Chapter Text
It was an uncommonly warm day at the Camp for Muggleborn Integration, Networking, and Goodwill Experiences. The air held the haze of late summer, the sun’s golden rays tinting the world with the sepia tones of an old photograph. The spires of Hogwarts were gilded but indistinct in the distance, a shimmering filter of heat obscuring them. Birds flitted through the dark green leaves of the bowers of the Forbidden Forest, and nectar-drunk bumblebees bobbed between daisies in the grass below. The dappled shade didn’t quite reach the ring of cabins squatting alongside the forest, but a breeze drifting up from the cool waters of the Black Lake kept the heat just this side of tolerable. Hermione fanned herself, surreptitiously unsticking her shorts where sweat and humidity made them cling to her thighs as she surveyed her camp.
Groups of ten- and eleven-year-olds in camp shirts trailed after counselors like baby ducklings. Their lime-green shirts were stamped with a logo: a campfire built from wands, with Camp M.I.N.G.E. emblazoned across the top. Hermione had regrets about delegating the shirt design to Luna without more oversight. By the time she opened the box to unpack them, it was too late to remake them. The incoming Muggleborns still hadn’t stopped tittering about it two weeks into camp.
Groups of campers moved between a mixture of Muggle and magical activities. Hagrid was introducing a giggling cluster of children to a pen of Jarveys near the forest. The dog-sized ferrets were gamboling, a never-ending stream of rude comments flowing from their mouth. There was a craft lesson happening on the other side of camp, the children watching as Luna demonstrated how to braid a bracelet of brightly colored cord. On the edge of the lake, the charmed rowboats were completing a circuit of the lake, the Giant Squid’s arms waving gently as it basked. Lee Jordan was demonstrating basic broom skills, and behind him was the archery range. Hermione frowned to see it empty. She consulted her clipboard, a color-coded timesheet clipped to it. As she thought, Ron was supposed to be manning that station.
Suddenly, shouting shattered the calm, a burst of comingled voices, masculine and angry. Hermione’s head whipped around. She couldn’t see the source of the sound, but she immediately knew. That was Ron’s voice… and Draco’s.
Again.
Hermione dropped her clipboard and raced towards the shouting, stumbling as she rounded the corner of a cabin. She skidded to a halt at the sight in front of her. Ron had Draco’s white camp counselor shirt by the collar, faces only inches apart. A semi-circle of campers surrounded them, yelling protests or whooping encouragement while Neville attempted to herd them away. She couldn’t make out what Ron and Draco were shouting in the cacophony, nor did she care. Their wands were scattered in the dirt by their feet. Whether they disarmed each other or dropped them in their bloodlust was hard to say. Hermione summoned them wordlessly, then sent a shower of red sparks into the sky with a loud bang.
The campers startled, heads whipping towards her, but Ron and Draco remained locked in their scuffle. Campers parted before her, and many began retreating to their cabins as she pointed her wand at the pair. Ron drew his fist back, and Hermione sent her next volley of sparks directly between them. It exploded between their faces, the sound and shockwave sending them tumbling backwards into the dirt.
Hermione shouted, “Show’s over! Everyone back to their cabins! Neville, Luna, could you…?” She didn’t wait for a response before marching over and standing over the two men, glowering down with hands on her hips. “You two, my office, now,” she hissed.
“Hermione, he was–” Ron started.
“Granger, your boyfriend–” Draco spoke at the same time.
“Shut it, both of you. My office, NOW,” she repeated, then spun on her heels and strode back to the office, hearing the shuffling of them climbing to their feet and following.
She held open the door and stood to the side, glaring as they trudged in, twin sullen expressions on their faces. She followed them into her cramped office and slammed the door closed behind them.
“In front of the campers? What were you thinking?” she spat.
“He insulted my mother!” Ron said. The men had positioned themselves as far as possible from each other in the small space, but the tension in the room was still fit to burn.
“You insulted mine first!” Draco retorted.
“It’s not an insult if it's the truth,” Ron said, voice dark.
Draco started to move toward Ron, fists clenched. Hermione held up her wand again, and both men froze.
“Enough! I cannot believe you two!” She began pacing in the limited space, frustration bubbling over. “This camp was designed to demonstrate that the Wizarding World has moved past its prejudices. The whole point is to foster connections that would have been impossible before the war. You agreed,” she pointed at them both in turn, “that this mission was important. You both agreed that you could put the past behind you. Those first years out there are looking at all of us to learn how this world works. It’s the Muggleborns’ first exposure to the Wizarding World, and it is many of the purebloods' first exposure to a world outside of their parents’ control. You cannot set this example! It undermines everything we are meant to be doing here.” Hermione looked between them, vulnerability showing beneath her anger. “This was my idea, my plan. It has been years in the making. If you undermine the camp, you undermine me.”
For the first time, Ron looked sheepish. “Hermione, I’m sorry. I know how important this is. It’s just… Why is Malfoy even here? He and his family are part of the reason this needs to exist in the first place!” he said.
“That’s why I am here, you tosser,” Malfoy replied, exasperation pulling his voice thin. “I am trying to make it right. And it's a better reason than you have! You’re just here to hang on to your girlfriend’s coattails, like always.”
“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Ron said. His cheeks and ears were crimson, broad shoulders held back defiantly. “My motivations aren’t the ones in question here.”
“Stop calling me his girlfriend, you know I’m not,” Hermione said, rubbing her temples. “No one’s motivations are in question here. If you would just talk to each other, you’d understand that you agree on a lot more than you know.”
Malfoy scoffed, turning away from Ron with a sneer. Ron’s face was stony, chin jutting out in the mulish way she knew meant that his heels were dug in and he was no longer listening.
“Just stay away from me and I won’t have to ruin your pointy little face,” Ron growled.
“Fine by me, Weasley. If I never set eyes on you again, it would vastly improve my life.” Draco said, a sneer twisting his handsome face.
Hermione took a deep, calming breath through her nose and silently counted to five. Hermione had read every people management book she could get her hands on before becoming Camp Director. She sorted through the conflict resolution techniques she had learned, but none of them accounted for how utterly childish they were being.
Hermione said, “That isn’t good enough. You’ll never solve anything that way. You can’t always avoid each other, and then you just blow up when you’re forced together. You need to work this out, once and for all.” An idea dawned on her, a story from a primary school friend bubbling up in her memory. “So, we’ll just have to give you plenty of chances to figure out how to work together.” She summoned a camp shirt from one of the boxes stacked under her desk. With a swish of her wand, it grew much wider, the neck hole splitting into two.
“Granger, just what do you think you’re–” Draco started, then shouted with surprise when another wave of her wand dragged him across the room to stand chest to chest with Ron. Before either man could react, Hermione forced the enlarged shirt over both their heads, trapping them together. Hermione waved her wand again. Bold black writing formed across the front.
THE GET-ALONG SHIRT
Ron and Draco were both shouting now, shoving against each other and trying to wrench the shirt off. A quick sticking charm foiled their efforts, and the shouting redoubled. Ron reached for his wand. Shock splashed across his face when he came up empty, and Hermione twisted to show where they stuck from her back pocket.
Ron started forward but jerked against the shirt. He shouted, “Give me back my wand right–”
Hermione silenced them with a wordless wave of her wand. “This is a get-along shirt. Muggles use them when children won’t stop fighting. You will keep this shirt on until you have worked out your issues to MY satisfaction. Or, you are both fired and will be going home.” They shouted futilely at her, gesticulating wildly with the arms that weren’t stuck in the shirt.
Hermione waited, hands on her hips, until the thrashing settled down. Once they had calmed into sullen glares, she reversed the silencing spell.
“This is absurd, Hermione! You can’t seriously expect me to be attached to him all day!” Ron burst out.
“I’m not a Muggle child, Granger. Give me my wand back immediately!” Draco snarled.
“Oh, you’re not? Because you were certainly acting like one!” She glared between the two, and they withered slightly. “I have tried so many techniques to help you work peacefully together, but you insist on acting like children. Well, if you’re going to act like children, you’re going to get treated like children!” Exasperation sent her voice shrill, and Ron and Draco both cringed. “Now, you can come with me and work on your issues, or you can take your wand and go home. Up to you.” She held the wands out.
Ron glared at Hermione, teeth grinding in his jaw. He looked at his wand, and Hermione’s stomach dropped. She took a breath, then raised her chin defiantly. If she had to finish out the week short-staffed, it would be easier than spending so much time managing their conflicts.
“If Weasley is too cowardly to do it, do I still get to stay?” Draco asked, eyes on his wand.
Ron spun in the shirt, chest to chest with Draco once more. “I am not a coward!”
“Looks to me like you’re running away… again,” Draco drawled.
Ron blanched, jaw clenched and eyes hot.
“Draco, enough. I see what you’re doing. You can’t get out of this by provoking him. If he leaves because you’re being a total arse, you’re out too. I won’t permit you to abuse each other,” Hermione said.
Draco scowled, but kept his mouth shut.
Hermione nodded. “Good. Ronald, are you in or are you out?”
Ron gritted his teeth, then nodded stiffly. “I’m in.”
“Draco?” She asked.
“Against my better judgement, I’m in,” he drawled.
“Excellent!” Hermione said. “Follow me.” She opened the door of her office and stepped into the bright afternoon light. She retrieved her clipboard and looked it over, trying to look as though she had a plan. She had no idea what she was going to do with them, but she needed to project confidence.
Her salvation came, as it often did, in the form of Harry Potter.
“Hey Hermione, we’re just about ready for the… ropes… course…” Harry was jogging up from the Quidditch pitch. His voice faltered as he noticed Ron and Draco behind Hermione. He looked from her to them, confusion and concern growing on his face.
“Perfect!” Hermione chirped, false chipperness in her voice. “Ron, Draco, you’ll be helping Harry run the ropes course. It’s the perfect opportunity for some cooperation.”
“Do I want to know?” Harry asked.
“Ron and Draco are setting a team building example for the campers,” Hermione said, her voice bright and brittle.
“Fighting again? Ron, c’mon mate, you gotta just learn to ignore the tosser,” Harry said with a sigh. “He’s not that bad anymore, he’s just got a terminal case of not-knowing-when-to-shut-up.”
Draco made a small noise of displeasure, and Harry grinned at him.
“Harry, please talk some sense into her! She’s gone barmy this time,” Ron pleaded.
Harry put his hands up, shooting a cautious look at Hermione. “I’m staying out of it. I don’t want to end up in there, too.”
“Traitor,” Ron hissed.
“Hey now, don’t get shirty with me,” Harry said. Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line to hold back her chuckle as Harry beamed at his joke.
Draco clicked his tongue. “Of course, you would run to Saint Potter for backup. Have you ever accomplished anything without him?” he sneered.
“Real rich coming from you, Malfoy. I’m sure your father will be hearing about this. Oh, wait. No, he won’t. Because he’s still in Azkaban,” Ron snarled back. There was a struggle inside the shirt as they jostled, shoving at each other.
“You sure one of them isn’t going to end up dead?” Harry whispered to Hermione, watching the pair teeter as the shirt resisted their attempts to push each other away.
She winced as they overbalanced. Fighting against each other, they weren’t able to catch themselves. Limbs wheeled in all directions, each man’s attempt to catch themself pulling the other down again. Hermione fought a laugh as they toppled in cartoonish slow motion to the ground. Benny Hill couldn’t have staged it better. They both yelped with alarm as Draco landed on top of Ron, braced on his knees and free arm to hover above him.
“Get off me!” Ron bellowed. He tried to roll away, but the action caught the fabric of the shirt and swept Draco’s arm from under him.
He landed on Ron’s chest with a loud “Oof”, immediately scrambling to regain distance. “Stop pulling me, you idiot!” he hissed as they lurched again, legs tangling.
“You stop pushing me!” Ron snapped back. They were kicking up a cloud of dust now, wriggling in the dirt, trying to right themselves with one arm each.
“This is going great,” Hermione muttered, massaging her forehead against the headache that had been growing since this started.
Harry snickered, shaking his head. “I admire your optimism, Hermione, but I think those two might be a lost cause.”
“No, this can work. They just need to break the cycle of provoking each other,” Hermione muttered to Harry. “The point is to work together,” Hermione said, voice raised over their shouting. “You need to coordinate your efforts.” Two pairs of furious eyes snapped to her. The heat and anger in their blue and grey eyes focused on her. In any other situation, it might have been intimidating. Now, though, she rolled her lips in to prevent smiling at how ridiculous they looked. “Go on, help each other up.”
Draco glared at Ron, then at her, then at Harry, for good measure. Harry held up his hands innocently. Hermione shifted back on her heels, rocking idly up and down as if they had all the time in the world. Draco groaned, then looked back down at Ron. Ron was glaring up at him, but finally holding still. Draco got his arm under himself again and hoisted himself off Ron onto his knees. The resistance of the shirt nearly tugged him back down, but Ron’s hand flew up and braced his shoulder. With a small nod, they sat up in unison. There was more shuffling and swearing as they got their legs untangled and got onto their knees.
“Three… two… one,” Ron muttered, and they surged upwards together. They were finally on their feet again, dirty, panting, and tight-eyed. Hermione sent a scourgify over them, then walked over to fix Ron’s hair. The ginger strands slipped smoothly through her fingers as she brushed them out of his face. Angry though he was, he still leaned into her touch, posture softening.
She and Ron weren’t a couple, it was true, but they were something more than friends. They had dated for a while after the Battle of Hogwarts, but they were too young and too wounded. They needed to figure out who they were in the aftermath of war, and it was hard to do that in the confines of a relationship that everyone thought would end in marriage. The breakup had mostly been a relief, and their friendship remained strong.
In the back of her mind, she always thought it was likely that someday the banked coals of their early love would ignite again. Not being together didn’t stop them from falling into bed together frequently over the last seven years. They weren’t monogamous. One of the things they both needed to explore was their respective sexualities, and there had been other men and women for both of them. Sex with Ron was too good, though, and the comfort and familiarity of each other’s bodies too soothing a balm. Her touch had always calmed him, as his steadied her.
Draco, on the other hand, excited her. He had been circling in her periphery since he re-entered society after his home arrest ended. He alternated between flirtation and self-castigation. She knew what he wanted, but didn’t think he deserved. She had been suspicious at first, walls up and on guard for manipulation. Over time, with the evidence of his changed ways undeniable, she had softened towards him. He was intelligent, curious, funny, and, God help her, beautiful. His aristocratic features and patrician nose belonged on a statue, and his Quidditch-toned body looked equally carved from stone. She couldn’t help flirting back, or imagining what that body would feel like under her hands. The only reason she hadn’t asked him out herself yet was that she knew it would infuriate Ron. But her resolve was crumbling the more time she spent with him. If he ever made a move himself, she didn’t have it in her to refuse.
Without thinking, she finished smoothing Ron’s hair and turned to fix Draco’s. He startled at the motion, and she paused, hand hovering over the silvery locks. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t pull away as her fingers carefully brushed the mussed hair to the side, tucking it behind his ear. A blush had gathered on his cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if it was caused by her casual touch or his tussle with Ron. She glanced at Ron. His eyes were narrowed on her hand.
She winced. Why had she thought it was a good idea to hire both of her potential love interests? Probably because she had been so caught up by the idea of spending the summer with each of them that she forgot that they despised each other.
A polite cough sounded behind her, and Hermione whipped her hand away from where it had dropped to linger on Draco’s neck. Harry was watching, eyebrows disappearing under his curly mop of hair. “The, uh, ropes course. It’s time. That is, if you’re done here,” he said.
Hermione flushed, nodding and bustling over to Harry. She didn’t know what had come over her. This was not the time for reminiscing and daydreaming about past and future lovers. It was just seeing them both so flushed and mussed. It was easy to imagine them freshly fucked. There would be no more of that, though. She boxed up her desire and shoved it deep down within herself. That had nothing to do with what was going on here; this was a strictly professional team-building exercise. She could compartmentalize. She was good at it.
Strictly professional.
Hermione turned and started towards the Quidditch pitch. Her gaze was fixed ahead, feet marching with purpose. The ropes course was perfect. She’d have Ron and Draco show the kids how it was done, and they’d have to work together to avoid another fall. She knew this could work. If they could interrupt this pattern of fighting, they could learn to trust each other. Or, at the very least, tolerate each other.
Footsteps pounded the ground behind her as Harry jogged to catch up with her, his longer legs quickly closing the distance. He slung a sweaty arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, pitching his voice low for her ears. “What was that all about?” he asked.
Hermione glanced back at where Ron and Draco were following, looking away from each other as if they could make the other disappear by ignoring them thoroughly enough. She looked back at Harry and sighed. “They won’t stop fighting, and they won’t talk about it. I thought maybe some forced proximity could make them work it out.”
Harry rubbed his stubbled jaw, contemplating. “Well, if nothing else, it's humiliating enough to make them think twice before getting into it in public again. But that’s not what I meant. I was talking about you and Malfoy,” he said, green eyes bright with mischief. “Since when do you touch him like you touch Ron?”
Hermione stiffened under his arm, her steps faltering. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, voice more shrill than she had intended.
Harry laughed. “You know,” he said. He mimicked her, stroking her hair with a simper and batting his wide, moony eyes at her.
“I did NOT look like that!” Hermione protested, batting away his hand.
“Mhm, sure,” he said, arm sliding from her shoulders. They had reached the pitch, where the hoops were now joined by more poles erected across the field. High above the ground, an intricate spiderweb of ropes stretched between the poles, punctuated by platforms here and there.
A nervous group of campers was clustered near the ladder to ascend the course with Neville, the kids staring up at the ropes with trepidation. Harry approached them, an easy grin on his face.
“Hello, campers!” he called.
“Hello, Mr. Potter,” they chimed in unison.
“Welcome to the Hogwarts Ropes Course!” he said, gesturing proudly. “Isn’t it cool? It’s going to be a lot of fun, but it will also teach you something. This ropes course is designed to show you what makes Hogwarts really special: the bonds between you. Here, you will test your mettle but also strengthen your teamwork skills! This course is not meant to be completed on your own. You will work together in small teams to help each other reach the other side.” Harry grabbed a broom, kicking off to zoom around the course and show the kids the challenges and safety features. All eyes were locked on him, awe on many faces as he deftly maneuvered the broom through the ropes.
“And to give you a more practical demonstration of how it’s done, counselors Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy will be completing the course for you to watch!” Harry finished, unable to fight his grin as all eyes swung to the lime-green pair. Gasps and giggles broke out as the campers took in the situation. Neville’s eyes were saucer-like, a guffaw breaking from his lips. “They’ve got a little extra handicap to make it a challenge, so don’t worry. We’ll let you kids use both your hands.”
Ron and Draco were both beet-red, looking with disbelief at the ropes above them.
“You’re joking, Hermione,” Ron said.
“Hermione, you can’t mean for us to complete that like this,” Draco hissed. The shirt flapped as he gestured with his trapped hand, highlighting its uselessness.
“It was designed for children, you two big strapping men will be fine. As for only having one hand… well, I suppose you’d better work together, then.” Hermione said, hands on her hips.
Ron and Draco exchanged a look.
“If you’re scared, you can admit it,” Ron goaded.
“Scared your incompetence will drag us both to the ground, maybe,” Draco retorted.
“I’m not going to fall,” Ron replied, shoulders squaring, “but I’m not going to pull your weight if your delicate hands give out.”
Hermione watched with narrowed eyes, fidgeting with her wand again. “If you’re quite done posturing…?” she asked pointedly, gesturing them forward. Both men shot her a glare, but approached the ladder. Hermione swished her wand, and the rungs widened to make room for two bodies side by side. They stood, surveying it for a moment before Ron grabbed the rung and started to step up. He was immediately yanked back down by the neck when Draco didn’t move with him.
Ron coughed and massaged his throat, croaking, “Why are you just standing there? You have to move with me!”
“Why should I follow your lead? You shouldn’t have moved until I told you to,” Draco replied.
“I’m not following your orders!” Ron said. He looked back at Hermione, who was watching with crossed arms and an impatient tap of her foot. He sighed. “Look, we have to coordinate. How about we count off together?”
Draco looked back at Hermione and then surveyed the giggling campers. Resignation shuttered his face. “Fine. On three.”
“One, two, three–” They counted in unison, lifting themselves onto the rung on three. They stood a foot from the ground as they contemplated how to take the next step without a free arm.
“I think… the only way is to hold on to each other,” Draco finally said.
“No way. I am not touching you any more than I have to,” Ron replied. He experimented, shifting his weight and trying to release his grip on the rung without tumbling down. Finally, he sighed, banging his head on the ladder repeatedly. He looked at Draco and nodded. “Fine.”
Hermione could see their arms crossing around each other’s backs under the shirt and stifled a giggle. Harry landed next to her and leaned on the broom.
“You’re a scary witch, Hermione,” he said, watching the men hold each other steady as they took turns grabbing the next rung and pulling themselves upwards together.
“But it’s working, though!” Hermione crowed triumphantly as they reached the top. As they both bent at the waist to get a knee under them on the platform, their clothes stretched tight, highlighting two firm asses and muscular legs. Ron was wearing shorts, Draco joggers, as Muggle clothes were required for the camp. Hermione’s managerial satisfaction in watching them succeed on this strictly professional team-building exercise warmed her belly and caused heat to rise in her cheeks. Their muscles bunched and corded as they hauled themselves onto the platform, dropping their grips on each other’s waists. Hermione caught herself swallowing, her mouth full of saliva, and immediately shoved more feelings into the box of inappropriate lust she was building in her mind.
They set out across the ropes, each clutching a higher rope with one hand and shuffling their feet across another carefully. Ron teetered suddenly, and Draco’s arm snaked out under the shirt to wrap around his back again. They found a rhythm, moving together and holding onto each other when they needed to, though Hermione could still hear the faint murmur of their bickering.
They looked tight-jawed and angry, but were making quick progress, moving between the platforms swiftly. Hermione was impressed by their physical prowess; their athleticism making the feat look trivial. She happily surveyed the group of campers. They were staring up at the two men in awe, impressed and excited. A burst of clapping and whooping rang out when Draco and Ron completed a difficult segment. Both men looked at the cheering kids, then their eyes met. Hermione swore she saw a ghost of a smile pass between them.
They were approaching the final section, and Hermione let out a small hum of pleasure at their progress. Her eyes returned over and over again to where they held each other. She couldn’t stop imagining Draco’s graceful fingers dimpling Ron’s skin, the rasp of Ron’s calloused palms across Draco’s side. She licked her lips, heat flaring in her. Then she shook her head and dragged her gaze up to their faces. She didn’t know why she was having such a hard time focusing.
Draco was looking down at her, and she could tell from his reaction that her face must be giving her away. His lips were parted, face painted with surprise and intrigue. Their eyes locked, and Hermione felt the inappropriate lust box rattle ominously at the heated look in his eyes. Draco’s steps faltered. Ron didn’t notice him hesitating. He ran into Draco, the length of his body briefly against Draco’s. He didn’t bump him hard, but Draco reacted like he had been struck. His eyes widened, turning and pulling away from the press of Ron’s body too quickly. He slipped, his foot leaving the edge of the platform and finding only air. He started to careen backwards off the edge, and Hermione gasped and stepped forward, hand stretched towards them.
Just as he began to fall, Ron’s arms wrapped around his chest, inside the shirt and out. His muscles bulged as he threw himself backward onto the platform, dragging Draco with him. He managed to reverse Draco’s momentum, sending the men crashing to the platform, with Draco between Ron’s spread legs, Ron’s arms still around Draco. The campers all shrieked and gasped. Neither Draco nor Ron was moving, their bodies entwined and faces mere inches apart, staring at each other.
“Hey, you alright?” Harry called, and they sprang to life as if released from a Full-Body Bind.
They scrambled away from each other as much as possible within the confines of the shirt and stumbled back to their feet.
“Totally fine, Harry. Proper heroic even,” Ron called down. The campers tittered around them.
“Heroic?” Draco snapped. “You just corrected your own mistake! You pushed me!”
“You stopped!” Ron retorted. They were in each other’s faces again.
Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. Just when she thought things were moving along, they regressed again. “Just complete the course and come down, please, the kids are waiting to start.”
Stony-faced and scowling once more, Draco and Ron crossed the final rope to the last platform. The platform lowered itself automatically, depositing the taciturn men on the ground. Hermione walked to greet them. They were flushed, turned away from each other as far as possible. She placed her hands on each of their arms and smiled up at them.
“Great job, both of you. You did even better than I hoped,” Draco’s scowl softened at the praise, but Ron scoffed. “Next thing, you’re going to help me prep for dinner. Without magic.”
They both groaned in unison.
It was a short walk to the mess hall, where Hermione perched on a table and directed them while they worked in silence. They were growing skilled at being each other’s second arm, but the tension between them was still electric. They chopped vegetables together as Hermione contemplated what was missing.
They were cooperating and weren’t actively hostile at the moment, but things seemed no easier between them. As she watched them dice, she thought about the roots of their conflict. It went deep, but no deeper than hers with Draco, and she had learned to live with him. To like him, more than she cared to admit. But Draco and Ron seemed to rile each other up in a way no one else could. It was almost primal, physical. She studied their body language, hoping the lines of their bodies as they worked would tell her something.
Ron was standing awkwardly, his hips angled away from Draco and his shoulders hunched. The large shirt hung down to his thighs like a tent. Hermione’s eyes narrowed. His body language was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. He was still flushed, even though things were calm now. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, and his eyes were bright, almost glassy. She sucked in a breath through her teeth suddenly. She recognized that look. That was how he had looked when Molly had nearly caught them shagging in the pantry. They had to go back to dinner without getting off, sitting through a torturous half hour of socializing before they were able to sneak off again.
He was turned on and trying desperately to hide it. She would bet her favorite copy of Hogwarts: A History that he was hiding a massive erection under that baggy shirt. Her eyes swung to Draco. Because of him? She noticed how their shoulders rubbed together inside the shirt, Draco’s behind Ron’s to make room for their arms. Where was his hand? She remembered the slide of his arm around Ron’s back earlier. Her cheeks flushed, her chest hot. Ron’s lower back was so sensitive. Caressing him there during sex always caused him to arch harder into her.
Draco turned away from Ron, bending to reach a tomato that had rolled away. Even through the shirt, Hermione could see his taut arse rub against Ron’s thigh as he bent. She swallowed. She had covertly admired Draco’s behind many times. It was a firm, round peach of an arse, begging to be bitten and bruised. Had Ron noticed it too?
Hermione examined Draco’s posture as he straightened back up and held the tomato still for Ron to dice. He was tense too, the tips of his ears pink. The neck of the shirt was biting into his neck as he leaned away from Ron as much as possible, and she noticed his hips were also canted away from Ron’s.
She hadn’t thought through the intimacy of what she was making them do. The proximity, yes, the forced cooperation. But she hadn’t considered how their bodies would rub against each other, or how warm they must be in their shared body heat, the mingling smells of sweat and cologne. She clenched her thighs, biting her lip.
As she watched, Ron reached across the cutting board. His broad back slid against the front of Draco’s chest. Draco’s nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight. Now that she had spotted it, the mutual attraction was so obvious. Working together, they scooped up the pile of diced tomatoes with the flat of the knife and dropped them into the bowl. Hermione stood suddenly.
Both looked up at her in unison as if they had forgotten that she was there.
“Okay, boys, well done. Let’s go to my cabin for the next task,” she said, confident voice not belying the way her knees were shaking. She didn’t know what exactly she was going to do there, but she was sure she had found the root of the tension.
“Seriously, Hermione? We’re not done?” Ron groaned, clutching the countertop with white knuckles.
“Surely we’ve done enough? We did that whole meal prep without so much as a cross word!” Draco protested.
“You’re almost there,” she said soothingly, “there’s just one more thing we need to do. It’s just talking, really,” she said, opening the door for them and gesturing for them to go. They exchanged a glance, looking away as soon as their eyes met. The walk to her cabin was quiet, with tension rigid between all three of them. Hermione stepped forward to unlock her cabin and held open the door for them. Ron started to move forward into the familiar space, but Draco hesitated. Hermione offered him a reassuring smile, and he reluctantly matched Ron’s step into the room.
The cabin was a single room, made of exposed wood, with only a bed, a dresser, and a writing desk with a wooden chair. Hermione followed Ron and Draco into the room, avoiding looking at the bed, where Ron had been underneath her only a few days before. It was all she could think about. She shoved it down in the inappropriate lust box. This was not about her desires.
Hermione closed and locked the door behind them with a resounding click. She turned and surveyed Ron and Draco. They stood in the middle of the room, discomfort palpable. The material of the shirt was strained as they leaned away from each other. Their bodies were equally taut; all hard, tense lines.
“You boys were so good today,” Hermione crooned, her voice pitched low. Draco cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her, but Ron’s eyes were widening in recognition of her tone. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, throat tight. She was overstepping, she knew she was, but she couldn’t stop. “I think you made real progress in figuring out how to get along. There’s just one more thing. We haven’t found the root of your issues yet.”
Ron’s face was flushing, brows furrowed. “We know the root of our issues, Hermione. He’s a wanker, we fought a war against each other, and we’ve hated each other since we were kids. Case closed.” His voice was pleading, desperate. He knew her so well.
She ignored it.
“Is it, Ronald? I think there is something else. Because all those things are true for Draco and me, but we’ve learned to get along wonderfully. Haven’t we, Draco?” Hermione turned her attention to Draco. He stiffened even further, grey eyes in suspicious slits.
“You’ve…” he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. His pale hair was dark with sweat at the roots, high pink spots on his cheeks. He continued, voice thick, “You’ve been very kind in letting me make it up to you. More reasonable than I deserved.” He paused, then glanced at Ron and away again. “Except for this. This has been very unreasonable.”
Hermione hummed, considering them. “Unorthodox, I’ll grant you. But do the ends justify the means?” Hermione circled them, brushing closer than necessary to pass them. Her hand trailed a light caress across their backs as she passed, and she watched in satisfaction as twin shivers ran through them. She took a seat in the wooden chair alongside the bed and gazed up at them. They shuffled around to follow her, movements no longer clumsy. They were used to moving together now. She nodded in satisfaction. “I think I know what the problem is now. And I can help you solve it.”
“Hermione, enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t fight with Malfoy anymore, I promise. Just let me out of this.” Ron pleaded. He strained further from Draco, and the shirt stretched then recoiled, tugging them back together to bump shoulders. Draco’s eyes slid closed at the touch, and when they opened again, they burned into hers. She lifted one eyebrow, a question. Was she right? Should she continue? His head dipped, almost imperceptibly.
“Draco, your problem is that you’re a spoiled brat,” she said, and his lips twitched. Whether he was amused or angry, she couldn’t say. “You aren’t used to wanting something you can’t have, and that makes you angry.” Draco’s eyes flashed, tipping his head to the side and smirking at her, never breaking their gaze.
Next to him, Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. “That’s not exactly an epiphany, Hermione. A blind erumpent could tell Malfoy wants to shag you. You should see the way he stares when you’re not looking, bloody disgusting.” Ron’s fist clenched and unclenched by his side, shoulders hunched as he shifted restlessly. He looked angry, unsettled… jealous. “If that’s it, then you can leave me alone. I’m not stopping her,” he grumbled, his voice bitter. He finally turned to look at Draco for the first time since they got to the cabin. His jaw was jutting out, defiant, defensive.
Hermione’s eyes flicked between Draco and Ron. Draco broke his heated stare at Hermione to turn towards Ron as well. Ron sucked in his breath through his teeth when their eyes met, his fist clenching again in anticipation of violence.
Hermione shook her head. “And that is your problem, Ron. Even after everything, you still can’t see past your insecurities. You can’t see when someone wants you back, even when it punches you in the face.”
Ron froze, body going rigid and face drawing pale. His eyes snapped to Hermione, wide and questioning, then back to Draco. “What? No, you’re mental. Tell her she’s mental, Malfoy.”
Draco shrugged with a smirk, but Hermione could see tightness around his eyes. He was playing it cool, but he was nervous. Hermione’s heart was beating so hard she could feel it where her fingers were gripping the edge of the chair. She knew she was right, but if neither of them would admit it, this would all go belly up in an instant.
“She’s mental,” Draco drawled smoothly, glancing at Hermione and then back to Ron. “But she’s not wrong about what I want. Is she wrong about what you want?”
Ron looked as though he might faint. His face was pale, jaw slack, as he looked from Draco to Hermione and back. Even through his shock, Hermione recognized the look in his eyes. Calculating, strategizing, recalibrating. Slowly, he shook his head no. Draco’s shoulders sagged, exhaling a tightly-held breath.
Hermione swished her wand, and the Get-Along shirt vanished. Both men stumbled slightly as the tension they had been leaning against disappeared. Hermione toyed with her wand, hands slick with sweat and shaking.
“Well, that’s that, then,” she said. It struck her that she had just made herself a third wheel to both of the men who occupied all of her fantasies. It was so like her to compulsively problem-solve herself into losing all her romantic prospects in one swoop. Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away. “I’ll just… leave you to figure it out from here.” She started to rise from her seat when both men wheeled on her.
“What? You’re going to cast that Bombarda and then leave?” Ron asked, indignant.
“Granger, no. We still need mediation,” Draco said at the same time. Both of them stepped towards her, boxing her in.
“What do you want me to do? Tell you to kiss?” she asked, laughing bitterly. The laughter died on her lips when they didn’t join in. Draco’s tongue had darted out at her words, wetting his lips as though parched. Ron’s eyes flashed, tracking over her body. They both looked like they very much liked that idea. They shifted closer, looking down at her with heat in their eyes. Not shutting her out of their new connection, but creating space for her. Warmth filled her belly, and a buzzing started in her head. The inappropriate lust box inside her rattled, then burst open. She reeled at the thought. The two men in her life that she wanted most of all, kissing, because she told them to.
“I can do that.”