What Else Can We Do?

Part 1:

The Dreamers

Chapter 5:

'And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all' –

If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all.''

-'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' by T.S. Elliot

Aberforth had left the worst for last.

It had been a backhanded comment in and amongst his accusations of them being disrespectful during an argument Harry had been intent on starting with him. It'd been moments after Aberforth's little 'test' with Ron and Hermione as oblivious lab rats, when Harry had felt as if the air had been knocked out of him, aching with confused hurt, ready to lash out at anything or anyone.

'Don't you dare take that tone with me, boy. I gave up everyone and everything I had left in my time to give you the tools to defeat that monster. I made sure you'd survive the Change by bonding you three together - ' Aberforth had said, close to yelling, incensed and so bloody righteous. After Harry had gotten over the man's audacity to whine about his own sacrifices once again, what he said hit him. The rage that burst into life in his chest was cold like the despair that accompanied it. Hermione butted in then to interrogate Aberforth, furious and frightening when she finally rooted out the truth.

Harry slid down the rock he'd been leaning on to the ground and put his head in his hands. He had had enough of meddling old men and their obstinate tendency to mess everything up in his life. Using the heels of his palms, Harry rubbed at his eyes until they hurt. He didn't know what else to do but leave after Hermione had pried the truth from Aberforth. Thankfully no one had followed him. He supposed they were too stunned like him to do anything but gape.

They were bonded together with magic. Aberforth had made his excuses, of course. They needed a sure and steady source of sustenance. They needed lovers who would never betray them, or the all-important 'mission'. The choice was obvious, of course. Harry was sick of the amount of justifications he had heard from that man, that Aberforth, who seemed to have the worst of his brother in him and more.

They were bonded together. He couldn't be with anyone else but his bonded. Those were the stone cold facts. With one backhanded comment, Aberforth had shattered something in him. He had stolen all but one future from Harry, made him shelve his dreams and finally become the self-sacrificing hero everyone expected him to be, the one he had become afraid of as the body count around him mounted. His parents, Cedric, Sirius…

He hid his face in his arms and tried to bite back the tears. He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew he shouldn't be crying over something that couldn't be changed. He knew he had to keep going, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want this awful situation to force him to see his two best friends in the whole world, who'd been at his side through thick and thin, who deserved so much more than this, as something else, as a duty – or worse, merely as food sources. He wanted it all to be like it was before so badly it hurt.

Unbidden, the memory of Ron and Hermione's kiss came to him, clear as day, complete with the finer details of happy smiles and eyes full of wonder. They had each other and he would only get in the way. They were in love, as he'd always suspected, and not with him, not in the way that mattered now when they wore the bond's shackles. The memory made his hunger worse, enough to make his sides ache.

But it didn't bother him, not really. Hunger had disappeared into the background a long time ago. It had taken the last possible spot on the list of necessary things in his life when Sirius died, grief taking its place instead on centre stage.

It didn't bother him, not that much. He would deal with it, like he always had.

xXx

Hermione put her hand in the stream and watched the running water rush by it, musing over how it was just short of a distracting cold. For a moment, she let herself consider a sad thought, one out of the many she'd pushed aside for another time, all stemming from the realisation of what she had truly lost because of the Change. It was the small things that got to her first. She thought of how she'd never know what it was like to be thirsty again. She'd never again enjoy a cup of tea, or take refuge in the everyday ritual of offering, drinking and sharing it with people. With humans, she corrected herself. There was nothing like the strangeness of that thought.

With a sigh, she took out her hand and shook it, then dried it on her breeches. She knew she had to be stronger than this aimless feeling of loss. She looked across at Ron, who was washing his hands downstream, his tailcoat cuffs rolled back, and found herself smiling. Perhaps she needed to remember that even for all she had lost, she had gained something phenomenal. It did not make up for all of what she had lost, but it was a damn good start. It put the standard of her return quite high too.

As Hermione rubbed her hand warm, her mind went back to Harry. She knew what she had to do – what she had to convince him of – but she couldn't do it alone. She moved over to Ron, biting her lip as she thought over just how to start the peculiar conversation she needed to have with him.

'Hullo,' she said as she sat down next to him. Ron eased out of his crouch and put his feet in the stream with a contented sigh. He smiled warmly at her then, expression turning curious when she did not return it.

'What's picking at your brain, Hermione?' Ron said as he took her hand in his, their fingers intertwining. 'Anything I can help with?'

'Yeah, as matter of fact you're the only one who can,' Hermione replied with a cheeky grin, giddy at how casually he had taken her hand, how right it felt. Ron chuckled and kissed her forehead.

'I'm glad. You looked quite worried a moment ago.'

'It's about Harry,' she said soberly. Ron's expression changed and she worried for a second that that had been the wrong thing to say. But it became relief when Ron nodded solemnly. 'I think I know what we have to do. I've thought hard about this. Aberforth hasn't left us with much of a choice, you know,' Hermione continued quietly, covering their clasped hands with her free one. 'But we can make do. Harry's . . . Harry's not thinking clearly right now and can't see this. I think the ritual, the bond . . . all of this was the last straw after what happened to Sirius.'

'So what can we do?' Ron asked.

'We have to do what is necessary,' Hermione replied, trying not to sound resigned. 'Harry's reticence is going to have severe consequences for him now. He has to be with us to survive. He has no other choice, no matter how hard that is to face.'

'Us?' Ron cut in confusedly.

Hermione stared at him, cautious and considering. 'This is where I need your help. I've thought of how we could . . . arrange ourselves in this predicament of a bond. I thought of being with both of you, but I realised that it would never work because it'd be too hard on you.'

'What?'

'Ron, you'll get jealous.'

'Hermione, I know I've had a bad turn now and then, but that doesn't mean I'll -'

'Ron . . . If you do get jealous over sharing me with Harry, you'll be a ticking time bomb. And we'll lose Harry. I won't take that chance. And I know you don't want that to happen either.'

The fight seemed to leave Ron then. He looked down at their hands and said, 'What's the alternative?'

'We all become lovers,' she simply said. The idea had seemed so strange to her at first. Harry was like a brother. She'd thought of all the times her love for him could've – should've – become romantic but didn't. It had been persistently platonic to the extent that she'd often imagined being a bridesmaid at Harry's wedding one day with Ron as his best man. She hadn't ever imagined being in his bed instead.

But everything had changed. Time would tell if it had for the better, but for now . . .

'A threesome?' Ron blurted out. 'But he's a guy!'

'So?'

'I don't like blokes, Hermione.'

She tilted her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. She looked into his eyes with a soft smile as she reached up and touched his cheek. 'How can you be so sure of that? I'm pretty sure you felt it too when we kissed. How our senses have heightened,' she murmured her gaze following her fingertips as she ran them down the side of his face and then his neck to linger there where it met the shoulder. 'How sensual touch is now. How intense tastes are.'

She leaned up and kissed him, slow and sweet, just because she could. And in that moment, she wanted nothing more.

There was a part of her mind that was always on the move, insistent on constantly cataloguing, calculating and comparing, trying to mark the difference the Change made to her senses. But when she kissed Ron, it was soon lost with the rest of her in how consuming each and every sensation was, drowning out all thought, making her so very present, bewildered and delighted.

They parted and Hermione whispered, their faces still close, 'Don't over think it. Give yourself a chance to find out if you could like it.' She placed a kiss on Ron's knuckles. 'I know I'm asking a lot, but you'd try for Harry wouldn't you?'

Ron frowned and shook his head frustratedly, closing his eyes for the moment. 'But what if . . .' he let out a huff of air. 'What if I try and find out that I don't want him?'

Hermione's expression became troubled then. 'Harry doesn't have a choice. And neither do we. If that is indeed the case, then you'll have to make Harry believe you do want him because you know Harry wouldn't accept this arrangement any other way.'

'But I'd have to lie to him . . .' Ron trailed off uncertainly.

'I know. But it's necessary. Hell, I don't even know if I want him either. But we have to try. Maybe one day we'll learn to love him in that way.'

'I hope so, for all our sakes. I've never been a good liar.'

Hermione wanted to smooth away the uneasy frown on Ron's face and soothe his fears with gentle words, with a kiss. But she knew that her attempts wouldn't make them disappear entirely. Maybe it wasn't good enough, but it was the best she could do.

'Hey, you,' she said as she nudged him with her shoulder. Ron glanced at her distractedly. 'You're a nincompoop, you know that?'

'Did you just call me a nincompoop?' Ron asked indignantly.

'Yup,' she replied with a grin, heart beating fast and joyously. 'And guess what? I'm in love with a nincompoop like you.'

'Oh, yeah? Lucky bloke.'

'I wholeheartedly agree,' she said before she kissed him again.

xXx

'Harry, we need to talk,' Hermione said, her tone on the edge of stern.

Ron very nearly winced for his best mate when Hermione strung him that line, one that always meant trouble and terrified lesser men. But Harry wasn't one, it seemed, just decidedly unhappy. Harry simply sat there, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around then, his chin resting on the latter, peering miserably out at the world. He glanced at their joined hands, eyes unreadable.

Ron hated it.

Harry wasn't the kind of bloke that gave up easily. But the Harry before him looked very close to doing so. So Ron did the first thing that came to his mind. 'Here, take my hand,' Ron said, offering Harry his free one.

'What?' Harry blurted out, disconcerted. 'Why?'

'Contact seems to calm us down now, so shut up and take my hand, you twit,' Ron said, blushing. Harry did so without a word, a little weirded out.

'So,' Hermione drew the word out a little, glancing inquisitively between the two of them, amused but doing an awful job of hiding it. 'I'm going to be plain with you, Harry,' she started, suddenly all business, 'This bond between us means we cannot be with anyone else. Our . . . food supply is very limited as you can well imagine.' Ron felt just as awkward as Harry looked with those words. 'We need sexual energy to survive. If we are to get out of this alive, then we have to become lovers. Ron,' Hermione shot him a dazzling smile then, 'and I have agreed that we can only do this all together, or not at all.'

Harry's eyes were wide. 'Are you suggesting . . . that we all - ?' He stopped, speechless. He looked at both of them, but lingered more on Ron, more than just a bit disbelieving.

Hermione nodded in reply, and added, 'It may not be what we want, but it's what we have to do.'

'Thank you for your most generous offer,' Harry said, his expression hardening, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. 'But I don't want to be a charity case. Be together. It's clearly what you both want.'

'But what if we want you too?' Ron interjected, too angry to care that he stuttered just a little at the end, hating how dejected Harry looked even if the little twit was being ridiculous and frankly deserved it.

'Don't be daft.'

'Bloody hell,' Ron turned to Hermione, 'is this what it's like dealing with me on a daily basis?'

Hermione simply laughed as if she couldn't help it. Harry let go of Ron's hand with a huff and studiously refused to look at them, even suffering the indignity of being poked on the arm and knee by insistent friends rather than give in.

'Mate,' Ron leaned into his line of sight and offered his hand again. 'We're like those three 'Basketeers' from that muggle story you like,' Ron said, ignoring Hermione's snort and whispered correction of 'Musketeers', 'All for one, one for all, yeah?'

Harry finally looked up at him then, surprised. Ron controlled the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, Harry had read it years ago, but contrary to what other's believed, he did remember some things. The things that mattered. After a tense moment, in which Harry glanced between them searchingly, he took Ron's hand and gripped it tight.

'Yeah, I suppose we are,' Harry said with the smallest of smiles.