Harry scribbles his signature on the contract with a flourish, rolls it up, and ties it to Pennywort's outstretched leg. She wobbles a bit and inclines her head, waiting for the affection she thinks she is rightfully due. When Harry takes longer than she prefers to give her a good scratch, she snaps at him and ruffles her feathers. Big, round eyes blink back at him without apology.

"You're a menace," he laughs. "Adorable and precious, but a menace all the same."

She lets out an indignant squawk and is gone.

It's been a week since the dinner party, and in that time, much has happened. Harry's relationship with Draco has been fraught with more contact. Specifically, slow, deep kisses in the morning, not to mention the impromptu snogging sessions in shadowy corners all over the Manor. He doesn't feel the need to progress to sex, instead, taking the time to acclimate Draco to the wonders of affectionate anticipation. They're comfortable right now, and the sense of ease between them is more than satisfactory. More will come, he has no doubt. There is no need to rush. He's not going anywhere.

When he hasn't seen Draco for meals or been accosting him in corridors, he's been holed up in his office with his head stuck in the Floo. Harry thinks Draco's come to decisions regarding the Malfoy trust, but hasn't pressed for details. He'll let Draco come to him in his own time. And Harry has all the time in the world.

He's gotten back into painting, and reached out to Luna at the prospect of opening a gallery in Hogsmeade. She readily agreed, and even made a trip over to the Manor to see Harry's studio and catch up. Luna's wise and accepting soul worked its magic on both Malfoys, and soon they took tea in the solarium as if nothing had ever happened. The Manor itself was pleased beyond measure at her forgiveness, thrumming happily as Harry and Draco gave her a proper tour. Now that he's sent Pennywort back with the signed contract, it wouldn't be long before their venture would come to fruition.

The addition of Neville at the breakfast table five days out of seven came as no surprise to anyone, and Harry thinks the Floo between Narcissa's chambers and Hogwarts should just turn itself into a revolving door and be done with it. Either that, or just move in.

Harry turns to get back to painting when Blinky pops in, her sunny yellow ruffles and bright eyes making her glow with happiness.

"Master Harry's Weasley is being to see you."

"Thank you, Blinky. Show him in here, please. And you look positively radiant today, I might say."

She giggles and blushes to the tips of her long, bow-laden ears before popping back out.

Ron strolls in a few seconds later, disheveled and out of sorts.

"I'm in the shit, Harry. The absolute shit."

"You look like it," Harry responds, smiling. "Sit down, you berk. What's happened?"

Ron flops down onto the sofa Draco insisted upon adding to the room for his own comfort and groans. He tips back his head and slings an arm over his face. "I take back everything negative thing I ever said about your kind of relationships."

Harry swivels on his stool to face him. "That's ominous. Girl trouble?"

Ron shifts his arm and opens one eye to glare at him. "You don't know the half of it."

"So, go on, spit it out."

"I slept with Parkinson."

"What?" Harry leaps from his stool and stalks over to rip Ron's arm off his face. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Ron sits up as Harry plonks down beside him, not shrinking from Harry's disapproving frown. "It's not like that," he starts. "I mean, it's okay, I guess, but—"

"How the fuck is it okay, you guess? You cheated on Hermione, you git!"

Ron's face turns sheepish. "Really, it's okay." He pauses and Harry lets him have the moment. "Because 'Mione slept with her, too."

"What? To get back at you?" Harry snarls. "Jesus, Ron—"

Ron shrugs. "Not separately," he offers.

Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You mean together?"

Ron nods.

"You had a threesome with your wife and Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yeah."

Harry rubs a hand over his face. "How did this even happen?"

"I don't know," Ron whines, slipping back down into the cushions. "It just happened. Hermione wanted to talk to her more about this new shop she's opening, and she invited her round." Ron glanced up at him. "We had her over for dinner. Then we had her on the kitchen table. And again in the sitting room. I think I fucked up my back. If this continues, it will likely kill me."

"Possibly, but I don't think you'll die happier."

"No doubt."

Harry slumps his head and closes his eyes, but soon his shoulders are shaking with quiet laughter. Ron hits him with a pillow in protest.

"Oi! This is my life you're laughing about!"

"I know," Harry says, still laughing. He snatches the pillow from Ron's hands. "And it's funny."

Ron groans again. "What am I going to do, Harry?"

"About what? Was this a one-off, or is it happening again?"

"Merlin, I don't fucking know. You're the expert when it comes to shit like this." Harry cocks an eyebrow in response and Ron hedges, "You know, odd—er, things. Experiences. Situations." He gestures vaguely. "Less…than conventional sexual practices."

"You keep saying 'kettle', but all I'm seeing is 'pot'."

"Oh, fuck off, you know what I mean."

Harry sighs and nudges at him with a foot. "Do you want it to happen again? Both of you? And what about Pansy? How did you leave things?"

He shrugs again. "Fine, I suppose. When she left, there were goodbye kisses and hugs, but none of that, 'I'll owl you' awkwardness. She didn't seem concerned at all."

Harry shakes his head. "So, you're saying that you had fabulous, and I'm assuming it was fabulous, sex with two women, everybody left happy, and there was no weirdness at all? Is that what you're saying?"

"Essentially, yeah."

Harry snorts. "Yes, I can see how this would be troublesome."

Ron flips two fingers at him. "You know, I thought you'd be a lot more helpful. I see that Malfoy's charm is contagious around here."

Harry grins. "It kind of is." He shifts and pokes at Ron again to get his full attention. "So…how was it?"

"Two women. One Ron. The maths pretty much have to equal amazing. Even if I just got to sit there and watch." He laughs. "Seriously, though, and this isn't to disparage 'Mione in the least—" Ron pauses as if he's waiting for permission. "It was the best sex of my life. Is that horrible? I think it should feel horrible on some level considering how much I love my wife."

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think I want the details as to how it all happened, but now that is has…how are you and Hermione? This sort of thing can change a relationship."

Ron's head falls back onto the sofa. "Yeah. We had a—" he makes finger quotes in the air, "talk." He laughs. "Frankly, when she brought it up, it didn't send me into a cold sweat like it normally does. You know how she gets when she's in 'discussion mode'."

Harry chuckles with him. "Yeah, I've never envied you that."

"But we sat down after Par—Pansy, I'm supposed to call her Pansy now—left. We talked about it, and it was different afterward than we thought. It was, I dunno, special. It really was. I mean, she stayed for a while. She didn't just get up and dressed and run out. We lounged naked on the couch for hours." He sighs. "We had more sex. The two of us. I felt closer to her than ever. And 'Mione said she felt the same way, that what happened with Pansy didn't detract from us, it made it better." He turns to Harry with mild confusion. "Is that fucked up?"

"No. Because whatever is good between the two of you isn't wrong, as long as you're not hurting someone else in the process." He eyes Ron good to drive the meaning home.

Ron has the decency to shoot his eyes to the floor and murmur, "Yeah, I get it now."

"And Pansy hung out after? That's a good sign that she was comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Ron snorts. "The woman was laid out between us on the sofa like a damned buffet table. Like the spot was hers all along." He closes his eyes and blows out a soft breath. "Maybe it is."

Harry can tell Ron is on the verge of a heavy confession, and knowing the man like he does, he knows that heartfelt expressions don't come easy for his friend. Harry relaxes and waits him out to see if Ron finally opens up.

"Hermione and I, despite our differences, have always worked well as a couple. I mean, at heart, we are two totally fundamental people, right? But, we balance each other out. Even though there's so much we have in common, there are things about us that keep us separate. Individual. That's not a bad thing," he rushes to say, "It keeps us on our toes, you know? And for all that we are one unit, there's always been this tiny space that, I dunno, divides us somehow." He rubs a resigned hand over his face. "But Pansy—I mean, she just came over and stepped right into it and filled it. Like it was nothing. We came together, the three of us, and there was no awkwardness, no 'where should I put my hands' or 'am I getting this right'. She came in and we just…clicked. We clicked. A lot. There was a lot of clicking. I think we traumatized Crookshanks and ruined the good rug. My mother gave us that rug. I shudder to think what would happen if she knew what we did on it." Harry laughs with him as he continues, "She just takes up those parts that Hermione and I can't come together on. I mean, there we are, all three of us, naked on that fucking couch, her sprawled out between us. She's got her head in 'Mione's lap, and they're kissing and stroking each other's hair, talking about Shakespeare, and kitten heels, and quarterly fiscal earnings. Just all cozied up together, gorgeous and happy. And the next second, Pansy's poking me with a toe, giving me shit about the Cannons, and demanding a foot rub."

"So what did you do?"

He looks at Harry as if he's asked the stupidest question on earth. "I've just had the best sex of my life, I'm naked on the sofa with two of the most gorgeous women on the planet, and it all feels right somehow. What do you think I did? I rubbed her damn feet and loved every second of it."

"Again," Harry says with a smile, "where's the problem?"

Ron gives him a half-hearted smile, "Shit if I know."

"You going to see her again?" Harry asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Already have. She's coming by again at the weekend."

Harry shoves at him. "So you only came by to brag, then?"

Ron beams back at him. "Might have done."

"Arse."

"Look, the pool of friends I have to share this with is painfully shallow. If anybody would understand, it would be you."

"Even though I'm gay, and have no interest in women whatsoever?"

Ron shoves him back. "Oi! I've had the good graciousness to apologize for my idiocy where your love life is concerned, and even gone so far as to, as much as it galls me, make nice with Malfoy. The least you can do is be happy and supportive of the sudden and apparent change to my sex life."

"Fine, fine," Harry chuckles. He clears his throat and says soberly, "You're the luckiest man I know."

Ron bursts out laughing. "You suck at this. That is all." He claps Harry on the back and grasps his shoulder. "I know this is different from the kind of relationship you have with Malfoy, but I can see where you're coming from. And Malfoy's not so bad, I know. If he was, you wouldn't still be here. I talked to him the other night at dinner. We've made our peace. I'm happy for you. And him, the pointy git."

Harry has to swallow back the lump in his throat. "Thanks, mate. That means a lot. You don't know how much. You're family, and Draco is important to me. I just want you all to get along without it being difficult."

"Nah," Ron waves him off. "I've got my own Slytherin to deal with now. And Pansy and Draco are still tight. So I imagine it's going to be a flat-out riot from now on." He shakes Harry for good measure. "Think about it—Hermione, Pansy, and Draco. Merlin help us. We're gonna need it."