Hermione sleeps without any clothes on as often as she can. One of the first minor spells she sorted out on her own during her first year was one for the hangings on her bed. On nights when she wanted to sleep naked she set the charm, which meant that anyone who thought about surprising her in her bed would fall into a violent fit of sneezing. They would continue to sneeze until she opened the curtains from the inside. This system always allowed her plenty of time to pull on the nightgown she kept at the foot of her bed for just those sorts of emergencies.

::

Ron isn't against pyjamas so much as pyjama bottoms; those he hates. When he was a little boy all of his pyjama bottoms were second-hand from Charlie or the twins, and they were always too long. As Ron grew he was still wearing hand-me-downs, but there was only one summer when a pair actually fit; after that they were inevitably too short. One morning during second year Hermione taught him a lengthening spell—after he'd complained about it for the fourth breakfast in a row—but, because the cloth was old in every case, the bottoms only became more threadbare with more holes in more embarrassing places. By third year, more often than not, Ron would shuck them as soon as he got into bed, hoping no one would pull back the covers while he was sleeping and discover he was starkers underneath.

::

Harry only takes off his pyjamas when it is so hot he cannot bear it, and then he only strips them off in the middle of the night when everyone else is snoring audibly and he can be certain no one will see him. He then sleeps rather fitfully, and what sleep he does get is usually chock full of dreams of being caught in the nude on the Quidditch Pitch or in the Great Hall during lunch. Luckily, Harry has never not woken up before daybreak to slide back into his nightclothes. He always does, no matter how hot it still is.

::

It is the summer before their seventh year, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry are all at the Burrow. It has been a quiet summer in the wizarding world. The last known Death Eater attack was in early June, and the Ministry dealt with it surprisingly swiftly and efficiently. Hermione, however, knows better than to count on this as any sort indicator of things to come; she knows how important it is to keep one step ahead. Well after midnight one night near the end of their sojourn, she knocks on the door to Ron's attic room. The rest of the house is asleep, but Hermione is eager to share a brainstorm she's just had. Defensive strategy is always more important than sleep, she reasons, and besides, it's hot as blazes and she's not sleeping anyway. "Ron," she hisses, "Harry, it's me." She knocks again.

"It's open," one of them calls back, just above a whisper.

She lets herself into Ron's room and is nearly incinerated by a blast of furnace-like air. The attic is unbearably stuffy and hot; despite the sun having set several hours earlier it hasn't cooled one iota. Hermione thinks for a fleeting instant of her much cooler room down a floor, a room where Ginny is sound asleep and Hermione could slip out of her short cotton nightgown and into her sheets having set a cooling charm on them along with the usual sneezing one. She sighs and turns to Harry who has just slipped his glasses back on. His cheeks are flushed and it's no wonder: he is wearing his usual long-sleeved pyjamas and they are buttoned all the way up to the collar. Ron is sitting up in his own bed, covers pulled tight around his middle, but at least his pyjama shirt is unbuttoned and open.

The heat is befuddling Hermione's usually sharp mind. She feels a bit like she's trapped in Trelawney's classroom, only without her classmates, well, the ones who aren't Harry or Ron, and without those ridiculous crystal balls and all that other rubbish. It is hot here, though, like in that classroom. She tugs a bit at the hem of her nightgown where it hangs to the middle of her thighs, wishing quite a lot that she could tug it off over her head.

::

Harry is desperately hot before Hermione comes in, so when she appears wearing nothing but a little cotton nightshirt, he is certain steam must be issuing from his ears. He tries to think about ice mice and snowball fights and ... No, still hot. Hermione is still hot. The room is still hot. Harry's cheeks still feel like they're on fire. He scoots deeper into the blankets on his cot, trying to hide.

::

While Hermione fiddles with the hem of her nightshirt, Ron thinks about casually slipping off his pyjama top. It is already unbuttoned, so it would be easy to do. It was warm in his room before Hermione entered, but with her standing there, fingering her nightgown hem, Ron is certain the temperature in the room has just shot up another ten or fifteen degrees. Hot doesn't even begin to describe how he is feeling. He glances over at Harry, whose ears and cheeks are pinker than Ron has ever seen them. This is getting dangerous, Ron thinks, we're all overheating here. He tries to convince himself it is the fault of their pyjamas.

::

Hermione stands there trying to remember exactly why she'd come up to the attic in the first place. New defensive strategy, she reminds herself, but even as she remembers, she knows her priorities have shifted. She tugs again at the bottom of her nightgown and begins, "So I was thinking—"

"Thinking?" Ron says, rather too quickly and with too much enthusiasm.

"Thinking," echoes Harry nonsensically.

"—That we could do with a bit of a cool down up here."

"Brilliant!" agrees Ron.

"Yes, please!" adds Harry, obviously in need of relief.

"But how?" Hermione knows she is being unfairly demanding. She also knows she is dangerously close to a pout. She blames both on the heat.

::

Hermione standing there tapping her foot and looking put-out is a lot less distracting than Hermione standing there running her fingers along the hem of her nightshirt, so when she asks, "But how?" in that irritating, cleverest-witch-in-their-year voice, Ron's brain finally kicks back in. "I know!" he says. In the excitement he almost clambers out of bed, but, just in time, he remembers not to. "The twins gave me a spell! A freezing spell! That'll cool us off!" He grabs his wand from the bedside table and just as Hermione is opening her mouth in what is likely protest, Ron gives his wand a wave in her direction and mutters, "Frigidae!"

There is a little puff of pink smoke. When it clears, Hermione is looking much pinker than she had been. She is also standing there completely naked.

"Oh!—Bloody hell!" Ron nearly swallows his own tongue.

::

Harry does a double-take. He then pulls the covers all the way up to his eyes before lowering the blankets slightly. He can't not look.

::

"That is so much better," Hermione hears herself saying. She's not exactly sure why she hasn't come undone about being naked in front of her two best friends, other than the fact that she does feel a bit cooler. Yes, she thinks, that must be it. She reasons that due to the heat—which is still stifling—it would certainly be better for all three of them to be naked, since the twins' spell doesn't seem to be good for much more than vanishing nightclothes.

Ron doesn't look like he'll take much convincing to go starkers. Indeed, it seems that all Hermione has to do is stand there and give him a once over.

::

Ron takes what he thinks is a wordless hint from Hermione, and he tugs off and crumples up his pyjama shirt, glad to be rid of it. He is about to throw it towards his wardrobe when he notices that Harry is just barely peeking out at them over his bedclothes.

"Aren't you hot, Harry?" Hermione asks softly. Harry shakes his head and Ron gapes in disbelief. If Harry's face were any more pink, he'd be a fireslug. Ron watches as Hermione alters her course—she had been heading for Ron's bedside—and moves instead toward Harry. Ron admires the swells of her breasts, and the curve of her hips and arse, and the way her arms are a darker brown than her belly. When she bends down to whisper something in Harry's ear, Ron realizes that not only is he hot, he's now achingly hard as well.

When Harry presses his hands down at his sides on top of his sheets—which pulls the bedclothes taut over his midsection—Ron can see that Harry is hard, too.

::

Hermione can feel the heat radiating off of Harry from halfway across the room. Since he is still almost completely buried under his covers, Hermione gets the feeling that she will need to help him escape the heat.

As she leans close to Harry, whispering to him, coaxing him, she is overcome by the sudden desire to touch him, to run her fingers over his flushed cheeks, to lick at the trickle of sweat just behind his ear. It is at this moment that Hermione realizes this is no longer about cooling off. This is about seduction. She wants Harry and Ron, wants them to want her, to want each other. Hermione can feel Ron's eyes on her, and she rather likes it. Harry shuts his eyes tightly at her suggestion that she help him out of his hot pyjamas, and Hermione takes the opportunity to make bedroom eyes—or what she hopes is the proper equivalent—at Ron. Judging by the look on Ron's face, she's succeeded.

::

Harry is dying. Hermione—beautiful, brilliant, naked Hermione—is leaning over him, whispering in his ear the things she wants to do to cool him off, and his already overheated brain is honestly about to short out completely. So far Hermione has accomplished nothing but the exact opposite of her intents, if her words are to be believed. When she slides the back of one of her hands along his cheek, Harry shudders in involuntary pleasure. When she lifts his chin and kisses him softly, on the lips, Harry loses all pretense of control. His fingers fly to the buttons of his pyjama top, but Hermione's fingers are already there.

::

Ron is gawking at his two best friends. Somehow Hermione has done what Ron has been dreaming of for years: unbutton Harry's pyjamas. As she slides the top off of Harry's shoulders, Ron crawls out from under his covers across his bed toward them. Only when he sits back on his heels to watch does he realize that this means he too is naked. He'd kicked off his pyjama bottoms the minute he'd slid under his sheets.

::

Hermione pauses in her project of undressing Harry to eye Ron appreciatively: the muscles developed during Quidditch training, the spray of freckles across his shoulders. This is going to be much more fun than discussing defensive strategy. Bless the twins and their backfiring spells.

::

When Hermione stands up to look at Ron, Harry finally decides he wants to be naked, too; he wants Hermione to look at him like that. He throws back the sheets and climbs out, pulling down and off his pyjama bottoms at the same time. But, in his sudden eagerness to be as naked as his friends, Harry loses his balance and ends up sprawled across the bed.

::

Hermione wastes no time with pleasantries. Harry is now spread out across his cot, seemingly immobilized by something akin to shame. Hermione thinks that just won't do, so she sets about making Harry understand that this is nothing of which he should be ashamed.

She starts at his ankles, tracing her fingertips lightly up his legs and then back down again, tickling softly the backs of his knees—a place Viktor taught her could be erotic. As Harry whimpers and Ron watches, Hermione slides her hands further up the backs of Harry's thighs, letting her thumbs briefly caress the insides before sliding her hands over his buttocks, around the small of his back, up his spine and across his shoulder blades. When she gets to his neck, Hermione crawls up onto the bed and straddles Harry's hips, laying her torso across his back and licking at the back of his neck.

Hermione smiles as Ron lets out a pitifully longing moan and Harry thrusts against the sheets a bit. She rubs herself against Harry's arse, just a bit, just to tease herself. It feels brilliant. This is brilliant, she thinks, all of this: Ron and Harry and the smell of sex and the tingling that started somewhere in her midsection but has spread everywhere, to each part of her body. She breathes deeply, licks up along Harry's spine, tasting the salt of his sweat. With a final nip to the nape of Harry's neck, Hermione sits up. She knows she looks pleased with herself. She can't help it.

::

Ron is still flabbergasted and so hard it's almost painful. He is looking at Hermione who is sitting on Harry's arse. One of her hands is drawing loopy circles and curlicues across Harry's lower back, the other is cupping her breast and pinching at her own nipple. When he can tear his eyes away from Hermione, Ron sees that Harry is watching him, and his cock gives a little twitch of interest. Ron licks his lips, almost ready to take his cock in his hand and remedy the situation himself. Then Harry lifts his head. "No, Ron," he says, "let me."

::

Hermione grins and lets Harry up. Who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter? a funny little voice in her head asks over and over, but Hermione just keeps smiling. She reckons that, if need be, all of this can be blamed on the heat.

::

Harry has only the barest inkling of what he is doing. He is completely out of his element here, out of his pyjamas, out in the open. He feels vulnerable, exposed, and it is terrifying and thrilling and wonderful. Harry thinks he should have tried this out long ago. All he needed was Hermione whispering in his ear and, all of a sudden, things he's always secretly dreamed of are being offered to him: Hermione naked, Hermione touching him, Ron watching Hermione touching him, Ron about to wank right in front of him ... but he wants to be the one who touches Ron.

With confidence inspired by the pure thrill of all of this, Harry gets up and joins Ron on his bed. "Lay down, Ron," Harry hears himself say, "and I'll scoot in behind you and you'll be able to feel me and I'll be able to touch you and it'll be brilliant."

Ron seems eager to comply. Biting his lower lip a little, Harry watches as Ron lays down on his side facing Hermione, who is still sitting on Harry's cot, and then Harry climbs over Ron and moves in close behind him. Harry runs his hands over Ron's arse, giving each cheek a good squeeze; he had no idea he had it in himself to be so bold. Ron makes a few whimpering noises as Harry's hands move over his hips, so Harry gets right down to the point. He nudges his own hips forward so that his cock is trapped between his own belly and Ron's arse, and he reaches around Ron's hip and takes Ron's cock in his hand.

It is slick with the sweat inevitable in the heat of the attic, but as Harry gives Ron's cock a few tentative strokes, he finds it is not quite slick enough. Harry removes his hand—Ron gives a low moan of bereavement—and licks it a few times to slick it up a bit more. When he returns it to Ron's cock, the slide is much more pleasant for Harry, which, Harry figures, means it must be exponentially better for Ron.

By the grunts he is now coaxing from Ron, Harry thinks it is a safe bet he is right.

::

One of Hermione's favorite things about sleeping naked is the slide of the sheets on her skin and how easy it is to slip a hand between her legs when she is in the mood. As a result, she has always been quick to fantasize, but never, even in her most off-the-wall fantasies, did anything ever feel so good as this; she is touching herself while watching Harry touch Ron.

Ron's eyes are closed and one of his arms is flung up, his hand lost in Harry's messy hair. She can see Harry's hips working as he rubs himself against Ron, and, of course, she can see Harry's hand on Ron's cock. Ron's breathing is getting faster and faster; Hermione guesses he must be close to coming. She slides her fingers out of herself and licks them as Harry pumps his hand on Ron's cock once more and Ron comes with shout, muffled so as not to draw the attention of the entire household. Harry gasps a little as Ron comes on his hand, then Hermione gasps a little as Harry, his face curious, brings his hand to his mouth and licks off a bit of Ron's come. He makes a face which clearly says, Not bad, followed be a small smile directed at Ron that nearly pushes Hermione over the edge. She is not touching herself anymore, but that is only because she is using every last bit of willpower left in her. She wants them to touch her now.

"Harry," she calls from his cot, and he looks over at her quickly, almost as if he is surprised she is still there. "Harry," she says again, "would it be awful of me to insist that it's my turn now?"

"Your turn?"

"Come here, Harry."

"Yeah, Harry," Ron adds, still out of breath, "go there."

"No, wait," Hermione interrupts, "I have a better idea. Stay there."

::

Harry does as he is told. As Hermione makes her way toward him across Ron's bed on her hands and knees, his breath catches for a moment before coming out in the whoosh of a whimper as she runs one finger up the underside of his cock. Before Harry can plead even for a moment, Hermione has him pinned to the bed, her hands on his shoulders, her knees just outside his thighs, and she is sinking down onto his cock and his cock is reaching up into her into the tightest warmest place imaginable. The plea that had been on his tongue transforms into a needy cry. Hermione bends down to shush him and kisses him roughly, catching his bottom lip with her teeth and biting down, all the while doing something with her hips that has Harry whimpering nonsensically and then he's coming, coming buckets and he knows he shouldn't be so noisy because they're at the Burrow but he can't help it, he's yelling and crying out for Ron and Hermione and he loves them loves them has always loved them and ... and ... yes. The rest of Harry's breath leaves him in a sigh.

When he opens his eyes he sees Hermione sitting on his sticky thighs looking pleased with herself, her face flushed. Ron has moved behind her, and he has one hand on each of her breasts. His face is buried in her hair and he appears to be at least attempting to kiss her neck. Hermione looks very pleased indeed. Harry is feeling quite pleased as well, but then Ron says, "Help me, Harry," and Harry flushes hot again.

::

Ron is having a hard time grasping the fact that Harry just brought him off and that he himself now has his hands on Hermione's breasts, but all this nonsensical stuff is just fine with him. He wants to make Hermione come. He's come and Harry's come and it is her turn, was her turn long ago, really, since she started all of this, but maybe if they do her together she'll come better than both he and Harry and she deserves that, doesn't she? Ron is certain she does. He pinches her nipple like he saw her do to herself earlier and Hermione makes a little noise that makes Ron want to push himself into her and never pull out. He doesn't, though, because Harry is crawling towards her and then Hermione is rearranging herself so that Harry can have better access and Ron still has his hands all over her and he's pinching and rolling both of her nipples and Harry is licking her and Hermione is whimpering and rolling her hips and Ron is kissing her neck but with his eyes open so he can watch Harry's tongue darting in and out and around and Hermione is running one bare foot along Harry's torso while one of her hands is tangled in Harry's hair, guiding him, coaxing him, just like before when she made him get naked, and, as Harry licks, Hermione is cooing, "More, yes, just there, yes! Yes!" and Ron is squeezing Hermione's breasts and Hermione is coming and coming and coming and Harry is still licking her and Ron is still kissing her neck and he wants to come again, so bad, to feel like that one more time because Hermione is so obviously in ecstasy.

::

Harry's face is sticky and delicious when Hermione pulls him up for a kiss. She licks at his mouth, tasting herself, savoring the satisfaction in Harry's eyes. When she pulls away, she nudges Ron forward to take her place. Ron kissing Harry, Hermione thinks, chases away any chance that her two best friends had not thought about each other like this before. There was a familiarity in their kisses, not the familiarity that comes from practice, but the familiarity that comes from a mutual desire. Hermione is sure her face is giving away her smug satisfaction, but she knows the boys are too busy with each other to notice.

She thinks about leaving them then, slipping back to her own bed which has to be cooler than the attic, but when she goes to turn away, she finds that she cannot. Hot and sticky and here is how and where she belongs. Instead of leaving she slides in close to them and they, without breaking their kiss, each wrap an arm around her. She kisses their necks and shoulders, first Ron, then Harry. She kisses whatever bits of them she can reach, and when Harry's and Ron's lips part, she is there to steal the kisses remaining.

::

The first rays of dawn are creeping into the attic room when Hermione yawns, stretches, and extricates herself from Harry's arms. She fell asleep in the middle, spooned around Ron with Harry wrapped around her from behind. Hermione's first thoughts upon waking have nothing to do with Why am I here naked in bed with Harry and Ron? and everything to do with Why is it still so bloody hot? Her next thoughts are all in thanks that they haven't yet been caught and that she still has time to return to Ginny's bedroom before the Weasleys wake up.

As she watches the sun sneak up on the Burrow and the rest of Ottery St. Catchpole, Hermione grins with a deep sense of gratitude. The previous night never would have happened had she not been too hot to sleep.
 

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