Harry has nightmares. He's had them for ages, but lately they've gotten worse-bad enough that he wakes up screaming, tears in his eyes, thrashing and kicking and fighting things that aren't there. Hermione tries to talk to him, asks him what they're about, but he doesn't say, just shrugs her off. She worries for days about what to do, she hates seeing him so weak and exhausted, so haunted by things she can't see, and after hours and hours of thinking, she comes up with a solution.
It's relatively easy to get a room, she talks to Dumbledore and he agrees that if Harry is screaming on a nightly basis and waking up the room's other occupants, then it's best he stays on his own. A small, deserted classroom on the fourth floor is converted into a bedroom and Harry moves in, smiling wearily as he's allowed to decorate however he wishes-red and gold everywhere, pictures of his family, of Sirius and Remus, hanging on the walls. It feels like home to him, and he thanks Hermione for thinking of it. She just smiles, because it's only the first step of her plan.
When Harry has a nightmare on the first night in his new room, she's there, waiting, hiding under his invisibility cloak in the corner. Her heart breaks just a little to see him fighting so violently against whatever is plaguing his mind, and she steps forward, letting the cloak slither to the floor. Moving carefully, wary of his arms and legs as they move wildly, she climbs onto the bed and manages to make it to his side with only one kick to the stomach. It'll bruise, but she doesn't care.
Lying down on her side, she reaches out to stroke Harry's sweaty forehead, brushing his hair aside.
"Harry," she murmurs, "Harry, it's alright. I'm here, you're safe. It's me, Harry, it's Hermione. You're safe, you're with me. Just relax, Harry, it's okay. It's alright. Just calm down."
She talks for a long time, quiet and soothing, never stopping even though her throat is dry, and eventually it works. He stops fighting and goes still, panting heavily, the sheets tangled about his legs. He leans into Hermione's touch, mumbling a little under his breath, and she smiles tenderly, stroking a finger down his cheek.
When Harry wakes up the next morning, he's shocked to find Hermione sleeping peacefully beside him. He can't figure out why they hell she's there, or how she got there, but then a fragment of memory rises up and he realises that she'd spent the night talking him out of nightmares. He doesn't know what to say to that, thanking her seems too inadequate and he's never been good with words anyway. So instead he goes back to sleep because it's a Saturday and he deserves a lie in. When he wakes up next, Hermione is gone, no trace of her being there at all, and he wonders for a moment if it was a dream. But then he catches the faintest hint of rosemary on his pillow, and it's the smell of Hermione's shampoo. He knows then that it wasn't a dream, and he smiles.
And so the ritual was set-Hermione would sneak into Harry's room, wait for him to start screaming, and then calm him down. She is normally gone before Harry woke up, but once or twice he's lucky enough to wake up just a little earlier and get to watch her sleeping beside him. It's a nice view, with her tangled brown hair spread out on the red pillow, her lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. When she shows signs of waking, he'll feign sleep until she leaves. They don't talk about it, because Hermione thinks Harry's unaware and Harry doesn't know what to say, and it's nearly two months later before things change.
Hermione is flooded with homework, she's been falling behind because of her nightly activities, and she's been called into Professor McGonagall's office for a talk. Harry and Ron wait anxiously, not knowing what's going on, and she emerges from the office with a frown, biting her lip and staring at her shoes.
"What's going on?" Harry asks immediately. "Are you in trouble? Is something wrong? Talk to us, Hermione!"
She looks up, as if surprised to see them, and tries to smile, but it's shaky and doesn't reach her eyes. "It's alright," she says, her voice cracking a bit. "Nothing to worry about. If you'll excuse me, I need the bathroom."
She goes to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, because she needs to be alone, needs to think. She can't keep staying with Harry, not if she wants to keep up with her schoolwork, but she can't leave Harry to fight his nightmares alone. He's been so much happier the past two months, so much more energetic and healthy, it's like a new him. She can't stand to see him go back to being that lifeless shell of a person he was, it's unthinkable.
The solution is easy to think of, once she starts thinking logically. Harry needs someone to calm him down, and it doesn't necessarily have to be her (she hopes) and there was one other person that Harry loved and trusted just as much as her. She just hopes that Ron would understand and be willing.
It takes a bit of explaining, and Ron is stunned to hear what she's been doing, what she's been sacrificing to help Harry, but once she's explained the problem, he is more than happy to step in for her. They work it out that Ron would cover the following week whilst Hermione caught up with her schoolwork, and then they would take it in turns, one day Ron, and the next Hermione.
She is worried that he wouldn't be able to cope, that he would run away when Harry accidentally punched or kicked him, and she barely gets any sleeping or studying done that night. She meets Ron in the common room just before breakfast and he looks tired but happy. She smiles in relief and they talk quietly about what had happened. Ron has a bruise on his thigh, but he doesn't care about that. He tells her that Harry had quieted down fairly quickly and then confesses he had fallen asleep, but he managed to wake up before Harry and sneak out. Hermione admits that she falls asleep most times too, but likewise manages to escape. They laugh quietly, happy to have a working plan, and then go meet Harry for breakfast.
000
Harry knows what they're doing, knew when he woke up to find Ron lying next to him instead of Hermione. At first he was shocked, not sure what to think, because this was different than Hermione, this was Ron, another boy. He's not sure how he feels about that, and it takes a few days for him to get used to it, for him to realise that waking up next to Ron feels just as natural as waking up next to Hermione. He doesn't puzzle over that, doesn't try to examine the feeling, because that only brings trouble, he just accepts it quietly, and continues with his charade of not knowing.
The next time there's a shift in their ritual is just before the Christmas holidays. It's cold, despite the various warming charms he's placed around the room, and he goes to bed shivering. He's not really surprised when he wakes up with his arm flung across Hermione's waist, his face buried in her hair and one leg thrown across hers. She's warm and soft and comfortable and he just lays there peacefully for a moment before he wakes up enough to realise just what position he's in. He panics for a moment before forcing himself to calm down and slowly slide away from her. As soon as he's stopped being in contact with her though, the cold rushes back, chilling his skin and making him shiver. But still, he closes his eyes and pretends to sleep until he hears her wake up, murmuring and yawning.
He hears her sit up, the covers rustling, and she runs a hand down the side of his face, tangling her fingers in his hair. It's a familiar gesture, something he's come to know and love, and he leans into the touch, letting a sleepy smile curl his lips. She hesitates, her hand going still, and for a moment he fears he's gone to far, that she knows he's awake, but then he hears her move again and he relaxes. There's a foreign touch on his forehead, soft and warm and slightly moist, and it takes a second for him to realise that she just kissed him. Then she's gone, the door clicking shut, and he sits up, blinking, trying to understand the last few seconds.
A week passes, and he is always alone when he wakes up. He has vague memories of soft warmth and hard muscles, of hands rubbing up and down his back and brushing his hair out of his eyes, but he is used to this by now. And if he has been curling up next to Ron as well as Hermione, no one is commenting on it and their friendship hasn't changed, so it can't be a bad thing.
It's Christmas Eve morning when Harry wakes up to find himself tangled up with Ron. He's pressed up close to Ron's side, head resting on his chest and listening to his heart beat. It feels nice, just as nice as it does to snuggle up to Hermione, and he lets himself lay there for a minute, enjoying the feel and the warmth, before reluctantly moving away to the cold side of the bed. He actually falls asleep this time instead of faking it, and when he wakes up, Ron's gone.
He thinks a lot that day, enough that Hermione comments on how quiet he is. He just smiles and brushes it off, because he can't talk about this with them, not just yet. He isn't even sure what 'this' is, but he knows it's important. He's come to terms long ago with the new twist to their relationship, and it's so familiar and comforting that it's hard to think about what their friendship was like before it. But something's niggling at his mind, thoughts and emotions whirling around that he can't understand. It's not until later that day that he has an epiphany.
They're outside, walking around the snowy grounds and talking about various little things, just enjoying each other's company. Ron stops briefly to tie his shoelaces and they continue on for a few steps without him, talking about a new Charm they'd learnt, when all of a sudden, something wet and cold splashes into Harry's neck. He jumps and curses, brushing at his neck and whirling around to glare at a chortling Ron. Hermione's laughing and quickly dodges another snowball thrown by Ron. Laughing now, Harry scoops up his own fistful of snow and throws it at Ron, who's too busy trying to hit Hermione that he fails to see it until its too late.
From then on, it degenerates into a wild, no-holds-barred snowball fight, with each of them employing every dirty trick they know to land a hit. Their laughter is loud and joyous, accompanied by the occasional shriek or swearword as someone gets hit.
Harry is hiding behind a tree on the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for his chance. He's clutching a ball of snow in his hand, and the cold is starting to seep in through his glove to chill his skin. Still, this will be worth it, and he grins in triumph as Ron staggers within range.
Yelling a fierce battle cry, Harry darts out from behind the tree and tackles Ron, pushing him to the ground and stuffing the ball of snow down his jacket. Ron screams and tries to push him off, but Harry just laughs and easily pins his wrists down, straddling his hips and smirking down at him.
He's not sure why he does it, but the next thing he knows, he's leaning down and pressing his frozen lips against Ron's. It lasts for barely a moment before Harry is jerking away and standing up, staring wide-eyed down at Ron. Hermione runs up to them, still laughing, but frowns when she sees their expressions. She asks what's wrong and Harry quickly says it's nothing. After a moment's hesitation, Ron agrees, and they both pull him to his feet before walking back to the castle for some cocoa.
It's a Ron night that night, and Harry isn't sure how it will go. He tries to act normally when he goes to bed, forcing himself not to look around for a hint of someone hiding under the invisibility cloak, and with no small amount of trepidation, he climbs into bed.
He falls asleep fairly quickly, and the next thing he knows, it's morning. He's once again tangled up with Ron, and it takes more effort than is pretty to pry himself away. Feigning sleep as usual, he waits for Ron to wake up and wonders what will happen next. He barely breathes when Ron's fingers flutter down his cheek, one thumb smoothing across his lower lip. And then there's another touch on his lips, something that's entirely different, and he fights not to react to the kiss, thankful that it only lasts for a couple of seconds before Ron draws back. He makes a little 'hm' noise, as if in deep thought, and then he flicks his fingers briefly through Harry's hair before quietly getting up and leaving.
Harry sits up and mimics Ron's 'hm' noise, because this was definitely very interesting. He absently reaches up to run a hand throw his hair. He doesn't know why, but they both seem to have an obssession with his hair, they're always running their fingers through it or smoothing it back, it's curious.
And so things continued for the next couple of months, moving along as always, only now there was the occasional kiss from either one of them-Ron generally kissed his lips, light and teasing, as if testing the waters, whereas Hermione preferred to kiss his forehead, sure and reassuring, almost in a motherly way.
It was the morning before Valentine's before things changed again, for the last time. Harry had wanted a little time by himself, and as he was wont to do occasionally, he went for a walk around the castle as he tried to clear his head.
It is obvious to him that he loves them, and it is just as obvious that they both cared for him in return. He doesn't know if it's love for them, but it isn't entirely a platonic friendship, that much he is sure of. He doesn't know what to do about it though, he hasn't even admitted that he knew they were staying with him at night.
Harry sighs and stops walking to lean against the wall, trying to figure out what to do. He wants more than what he's currently got-he wants to not pretend to be asleep when they kiss him, he wants to kiss them in return. He wants to touch and feel them, wants to go to sleep with his limbs tangled with theirs.
His stomach rumbles and he realises that it's nearing time for dinner, so he begins to walk slowly towards the Great Hall. Hermione and Ron are waiting for him, talking about some article in the Daily Prophet, and he slides in between them, glancing at the article and letting their conversation go on over his head, content to just sit there. He realises that that is his favourite place to be-in between the two of them. Whether they're in class or just lounging about, he's most comfortable when he's in the middle, a friend on each side, shielding him, keeping him safe. Interesting.
The next morning, Harry wakes up next to Hermione. He blushes when he realises that he is damn near lying on top of her and carefully slides away, letting his fingers drift over her soft skin. She wriggles slightly and follows his movements so that even when he's lying on the cold side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, she is curled up against his side, one hand resting on his stomach. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't want to risk waking her by moving her, so he forces himself to close his eyes and count sheep until she wakes up on her own. He fights the urge to smirk when she gives a funny little cry and jolts away from him. He hears her muttering to herself, cursing herself for being so stupid, but then she goes quiet and he can almost feel her eyes on him, almost see the frown she always gets when she's thinking hard.
When she's gone, Harry sits up and does a little thinking of his own. His thoughts consist mostly of one sentence: this is the day when he confesses all and changes everything.
The whole school is buzzing about Valentine's Day, though most of the excitement was coming from the female students. Harry walks quickly to the Great Hall, eager to see his friends, and he finds them standing just outside the doors, obviously waiting for him. Hermione smiles brightly, and he grins when he notices a faint hint of pink on her cheeks.
They go through the day normally, and if Harry is a little quieter than usual, no one comments on it. As the lessons fly by and the day wears on, Harry feels himself getting more and more anxious. Butterflies burst to life in his stomach and he finds it increasingly hard to concentrate. Tonight is the night, just a few more hours….
After dinner, they all go back to Harry's room to study, because it's quieter than the common room and they enjoy the privacy. Harry lounges on the bed whilst Hermione and Ron sit on the floor. He flips absently through his Herbology book without really reading anything, counting down the seconds and minutes in his head. He wonders if he'll have the courage to say what he needs to say, or if he'll chicken out. He hopes he has the courage, because he wants this so much, more than he's wanted anything else in his entire life. But when Hermione yawns and begins packing up her books, he nearly panics completely.
"Um!"
His voice is a high squeak and he coughs to clear his throat. It did serve to get their attention though, and they both look at him curiously, halfway to the door.
"Um…" He doesn't know what to say. He's waited for this moment all day and now that he's hear, he can't speak. He has to be calm, has to think clearly, just say what he wants, no fancy words, just say it.
"I want you both to stay."
His voice cracks halfway through and he doesn't sound like the most determined of people, but at least he's said the words now. They stare at him, clearly shocked, and the momentary relief at stating his intentions is washed away by a wave of fear.
"Please?" His voice is small and childlike and he hates the way it sounds, but he can't help it, all he can do is sit there, looking at them with fear-filled eyes. He doesn't know where this fear has come from, it certainly wasn't there a minute ago, but it's washing through his body and consuming his mind. He just can't let them leave, he needs them here, with him, both of them. "I… I feel safe with you both. You're… warm and comfortable and you make me feel safe. Please, I-I love you. Both of you."
Long minutes drag on, no one moving, barely breathing, tension thick enough to cut with a knife but then Hermione blinks and smiles, the shock fading from her expression. She doesn't say anything, just walks over to the bed and cups Harry's face in her hands before bowing her head to kiss him gently. He makes a small murmuring sound of appreciation and leans into the kiss, barely twitching when a pair of warm hands descend on his shoulders.
They climb into bed silently, and it's awkward at first, trying to figure out if it was okay to put their hand there or maybe this was a bit too close, don't want to ruin this, have to be careful, but then something broke, or snapped, or maybe just clicked, because the worry faded away completely and they let themselves relax. Hermione curled up next to Harry, resting her head on his shoulder with one hand on his stomach like before, whilst Ron rolled onto his stomach, one arm flung across Harry's abdomen so that it rested just below Hermione's hand.
They both fell asleep before him and he lays there thinking for a while, feeling the warmth surrounding him, comforting and familiar and he thinks, yes, this is right, this is where I belong. This is where I'm safe.