Holes

Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe is property of JK Rowling. I, sadly, make no money from my fanfiction.

Hermione watches as Remus twitches in his sleep, his head lolling from side to side as his feet twist in the thin sheet covering him. Frowning, she scoots her chair closer to his side and leans over him, the ends of her hair just brushing over the mattress. Raising a hand to his face, she unclenches her fingers just so and rolls them slightly, pushing the damp cloth cradled in the centre of her palm forward so that she may use it to dab at his face. He is so immersed in his sleep cycle that he takes no notice of her fussing, not even when a thin rivulet of water trails down his temple and runs into his hair.

“Here,” Harry says, coming beside Hermione and placing a shallow ceramic basin filled with water on the small bedside table.

She turns toward him, withdrawing her hand from Remus and eyes Harry appraisingly. “What took you so long, Harry? The kitchen’s just in the other room, after all,” she inquires carefully.

on’ton’t know,” Harry returns slowly, the tone in his voice suggesting quite the opposite to her.

“I see,” says Hermione, nodding to herself but not pressing the matter further. Harry says nothing and simply walks around Remus’ bed and sinks in the chair there, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his hands, eyes glazing over slightly.

Yes, she does see. She isn’t, after all, daft.

It is sixth anniversary of Sirius’ death today. One does not have to be the cleverest witch that Hogwarts ever produced to realise why Harry seems so very small and somewhere far away and while Remus was taking much more time than usual to get over the aftermath of yester-night’s full moon today.

Flickering her eyes from Harry to Remus, she dips the cloth into the basin and wrings out the excess water before patting at Remus’ skin once more. Over the temple, across the brow, down over the other temple she goes. Unexpectedly, a small sigh escapes Remus’ lips as she trails the cool fabric down along the line of his jaw. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry drop his hands to his lap and straighten, watching Remus with an intensity so fierce in his eyes that it causes her to gasp herself, albeit inaudibly.

Shaking her head once as if to get the cobwebs out, she forces aside that funny little feeling in the pit of her stomach that has been welling up more and more when she is around Harry these days. She knows what that feeling means and it isn’t right; it isn’t what either of them need. The three of them – Harry, Ron, and Hermione – had made a pact years ago to never become involved with one another romantically so as not to risk their friendship. Things, Hermione had said at the time in all her practicality, would become different the minute any combination of their trio would choose to walk down that path. They had all agreed and have never spoke another word of such matters since.

“Shhhhhh,” she murmurs soothingly to Remus as she glides the small square of wet fabric over the side of his neck and over his unclothed shoulder. He whimpers in his sleep and she shushs him again, the shush turning into yet another gasp when Harry’s strong, calloused hand suddenly curves around the top of hers. His fingers are rough, the knuckles prominent, and she can see the faint outline of the words Delores Umbridge had made him carve into his own hand all those years ago. She blinks and, within the space of time it takes for her lids to flutter shut and open again, then he is guiding her hand and the cloth over the wounds on the exposed skin of Remus’ bare chest. His hand squeezes hers and, as a result, her fingers clench the cloth tighter in her fist, causing water to flow from the fabric and trickle all over Remus’ chest.

His eyes fly open and dart around wildly. “Sirius?” he asks groggily and Hermione feels her heart break a little more, as she does every single time she tends to Remus like this after a full moon. He always asks for Sirius. He always asks for Sirius and she always has to lightly pat his hand and wait for him to come completely around and remind him gently that Sirius is gone.

Before she even has to raise her eyes to Harry’s face, he guides their hands to Remus’ nearest one, placing Hermione’s hand atop Remus’ and then sliding his own palm facing up beneath Remus’. She can feel his fingers twining with Remus’ and she curls her hand around theirs, patting as softly as possible. She and Harry do not have a long wait before Remus wakes completely. He looks from one to the other but says nothing. Hermione does not know what to make of this; it is a deviation from their usuast-fst-full moon routine. Usually she will pat his hand and he will ask in a hushed whisper for Sirius again and then she will smile sadly and shake her head. Remus will then nod and ask for a cuppa and he sits quietly sipping his tea whilst Hermione reads from various books of literature to him. She knows how to follow that routine. She does not, however, know how to proceed now when he has strayed from their familiar custom.

Finally Remus speaks, breaking the silence that hangs like a cloud fat with un-spilled rain. “I miss him,” he says quietly, the hoarse nature of his voice making it difficult to hear him.

Hermione nods, bushy hair swinging to and fro across her shoulders. “I--”

Harry interrupts her. “I do too,” he breaks in, his voice cracking.

And in that moment, Hermione is certain that she can feel something inside her shatter. She can feel something inside her shatter and yet she cares not as she knows that Remus and Harry likely are missing that part of themselves that would chip and break when things would get tough. Sirius was gone and there was a hole in their lives that would never be filled up again.

Wanting to do something, anything to help them, she withdraws her hand and watches as Harry’s palm presses against Remus’ once again. The wheels in her mind begin turning at a rapid pace, thoughts whirling so quickly that she isn’t sure which one to latch onto and explore first.

Swallowing hard, she closes her eyes as she considers the most prominent idea in her mind. Could she possibly--?

Yes.

For them, to help them perhaps not get over the pain but to forget about it for a time, she would do anything.

Opening her eyes once morermiermione looks at each man in turn. “I know you do,” she says quietly. “And I won’t pretend to know just how empty his loss makes you feel.”

Remus sits up, kicking his way out of the sheet that had been imprisoning his feet. “I do,” he says thickly. “I do and there is this gaping hole that won’t ever be filled--”

“No matter how much time passes,” Harry interjects dully.

“Maybe,” Hermione says slowly, one hand moving to the collar of her button-down shirt and flicking open the first few buttons, “you don’t need to have that hole filled up.” Harry’s eyes rounded as she continued to open button after button and she could hear Remus clear his throat several times as though he were attempting to find his voice to protest. “Maybe you need to…maybe you need to fill something up, not have something of yours filled up.”

A slow flush crawls from her cheeks down over her jaw and down through her neck. Since when had she been so…suggestive?

It doesn’t matter. Not now, not when they need her help.

“What--?” Remus and Harry start to but but she pays them no mind.

Off comes her blouse and she manoeuvres herself so that she is now perched on Remus’ bed, sitting on top of his thighs, her skirt pushed up enough so that one of her own bare thighs brushes against Harry’s hand. “Don’t ask me questions,” she says breathlessly, running one hand tentatively over Remus’ chest while the other reaches out blindly at her side until her fingers touch the fabric of Harry’s shirt, pulling him close to them. “Just be, even if it is only for right here and now.”

Remus’ mouth forms a thin line, a line which quickly dissolves when her fingers graze a nipple. His head falls back and she can feel his hips rising beneath her. “That’s right,” Hermione whispers to herself, pleased with his response. “Just be.”

“We made a--” Harry begins to protest but she silences him by placing two fingers against his lips and removes them only when she is sure he wilt trt try to reason with her again. In a matter of moments Harry, too, is shirtless and finds himself up on the bed with Remus and Hermione.

Wanting to make sure that he will not slip again, Hermione takes one of Harry’s hands and presses herself against his chest while placing his hand at her stomach. The feel of his skin against hers sends an electric shock right up her spin and she gasps, the gasp turning som something of a mew when very slowly the fingers creep up her torso. Beneath her roaming hand, Remus’ chest is rising and falling atapidapid pace and she learns that she also likes very much the feel of Remus’ skin against hers as well when she leans down and presses a kiss against his mouth.

His lips are chapped and he tastes faintly of the rosehip tea she had made him drink that morning. Hermione does not think she has tasted anything so heavenly before. She wants more and runs her tongue insistently along his lower lip, sliding it inside the warm crevice of his mouth when he opens up to her, Harry’s hand now beneath the fabric of her bra and doing delicious things to her nipple. That feeling in her stomach flairs and she moans when his fingers pinch and roll the tip, the sound swallowed whole by Remus’ mouth.

Vaguely she becomes aware of a hardness grazing her thigh and a hardness nestled against her backside but her head is far too foggy and dizzy for her to know exactly what to do about such things at the moment. In the meantime, she is satisfied with kissing and touchind skd skin upon skin. The fog can lift whenever it likes.

Her mouth latches onto a spot on Remus’ shoulder and she bites down hard, wanting to give him a mark that he can remember and not feel ashamed about, a mark unlike the others that stand out against the rest of his pale skin. She bites and sucks and licks and rolls her hips against Remus, raising off of him slightly to allow Harry to remove her bra. The air is cool against her skin and her nipples are both erect; she does not have to look down at herself to know this. A hand gently shifts her hair off of her neck and then a tongue, warm and wet, laps at the exposed skin of her nape. Unable to stand one moment longer not knowing what that tongue tastes like and what those lips can do, Hermione twists slightly and crushes her mouth to Harry’s.

She is not sure which is more overwhelming – the heat of Harry’s mouth and the way it is claiming hers or the cool wetness of the cloth that Remus was now using on her breasts. Pressing her mouth more firmly against Harry’s, Hermione finds that her tongue has entered into a sort of battle with Harry’s, duelling for dominance as they slide, circle, and thrust against one another. Her head feels very light from the intensity of their kisses and yet she is brought right back to a sense of alertness from Remus’ ministrations. He dabs around her breast in a slow circle, occasionally squeezing the rag and allowing the water to run over her bosom, but not too long before he leans in and uses his tongue to lick up the thin streams. Over and over he does this and Hermione does not think she can stand it when Harry sucks firmly on her tongue, raking his teeth across it, while Remus bites a damp nipple and then blows across it. Wrenching her mouth from Harry’s, she cries out and flings herself down onto Remus, clenching her thighs around him and covering every spare bit of him she can find with licks and nibbles. She becomes aware of the absence of Harry’s warmth behind her and she arches her back almost questioningly.

Just as quickly as it was gone, Harry’s warmth returns…and she can tell by reaching one hand behind her to run along his side that he has shed his clothing. Blood is pounding ferociously in her ears now and she is sure that she will pass out when Harry’s chest is pressed firmly against her back and his lips areing ing against Remus’ only inches away from her face. She watches the way their heads tip this way and that as they manoeuvre around one another’s s. Ws. Wiggling between them and now more aware than ever of the hardness of them both, she slides one hand down Remus’ chest and dips her hand below the waistband of his drawers, wrapping her hand around his length. It is long and smooth and she can feel the vein protruding on the underside of it as she begins to stroke it. He arches up into her hand, pressing her back against Harry’s erection and she whimpers as it strains against her. Harry and Remus are still kissing and ioneione thinks that she will never get tired of listening to the sounds of their lips and teeth and tongue moving against one another, especially not when Harry is doing that thing to her with his hand that he is now.

Hermione, of course, has touched herself like this before…but it is a completely different sensation when Harry Potter does so to her. His fingers push the thin fabric of her knickers against her centre, one rubbing lightly back and forth while the other presses and then twists this way and that over her. Pushing back against him, she cries out his name while increasing the speed at which she is pumping Remus’ cock. His hips continually buck off of the mattress and, as a result, send her rocking against Harry’s fingers wildly. She stills her motion only when Remus begs her to stop.

Gasping, he says, “Don’t—I want to—I need—”

“I know,” Hermione pants, reaching a hand up to brush a wet lock of hair out of his eyes.

Harry removes his hand from her knickers and she feels more than a twinge of disappointment. While Remus takes hold of her hand and presses a kiss to her fingertip, she feels Harry’s hands fiddling with her knickers beneath the pooled fabric of her skirt. She nearly has sense enough to twist at her torso to see what Harry is doing but becomes distracted when Remus sucks two of her fingers into his mouth up to the second joint, his tongue laving at them. Her eyes roll back in her head and she doesn’t even mind when she feels more than a few sharp tugs and then hears the sound of her knickers ripping, raising slightly on her knees so that Harry can yank the fabric out from under her. His hands cup her arse at the same time Remus releases her fingers with a soft pop.

It takes a great deal of effort but Hermione makes herself become still, looking at Remus and then Harry with utmost seriousness. “Do you…?” she begins to ask, feeling her body tingle all over. They were now at the proverbial point of no return and she did not want to go on if this was not what they truly wanted.

Harry rests his head against her back and she can feel him nod. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I do. I—even though we said we—”

“But you need this,” Hermione finishes breathily. She feels another nod against her back.

“This is the most I’ve felt in—since—yes,” Remus says slowly and Hermione can tell by the way his eyes are crinkling up that he is trying desperately not to think about Sirius.

Having both of their approval, she decides to waste no time. They need this. They need this and she wants to do this for them. Repeating this over and over in her mind, she rears up and Harry’s hands taking the opportunity to knead her breasts while Hermione works as quickly as she can to divest Remus of his drawers. Tossing her hair over one shoulder, she lifts herself up and then slowly slides back down, feeling Remus’ cock spread open her lips and then fill, fill, fill her until she sinks down on him completely. He moans and she moans and she can feel Harry’s hands massaging her buttocks, his hands moving lower and lower still. Remus rolls his hips against hers and she cries out as one of Harry’s slick fingers presses inside of her in a place where she didn’t think she would ever allow anyone at all to press inside of. A bit of panic rises up within her and she contemplates telling him to stop, that this isn’t right, but he inserts another finger while Remus lifts his lips off of the mattress and pushes Hermione up into Harry’s fingers. The pain is blinding there and when he begins to flex his fingers she cannot stop the tears from rolling down her face. Sensing her panic and pain, Harry’s free and runs up and down her side in feather-light motions while Remus kisses away the tears rolling down her cheek.

For them. I’m doing this for them.

She repeats those words silently like a mantra, willing herself to focus on the feel of Remus’ cock inside of her and finds that, over time, the pain lessens and she is able to relax around Harry’s fingers. Likely to take her mind off of things, Harry runs his tongue down along the line of her spine, ending with a firm kiss at the base of it and she sighs, completely relaxing against Remus. Remus’ arms wrap around her, pulling her closely while Harry positions himself behind her. She can feel him at her entrance and doubts well up again.

Is this going to fit? Oh Merlin, what am I—it’s for THEM. I’m doing this for them and I—Ohhhhh.

Bit by bit Harry pushes into her and she experimentally presses down against Remus and then pulls back slowly against Harry. The sensation is nearly enough to do her in right then and there.

And then, just as quickly as the doubt had come, it left. It left and after a few awkward moments of positioning and figuring out a rhythm, they become one. She isn’t Sirius and can’t fill up that hole he had left in Harry and Remus but she can be the very thing they need to fill up, to feel useful.

They needed something to fill up and maybe, just maybe, she needed to have a hole, a void, filled up. Maybe this wasn’t all just for them.