Title: Eventually
Author: Mad Maudlin
Email:
Catergory: Fluffy, romance
Keywords: Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, slash, polyamory, R/H/Hr, post-Hogwarts
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Waking up is hard to do.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

"Eventually"

by Mad Maudlin

Ron drifted out of sleep by slow degrees, warm and comfortable and thoroughly hung-over. It wasn't the worst he'd ever had, he decided at length; a tall glass of water and a dose of potion should sort it out nicely. That being the case, he moved onto bigger issues, such as the people in bed with him, and how they'd gotten here.

Someone had closed the curtains, thankfully, but late-morning light still seeped in and gilded everything in the room. Harry's bedroom, to be precise; this fitted with what he remembered of the previous night. He was lying on his back in the middle of the vast bed. What had they been doing in Harry's bed, anyway? Harry wanted to sleep, he recalled fuzzily, but he fell over, so Hermione sent me to help him get up the stairs...but then she said she was lonely...

Ron looked to his left, where Hermione was sleeping soundly with her head on his shoulder. She had one arm thrown across his chest, and one leg was resting almost shyly against his. Her hair had fallen out of its ponytail (or had one of them pulled it out?) and he brushed it off her face with his right hand, since the other was pinned underneath her. She didn't stir.

Harry was a different story: Harry, whom Ron found to his right, curled up in the smallest ball his frame would comfortably allow. His head rested on Ron's stomach, rising and falling with his breathing, but when Ron tried to brush a lock of black hair out of his eyes, he twitched and grunted before snuggling closer. Cute, that; he just hoped Harry wouldn't regret it when he woke up properly.

Are you going to regret it in the morning?

Who had said that? Had he? He thought so, but the previous night seemed so dream-like he couldn't be certain. Hermione had come upstairs pleading loneliness, and collapsed onto the bed with the two of them; they had started to talk. Harry fell asleep...or they thought he'd fallen asleep, until he spoke...Harry had suddenly spoken.

—I need to tell you something. Both of you.

—Are you going to regret it in the morning?

—I can't say it if I'm sober enough to know.

Ron twisted his head around, trying to get some idea of the exact time; the motion only worsened his headache. He yawned, and wondered if it would be impolite to wake the others just so that he could brush his teeth. It wasn't as though they had slept together...well, only in the literal sense. But what had they done last night? Something pleasant, he decided, reviewing his hazy memories. It had definitely been pleasant, whatever it was. More than pleasant, in fact, unless of course he'd dreamed the whole thing...he gingerly felt the side of his neck, seeking and finding the tender place over his pulse point. Harry had given him a hickey. Why had Harry given him a hickey?

He checked the other side. Because Hermione gave me a hickey first. Which made a certain kind sense.

Harry suddenly unfolded his body and stretched, a motion that reminded Ron of a cat. He yawned tremendously and squinted at his surroundings, pulling a face as he tasted last night's residue inside his mouth. Then he looked up at Ron and smiled in a sweet, sleepy sort of way. "G'morning."

"Morning." Ron yawned as well, and winced as his head throbbed in protest. Harry crawled up to rest his head on Ron's other shoulder, mirroring Hermione's position, and Ron wrapped one arm around Harry's waist. He watched as Harry took Hermione's limp hand and laced his fingers between hers. It's about balance, really. Which one of them had said that?

—It's about balance, really. It's about stability. It's about, about...a triangle is rigid, you know.

—Oh, is it, now?

—Shut up, Ron.

—It's rigid because it's fixed, it's stable...you can't twist it up unless you break it.

They lay entwined in comfortable silence until Hermione finally started to stir; she whimpered and tried to cover her face with the hand Harry was holding. Ron wiggled his left arm free and squeezed her shoulder. "All right, Hermione?"

She groaned into his shirt. "Feel like shit."

Harry chuckled. "I've got something for it, hang on." He reluctantly disentangled himself from Ron and sat up, rubbing his eyes, before wandering stiffly toward the bathroom.

Ron stroked Hermione's hair while she tried to bury her face in his chest. "You didn't drink all that much."

"Women metabolize alchohol differently than men," she reported.

"Does that mean they whine more about the hangovers?"

"Ron, when my stomach stops moving, I'm going to kill you."

"Sorry."

Harry came back looking significantly more chipper, with a bottle of hangover potion and a handful of Toothflossing Stringmints. After a mouthful of each, Ron felt mostly like a human being. Hermione took several swallows of the potion and resumed her earlier position, although without the whimpering. Harry laughed at her and climbed around Ron to embrace her from behind. "Poor Hermione."

"Ron called me a whiner."

"I was just teasing."

"Not funny."

He met Harry's eyes and smiled. Though he would've preferred them to remain in their earlier position, this one wasn't without its benefits. He stretched his free arm out to rest across Harry's waist and shut his eyes, enjoying the smell of Hermione's hair and the warmth of three bodies so close together. Eventually they would have to get up, and talk—oh, would they have to talk, after last night. Eventually they'd have to work out where they were going from here. But eventually wasn't now, and he intended to enjoy this moment until eventually came.