneously silent for that long in the history of their friendship, and that more than anything worried Ron.

"You know…" Harry finally broke the silence, and as if that was the Finite that broke the stasis spell, both Ron and Hermione sat down, slightly closer to him. Neither of them dared to touch him, fearing that would scare him further away. "I realised I loved you, Hermione, when we danced in the tent. I think that moment kept me going through the rest of the war, to be entirely honest."

He took a swig of the firewhiskey - almost draining the bottle - before he continued. His tone was conversational and sounded most of all like he was discussing the weather.

"I… you saved me, Ron, and that was the first time I could remember anyone saving me. You got me out of this pond. When you grasped the sword and destroyed the locket, I admitted to myself that not only did I love Hermione, but I also loved you – you who was my first proper friend in the world." Another stone skipped across the pond, and the sound it made when it first hit the surface startled both Ron and Hermione badly. "How do you deal with something like that? I decided to do nothing until everything was over – and then I saw you kissing at Hogwarts, and for a moment I was happy. When I died, because I knew it was inevitable, at least you two would be happy and together. That made everything worth it."

Beside him, Hermione let out a strangled gasp, and Ron was surprised to find himself crying silently. He hadn't cried since they buried Fred.

"And then I lived. I lived through that horrible, horrible day, and had to watch the two of you storm your way into a stable relationship together. I had your friendship, but despite what everyone thinks, I am a weak, weak man. I couldn't handle that – when I saw you happy together, I started to resent you, and that was worse than everything else put together." While Harry had started out slurring, by that point he had begun sobering up, his magic burning through the firewhiskey quicker than he could drink it. Hermione reached out, hand hovering awkwardly over his shoulder before she dropped it to her lap again. Despite himself, Ron was pleased she didn't touch him – he had a feeling that, if Harry stopped talking now, he'd never finish the tale.

"I started avoiding you. Better to not have you in my life at all, I felt, if all being with you gave me was suffering and heartbreak." He took the last swig of the firewhiskey, throwing the bottle away. The noise it made as it shattered seemed immeasurably loud, and Ron could hear it ringing through the forest for a long while after. Harry scoffed - more at life in general than at anything specific, it seemed - before he continued. "Instead, I fell into bed with whoever seemed willing and closest, relying on them to keep the bed warm while I fell further and further into work. No one ever stayed for long, but that's as much my fault as anything. I never could love anyone as I love you two, and it was unfair to say I'd try it with them – I knew I wouldn't."

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Hermione finally burst out, unable to keep her silence for any longer. It looked like Harry had finished his tale, but Ron hoped he wouldn't up and leave again.

"And say what? 'Hey, my two oldest friends – one of who is my ex's brother, and both of who are in an established relationship with each other – I'm head-over-heels in love with the two of you!' Yeah, I'd imagine that would go over well," Harry replied, snorting.

"Okay, yeah, put like that, I can see why you didn't," Ron said, tone rueful.

"But… you can't possibly think – you can't have thought we'd cast you out, over something like that?" Hermione said, more confused than Ron had ever heard it. Harry barked a bitter laugh in response and never had he sounded more like Sirius than he did then.

"I couldn't keep a single partner for longer than half a year, I was so far down the bottle I was crawling out the other side, and I live for my work, accidental though the promotions may be. What do I have to offer the two of you, other than a ruined friendship and the nightmares that always tag along?" Harry scrubbed his hands down his face, despair making him look older than his years, and Ron was startled to see that there were streaks of silver in his hair and beard. "No, if I suffered in silence, at least only I would be suffering. If I told you, well – the risk was that there'd be three of us suffering then, and I love the two of you so much I couldn't risk that. Hadn't it been for Luna promising to whisk me away to Sweden – and a healthy dose of liquid courage – I wouldn't have told you today either. Your reaction today showed me that I shouldn't have."

"Now, I may have the emotional range of a teaspoon – or so I've been told – but I think even the most emotionally well-adjusted person would need more than five seconds to properly take in what you had just told us, mate," Ron said sardonically. He saw Harry tense, the skin of his neck fairly crawling with the urge to run away, and he decided that the best way of keeping Harry in place was to sit down next to him. He pressed his shoulder to Harry's, and could out of the corner of his eye see Hermione do the same on the opposite side.

"Ha! You looked disgusted, both of you did, and there was not a force in the world strong enough to keep me there to face it."

"If I looked disgusted, that was only because of all the time wasted," Ron said, matter-of-fact. "Now, I can't speak for Hermione, but I've been hopelessly in love with both of you ever since you welcomed me back with open arms during the search."

"You took the time to dance with me, Harry. There's no way I couldn't love you, after that. And Ron – Ron came back to us." Hermione shrugged, the movement rippling through Harry, almost reaching Ron. "You played things so close to your chest I didn't think – had we known, Harry, we would have asked. But just like you, we were terrified of losing our friendship."

Sometime during Ron and Hermione's makeshift speech – Ron almost wanted to call it a proposal, but had a feeling that was a bit too soon in the maybe-relationship for that – Harry had dropped his hands and was now staring emptily into space.

"You were drifting away from us, and we didn't know what to do – we thought you had realised just how deep our feelings for you ran, and that you didn't want anything to do with us anymore," Ron said, words coming slow and measured. "You weren't okay, and nothing we did seemed to reach you, so we – pulled away, too, but every time you came back we welcomed you with open arms. That's what you do when you're in love, you know."

All of a sudden, Harry broke out in laughter, the peals of it ringing around the clearing. Over his head, Hermione threw an alarmed glance at Ron, but he only tried to convey as much relief her way as he could. This was a good sign.

"We are a great big bunch of fools, aren't we?" Harry finally gasped out. When they had parsed what he said, both Ron and Hermione started laughing too, the three of them sitting by that pond, their relieved laughter touched ever so slightly by something unhinged.

Once they had quieted, they leaned on each other, like they had done so many times before, and just breathed together. Hermione seemingly had the least patience, for once being the one who couldn't sit still. She stood up, brushing off the seat of her pants before she reached her hands down to help them up.

"My darling, darling boys," she said, voice fond, eyes almost radiating love for both of them. "Let's go home."

"Let's go to bed!" Ron specified, looking at both Harry and Hermione. "Let's go home and then go to bed."

"What – but. Are you joking?" Harry stuttered out. It was the first time that day that Ron had heard him stutter, and he actually seemed more nervous now than he had when he appeared in their living room.

"Oh, this isn't a joke," he replied, looking intently at Harry. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione nod fervently. "I've been wanting to see the two of you in one bed for more than a decade, and if I have to wait another ten minutes I'm not certain I'll survive."

The last surprised laugh, the one Harry couldn't contain, rang out and around the clearing for a good long while after the cracks of their apparation had faded out.

The following Monday Luna was unsurprised – and happy – to see that Harry didn't show up for the expedition to Sweden.

Me, and this fic, can also be found on AO3 under the same name.