Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Part Three
The Return

Cold, a lonely cold that left your breath frozen on your lips and your hands aching from the numb tension that left them frozen, literally. And Harry was no exception, his hands alive with an ache deep to the bone, feeling as though they might fall off with every movement of his fingers, with every pull of the rope and twist of the canvas that made up the tent.

They had packed quickly, the night air in a flurry around them as the sky's illustrious clouds of grey wound above their heads, rain threatening the brittle air. Hermione moved like one of the living dead, her hands precise and immaculate, her movements swift even as impending danger surrounded her, her courage made Harry feel a coward.

Godric's Hollow had brought upon them both tidings of fortune, good and bad. On one hand the triumph of seeing his parents, at least from a small enough distance to feel true, was amazing. But the feeling of concurrent death, like that that surrounded him, made Lord Voldemort's anger pulse through him like his own, his evil filling the nerves in his brain, clouding his thoughts. Unable to control the emotions that now seemed to flow through him so freely, without even a thought in his mind.

The Nights had started for exactly this reason. The feeling of not being the only one in this world to have to face such difficulties, to lose yourself in one another, to feel that moment and that moment only, to let every worry fall around you like mist on a hot day. It was more than intoxicating, it was addictive. And Harry didn't know how to quit, and he certainly didn't know if he even wanted to.

Hermione gripped Harry's hand and enveloped it with warmth, spinning on her heel and compressing them into an invisible rubber tube, squeezing with a strength that only came from such wild magic, and finally letting go before they thought they'd explode from the pressure.

She let Harry's hand fall, immediately feeling the missing warmth in his palm he hurriedly put up the tent with little help from Hermione, her thoughts obviously elsewhere.

They settled in quietly, their safeguards softly buzzing around them, the magic so high and electric that it couldn't keep the energy from humming around it. Harry set up his palate first, Hermione setting a warm mug of tea out for him while he wasn't looking before sitting with her legs tucked beneath her in a large overstuffed chair, a very heavy volume, thick in her hand.

He drank his tea in silence, a silence that begged to be broken, a kind that sung with annoyance and shook his patience. He threw his blankets over his shoulder and faced away from Hermione, her face alight with the dim cast of the small lamp beside her.

He just began drifting slowly away, his thoughts a rather jumbled mess before he heard a rather noisy rustle outside of the tent and a small squeal from Hermione.

He shot up instantly, his acute senses practically making his ears point to the sky, his hand already reaching for Hermione's wand.

"What'll we do?" She mouthed at him, her eyes slightly wide, though he could tell she was trying her hardest to be brave.

"I'll go." He whispered, standing up in the semi darkness, his silhouette appearing grey on the inside of the canvas, his bare chest shadowed in the dim light.

He opened the front of the tent a mere inch, his face impossibly close to the seam, his eyes searching, watching, attentive. He saw a flash of movement in the bushes a meter away, a loud rustling breaking the silence suddenly, followed by a few choice curse words.

"Bloody witch didn't have to be so good at these spells…" The voice was warmly familiar, a shiver instantly running down Harry's spine, his toes curling slightly, his stomach knotting in anticipation.

And there he was, relief buried deep within the blue eyes of one redheaded boy wandering through the forest, his feet wet and his hair damp, cheeks as red as strawberries.

"Ron?" Harry whispered, his voice weak in the wind, however, it seemed to carry itself to Ron, who's head turned in the direction Harry's voice was coming from.

"Harry?" Ron answered, his eyes searching frantically for the body that held the voice, the eyes that held the emotion, that hands that carried the feeling…

"Harry what is it-" She stopped abruptly, her eyes stuck on a certain spot in the darkness, her eyes welling with unwanted tears, of joy or anger, Harry couldn't tell.

"Hermione?" Ron whispered, even softer, his voice quivering in the night, wishing that he wasn't so cold and tired it was all in his head, a hallucination, a tormenting one at that. "Is that you?"

"Tell him to get inside, he'll freeze to death." Her words were icy, her movements sharp as she turned to go inside, her face rippling with anger, Ron looked up.

Harry moved outside of the tent, his body forming as the tent moved around him, concealing him until he wanted to be known. Ron looked as though his heart had burst. Harry didn't know what to do.

Ron moved slow at first, his emotions strangling his thoughts for a moment before he could move towards Harry, his hands weak at his sides. Harry just looked at him through the curtain of thick darkness, his piercing green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the moon, watching intently as the boy inched closer to him.

Finally Ron found strength, his hand slowly reaching to touch Harry's pale face, slowly tracing his cheekbone, moving past his lips as they parted slightly under Ron's fingertips and then finally to the hollow at the base of his throat. His hand spread across his neck, pulling him closer, his warm breath on Harry's cold cheek.

"I'm sorry."

And he was gone, disappeared into the tent after Hermione. Harry's mind was foggy with warmth, a content feeling spreading throughout his muscles, relaxing the knots in his stomach, letting free the worrisome thoughts that plagued his dreams.

Harry practically ran in after him, watching intently from the background at Hermione's expressions.

She faced the sink, her hands gripping it tightly as Ron stood behind her, his head down, hands limp as he seemed to be pleading in whispers.

Harry could see the tears she concealed, knew her pain first hand. Ron hadn't seen her grief, couldn't hear her sobs at night, couldn't protect her from himself…and now he knew it. It was plain in his eyes, the honesty, the love. But she wouldn't turn to see it, afraid it would break her heart, shake her emotions and fumble her anger.

"Please, Hermione…" Harry could almost hear the tears in his voice, the strain in his body, the hurt in his heart. "I'm so sorry…"

Slowly she turned to him, her body shaking, her hands reluctantly releasing it's grip on the sink. She looked straight into his eyes, searching for the honesty Harry could feel, watching the tears well in his eyes.

Her hand slowly reached for his, a truce, a peace offering. He accepted it by taking it in his, dwarfing hers immediately, filling it with warmth, cradling it softly. He took advantage and leaned in, taking her into his chest, pressing himself to her petite form. She shook against him, her sobs falling silently into the Night as Ron's eyes sought for Harry's, promise locked deep within their cavernous blue depths.

Hermione watched as Ron talked, his mouth moving fast beneath the stream of pure light the receded from the lamp above his head. Her eyes flickered from anger to need, Harry watching them shift, darkening in their livid state and then immediately clouding over with lust when Ron stroked her hand silently, his thumb on her forefinger, the back of his hand brushing against her hair. She wished to push him away, she wished to want to push him away more like it, his hands too much for her to deny, his touch too captivating to control.

Harry's thoughts were lost, Ron talking in circles as the sexual tension increased, burning within the confines of the small tent, lighting with the electricity their skin seemed to give off. No one seemed to take notice, but they all felt it, the strong tug at the pit of their stomach, the clouds that rumbled over their good judgment, the lust that rushed through their veins.

Loneliness wasn't new to them, it was as old as love, their hearts burning with each. Deep in each other's eyes they could see it, the reason they had started these Nights, the reason Harry got involved with Hermione and Ron at all, the reason they loved each other so. It was beyond sexual release, beyond anything comprehendible with such mediocre words that seemed inadequate in Harry's mind.

It was a need, a basic and compulsory need set deep within the confines of each other's hearts. It was the need to be loved, the need to be together, the need to be wanted. It was everything and everyone, everywhere and everything, it was them. And that was all they needed, each other, if only for this moment, if only for right now.

And that was it, suddenly Ron's lips were fastened to Hermione's and Harry was watching, his hands trembling as the lights dimmed until extinguished, leaving them in the pale glow of the moon that passed through the material of the tent.

But no one would be left out this Night, no one would go lonely, no one would feel empty, not now. Ron's hand grabbed Harry's shirt, pulling him closer and closer until Ron's sweet breath fanned Harry's face, warm and seductive before lightly pressing them together, his tongue playing with his lips, teeth nibbling skin lightly as soft lips parted, and voices sighed.

Hermione's hands were unbuttoning and unfastening, pulling down bits of clothing that held bodies confined and in chains. She trembled like never before, need passing through her body until Ron stopped her, catching her hands with his before kissing just below her jaw, trailing to her ear before whispering sweet breath into the sensitive flesh, a tint of pink fluttering under her skin.

His hands were now at work, pulling hems over heads as pants pooled at their feet. Cold was no longer an object, heat emanating from every cell and every pore, escaping parted lips with a sigh. Like always, Hermione was the first to scream, her voice like music to the boys' ears, her sighs causing tremors to copulate under muscles and sweat to bead on taut skin. She was enough to drive them both insane…

Ron kept his head down, his lips moving over her neck in a whisper, his tongue flicking her collarbone with the lightest caress. His hands gripping her hips firmly, his body sliding downward, hers arching into him, pressing their forms together until, to Harry, they almost seemed as one person, two halves of a whole, moving deep within the Night.

Harry…

No matter who's lips it escaped from it was all he needed, his hands tracing Hermione's line of curves, the swell of her breasts, the outward curve of her hips and the weight of her thighs pressed into Ron's back. Harry bent down then, to capture her lips in a kiss that didn't have to mean forever, a kiss that meant now.

Hermione could tell the difference between her two lovers, Ron's kiss sweet and lazy, his tongue twirling with effortless caresses, his taste subtly spicy yet musky and full of the forest. And with his mouth trailing downward she couldn't help but moan louder, her muscles clenching as his tongue went to work, pushing and working the soft flesh beneath him, teasing the tender folds with hard teeth, nipping slightly before sweeping his tongue in one long, upward motion.

Harry's kiss, however, was almost the complete opposite, he was all spice, a heat that simmered slightly below the surface, never fully breaking through. His mouth worked methodically, his tongue probing and pushing, stroking slightly before biting her lower lip, suckling just before breaking free to trail lighter kisses down her long, slender neck to her collarbone, before sinking his teeth into her sensitive flesh.

She moaned once more, pushing herself deeper into Ron, and pulling Harry closer, looking into his green eyes, looking for forgiveness, looking for the love they had shared on so many Nights as this one.

And she found it, a bright light in the darkness that had filled her for the past weeks, and suddenly release came in a long and blooming burst, her cry tearing into the Night, her eyes screwed shut as Ron brought her down, slowly, kissing and licking, nipping and nudging.

Her eyes were cloudy, her body limp, she was spent, but not finished. She kissed Ron once more, tasting herself, mint and musk on his lips, warm and subtle. She had waited too long, wanted for an immense amount of time, and now it was hers.

She lay Ron down, his hair falling in bright tendrils around his angular face as she straddled him, her hips covering his as she slid down, catching him between her and pushing him inside, watching as his eyes grew wider and wider before they screwed tightly shut, the pleasure too good, almost painful. She lifted her hips, rolling them in a small tight circle before lowering herself once more and repeating the process, Ron's head rolling from side to side.

Harry caught Ron's mouth, for the first time in months satisfying the hunger that tore at him restlessly, the pain that drove into his heart where the horcrux lay, the hatred that consumed his mind. Ron took it away, his mouth stroking Harry's, their tongues meeting in frustration, Ron taking Harry's lower lip into his mouth, suckling lightly before letting go with a slight catch of his teeth. Harry almost groaned.

Hermione continued her mission, one hand braced behind herself and one on Ron's lower stomach, her nails digging lightly, the inner struggle for release etched on her features, buried in the wild look in her eyes. Ron was second to go, his moan catching in his throat as his hips pushed up into Hermione's, her arching back pressing him to the hilt of her, catching nerve endings she thought had never existed. Their release came simultaneously, their moans entangling with each other as the motion of their bodies slowed but never stopped.

Harry was watching the two, their love the only thing that brought Harry back each time he had gone into Voldemort's mind, their love for each other the only thing that made him believe in love in the first place, the true, pure kind that's rarely noticed for what it was anymore, that kind that made Harry's heart ache with need.

Soon Ron's lips were on Harry's neck, nibbling the flesh, catching his collarbone before laving his tongue in the hollow of his throat, Hermione already intent on Harry's mouth, her tongue playing wicked games with his swollen, pink lips. Ron's hands were already at Harry's thighs, his fingers slowly pressing and pushing the flesh closest to where he wanted his touch most, where he burned to be teased and touched.

Ron's breath fanned over his hot skin, the flat of his tongue running along the underside of Harry's erection, which was impossibly painful. And then he took him fully into the warm silk of his mouth, and Harry was lost.

There was no more Voldemort, no more race to save the wizard and muggle world alike, there was no prophecy and there was no dead parents, no horcrux, no pain. There was only Ron and Hermione, Hermione looking deeply into his eyes before claiming his lips again in a painfully domineering kiss that burned him with need, saturated him with heat.

Ron was intent on bringing the pleasure higher and higher until Harry thought he would burst from the sensations of it all. The war for release raging inside of him as his thoughts were lost, and he could feel it as if it were just over the edge…

And he took it, the waves of orgasm rushing through him, colors bursting beneath his eyelids, dancing with Ron's tongue, in turn, which kissed lightly up his chest, and rested there, feeling his heartbeat, watching his breathing slow.

Hermione lay between the two, her body pressed deeply into Ron's as her back secured herself to Harry, his hands on her hips as he fell asleep for the first time in months, feeling the warm and dark oblivion take him under.

Ron lay with Hermione's head lightly on his chest, her hand grasped tightly in his tufts of orange hair, Harry's arm around his waist as his head buried deep within his neck, his warm breath making the small hairs on Ron's neck rise.

Whatever his reason for leaving had been, they seemed lost in this moment, hazy and stupid. He knew that the end result would be worth the journey, but he also knew the journey was worth more than where you ended up at, no matter how long that last moment is, no matter how it happens or what seems to be, it's never as good as the journey that got you there, and with this in mind, Ron finally let sleep take him after months of lying in bed, helpless to the grief that tore at him night after night.

As they slept soundly none of them were disturbed by the rush of wind that miraculously began to sing through the trees, pushing the underbrush along the broken paths, littered with fallen snow and scattered leaves. Maybe it was the sound of triumph, or maybe it was evil upon this wind, but no one was awake to notice, and as they slept tightly confined to one another, their limbs tangled and entwined, not one of them really cared.

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