
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1016983.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Harry
      Potter/Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter/Percy_Weasley, Albus_Severus_Potter/
      Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome, cross-dressing, Rimming, wanking, Bondage, Teacher/Student,
      chan_(16), flagellation, dub-con, priests_having_sex, voyeurism/
      exhibitionism, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, alternate_possible
      futures
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-24 Words: 5465
****** In Every Life ******
by lesyeuxverts
Summary
     If Harry didn't have Severus and Draco…
In the masquerade, Harry knows his lovers – he can find them, no matter if he's
watched Draco ruffle through his mothers' silks and jewels this year, no matter
how many black cloaks he's watched Severus consider and discard. It's not the
costumes, it's not the masks. It's the way they move.

Draco and Severus are flirting behind Draco's painted fan, and Harry's trapped
up on the dais between the Minister and Percy Weasley. Percy's tolerable, at
least – costumed as his Muggle cousin the accountant, with pages of figures to
occupy him during the feast – but the Minister is insufferable, spraying Harry
with champagne fizz every time he snorts. He's dressed as a war hero. Harry
doesn't remember which one, or when the celebration of Voldemort's defeat
turned into a celebration of the Ministry's prowess.

Draco flutters his fan at Harry and winks – Severus stares straight at him,
reaching out to brush his mind with the barest wisp of Legilimency. The
gardens, before the speeches start. We'll slip out separately.

Harry nods. This is the seventh year, the sixth time they've slipped out and
missed the speeches, the sixth time that Harry has found them in the crowd of
masks and costumes. The sixth time in the garden. He counts the times and keeps
them all, every year – the memories keep him awake during the Minister's
bragging and posturing.

This year, it's different – Harry's the last to leave the ball. When he slips
out to the garden, Draco and Severus are waiting for him in the shadows – black
against silver, and Draco's robes are pooled around him, already half off. His
head is tilted back, and Severus traces the line of his neck with kiss after
kiss. Harry comes closer.

"You started without me."

Severus pulls Harry into the circle of his arms, leaving Draco for a moment and
running his hands over Harry, pushing his way through the layers of clothing.
"Couldn't wait," he says.

"Missed you," Draco says, his fingers quick to unfasten Harry's buttons. He
stretches like a lynx and then rubs against Harry, curling his hands around
Harry's face and kissing him.

"Indeed." Severus puts his hands on both of them, stroking the length of their
spines and pushing them closer together. He rests his chin on the top of
Harry's head and nudges his foot against Harry's, rubbing his instep. "How was
the high table?"

Harry makes a face, even if they can barely see him in the dark. "Don't remind
me."

Draco unfastens another row of buttons, peeling away Harry's clothing layer by
layer until the fancy costume is gone and only his own clothes remain. He
traces the edge of Harry's mask, his fingers feather-light as he moves from
temple to nose, stroking Harry's cheekbones. "Let us help you forget."

Draco finishes with Harry's buttons and takes off his own robes, letting them
slip the rest of the way down his body and pool at his feet. He's wearing a
dress underneath, a short silver thing that clings to his body and shows his
thighs – Harry reaches out to touch, and Severus catches his hand. "Not yet,"
he says. "Watch."

Pressing his hands to his hips, Draco pulls the dress tight against his body,
arching his back until he almost leans into Harry's touch – almost, not quite.
He's long and lean, outlined in the silver dress and by the shadows from the
trees. Harry wants to touch his body, undress him and feel every inch of his
skin.

He doesn't get the chance. Draco disrobes first, turning it into a slow
striptease – each lacing undone with a coy look, the dress sliding down to pool
at his feet, the corset carefully undone and set aside. He's beautiful, his
skin bare in the moonlight and the light streaming from the torches by the
building.

Flames and shadows, Harry thinks, and then he has no more time to think. Draco
is kneeling at his feet, kissing his ankles and unfastening his shoes.

Harry steps out of them, lets Draco work his way up and unfasten Harry's
trousers, mouthing kisses against his cock and slipping down his pants, leaving
him naked. Harry leans into each touch and then leans back against Severus,
turning his face up for a kiss.

Maybe it's the wine running warm through his veins, but Harry feels light-
headed, almost dizzy, like he's caught in some whirlpool. He isn't – he's
pressed between his lovers, anchored in the here and now, and he can't forget
that. He can't.

He grips Draco's hair, using it to pull him closer – it's like a silk leash.
Draco comes willingly, kissing the head of Harry's cock and licking it like a
lolly before starting to suck in earnest. It's good, as good as it's ever been
– better – and Harry lets his head fall back against Severus's shoulder. Kiss
after kiss, Severus rocking against him, his cock pressed against Harry's arse,
sliding between his cheeks.

Severus is the only one still dressed, and Harry pulls away from Draco and
turns to remedy that. He undresses Severus quickly – no striptease, no
lingering on the scars, no kisses.

After seven years, all three of them know what the others want. Harry doesn't
even have to ask for it before he's pressed against the garden bench, a hasty
Cushioning Charm protecting him from the cold stone. Later, there will be time
for slow and careful love, but now, Harry's between his two lovers, where he
wants to be.

Draco is in front of him, still wearing his peacock feather mask – his eyes
gleam through it as he strokes Harry's cheek, as he fucks Harry's mouth. Harry
opens his mouth wider, moaning as Severus kneels behind him and parts his
cheeks. A first breath against his hole, a first tentative lick, and then
there's no more teasing. Severus gives him everything, licking and sucking
until Harry's ready to beg for more, for mercy.

He'll never have that – Severus is never merciful – but when Harry strains back
against him, spreading his legs wide, Severus gives him what he wants, slicking
his cock and sliding in slowly, taking care not to hurt Harry. He always does.

Harry's caught between the two of them, with them, part of them – they're all
three together, and it's perfect. Every year, on the anniversary of when it all
began … when the three of them began … they come together like this, and it's
better than it ever could be otherwise. Harry arches between his lovers,
thrusting back to take more of Severus's cock, thrusting forward to take more
of Draco's, until he has them both, until he's filled.

They're lying in a sweaty heap, pressed breastbone against spine, heartbeat
against heartbeat, when they hear the clink of glasses and the pop of champagne
bottles. There's the low murmur of speeches and the choruses of applause ...
they're free of it, safe in the green and moonlight of the garden. There's
nowhere that Harry would rather be.

"If I didn't have the two of you…"

Draco and Severus say nothing, but Draco kisses him on the mouth and Severus
presses a closed-mouth kiss to his shoulder blade. They hold him tight, even as
the breeze picks up and the sweat dries on their skin and the night turns cold.
If Harry didn't have Severus and Draco…

-------

It happens like a bad dream. One minute, Harry is walking through the door,
thinking of nothing other than roast lamb for dinner, even though it's nothing
compared to the feast that Lily will be having at Hogwarts … and the stiff,
formal nod that Malfoy gave him at the train station. For some reason, that nod
stays with him. It's been the same these past seven years, the careful
formality that is always between the two of them, acknowledging everything that
happened and saying nothing about it. It's Malfoy, and Harry has to try hard
not to care.

One minute, there's the nod and the train taking Lily to Hogwarts for her last
year and the file at the office he has to finish before Friday, and the next
minute, Harry's in the middle of a nightmare. He walks into the kitchen and
that's all it takes – there they are. Severus Snape is fucking Harry's youngest
son, spreading him out on the kitchen table as though he's a feast, devouring
him.

Harry freezes. There's nothing that will take this minute away, nothing that
will make Harry go back a minute in time and knock before entering the kitchen.
Nothing that will take away the image of his son spread out for Snape.

Snape's kneeling on the chair, stroking Al's thighs and running a hand down his
spine. Harry can't hear what he says, but Al relaxes into the touch, arching up
into Snape's hand, pushing back against him.

"Do it," he says, his voice strong and clear. Harry hears that much, hears his
son begging Severus Snape to fuck him.

This is it, then – the end result of all of the potions lessons, the private
tutoring, the careful and strained inclusion of Snape in their family dinners.
Harry forgave this man and let him into his house and encouraged Al to trust
him. Albus Severus.

A name, a history, a thousand lessons, a lifetime later – Al followed in his
footsteps. He's like Snape, and Harry can't change his mind. He's never been
able to.

Stepping away from the door, Harry lets it slam shut behind him. Locking
spells, Silencing Charms … Snape will teach those to Al, too.

When he's in his study and alone, Harry leans against the wall and lets his
head fall forward until it hits the bookshelf. He should have taught Al
himself.

The image stays with him: Snape between Al's legs, thrusting in and out of him.
Harry caught glimpses of his cock, saw Snape biting his lower lip, his fingers
curled around Al's hips. He saw Snape fucking his son.

Harry bites his own lip, unbuckled his belt and lets his trousers slip off his
waist, pulling down his pants and freeing his cock. He'd been hard ever since
he saw Malfoy at King's Cross, staring straight at Harry, his tongue darting
out to moisten his lips. Harry was still hard when he saw Snape fucking Al. The
two of them … Harry had never been able to resist them, and there they were,
Draco with his wife and Snape fucking Harry's son.

Draco's thin lips, his pink tongue … Snape's hard cock… Harry leans against the
bookcase, resting his head on his forearm. He touches his cock with slow,
prolonged strokes, making it count, making it last. Ginny never touched him
like this, never – and the things that Harry has seen, the things that he
wants, Ginny will never give him.

He lets his hand slip lower, pressing a finger against his hole, slipping it
in. Tight, slow, stretching him with the faintest burn, this is what Al has
with Snape.

Harry presses his mouth against his forearm, muffling the noises that he wants
to make. He comes with a shout, splattering the books – but it isn't his hand
on his cock, he isn't thinking about Ginny. He fucks himself with his fingers
and imagines Snape's cock, Draco's lips, Snape fucking Al … that's what makes
Harry come. He gasps, and that's muffled by his arm, too, and there are
cleaning spells that can Banish the mess.

There are cleaning spells for the mess and locking spells for the door and
silencing spells for the noises, and everything will be right with the world.
Magic will set it all to rights, and Harry will forget about Draco, forget
about Snape fucking Al, forget about everything.

There's Ginny, and their dinner together tonight, and a report due Friday, and
that's what Harry needs to do. It's like walking into a bad dream, but Harry
fastens his pants and Banishes his come and does it. He can do this.

-------

Harry's tied with his hands behind his back, bound with rope and spells. He's
helpless, and there's a gag in his mouth – he couldn't say no if he wanted to.

He doesn't want to. He deserves this.

Snape snaps a whip in the air, making Harry jump out of his skin. He hadn't
noticed Snape returning – he hadn't heard anything, but Snape always walked
without making a sound, sweeping along corridors in his billowing black robes.
He looked like an angel of death who bore no mercy. Harry shudders.

"The Headmaster agreed that I may see to your punishment." Snape had left Harry
waiting for hours, and the news is almost a relief. "If I had come a moment
sooner, I'd have been able to save Mr. Malfoy, but as it is … well. You've
killed a fellow student, and that will not be overlooked, the way so many of
your escapades have been."

Snape strokes Harry's cheek, tracing the edge of the gag. "You may choose
between me and Azkaban, Mr. Potter."

With the gag in his mouth, Harry can't speak, but he nods frantically at Snape,
who smirks at him. "Very well. Let us hope that you won't come to regret that
choice."

When Snape murmurs a spell, all of Harry's clothes disappear, leaving him
completely naked. He shivers – it's because the dungeons are cold, not because
he's afraid. Certainly not because he's afraid of Snape.

It doesn't come as a surprise when Snape starts to whip Harry across his back
and buttocks – after the way the whip cracked through the air, the pain
shouldn't have been a surprise, either. Harry struggles against his bonds,
trying to escape, trying to spit out the gag and scream, but Snape shows him no
mercy.

"Foolish boy," he says when he finally stops, standing in front of Harry and
flexing his wrist. "Did you think that magic was a game? Did you think that you
could try out unknown spells on your classmates with impunity?"

Snape leaves Harry there for a moment, and then unbinds his wrists with a flick
of his wand. "Did you think that you could kill with impunity, Mr. Potter? Are
you proud of what you've done?"

He prods Harry's mouth with the tip of his wand. "Well, boy? Answer me."

"I – n-no, sir." Harry scrambles to his feet, backing away from Snape. "I'm not
– I didn't–"

"You're not proud of yourself, Mr. Potter? You don't consider it the crowning
achievement of your academic career here at Hogwarts? Was it noble of you to
slice open Draco's chest and watch him bleed to death in front of you?"

"N-no." Harry's voice is firmer now. He backs up against a wall and presses his
palms flat against the cold stone. He won't shake or tremble. He won't.

He can't erase the image of Draco dying from his head, and now the ghost of
Harry's act is between him and Snape. Now it's been said out loud.

Now it's real. Harry killed another boy and watched him die.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Snape asks. He reaches out and touches Harry's
cheek again, flicking away a tear.

Harry swallows. "Yes, sir."

"Dumbledore won't send his Golden Boy to Azkaban, no matter what you do. You
can walk out of here now, if you want, and not a word will be said about any of
this. Is that what you want?"

"I – what do you mean?"

"You're needed in the fight against Voldemort, Potter. You can walk out of here
and you'll face no further punishment. Is that what you want? Have you been
punished enough?"

Harry closes his eyes and sees only red. Malfoy's blood on the stone floor.
Malfoy's hand flung out from his body, reaching for Harry at the last.

"No, sir," Harry says in a small voice. "I haven't been punished enough."

"Fine." Snape whirls away and stalks across the room. "Bend over the bench
again."

Harry obeys. He freezes when the ropes wrap around him again, binding him in
place, and then the gag is forcing its way into his mouth and he almost chokes
on it.

"You'll regret what you've done," Snape says. "You'll pay and pay until you
feel that you've filled your debt."

His voice drops as he stalks towards Harry. Standing in front of him, Snape
unbuttons his trousers, pulling out his prick and brushing it against the gag
in Harry's mouth. He's half-hard, and he puts a finger under Harry's chin,
forcing his head up and making him watch. Snape strokes himself until his cock
is hard and pre-come is dripping from the tip. He smears it across Harry's
cheek, and Harry flinches.

Harry chose this. He deserves it. When Snape Banishes the gag and forces his
prick down Harry's throat, he relaxes and takes it. His mouth is stretched so
wide it hurts, but Harry can't move, can't struggle. There's nothing to do but
accept it, and Snape fucks his mouth until Harry sees stars behind his eyelids.
He can't breathe.

Malfoy will never breathe again. Harry doesn't deserve to breathe after what
he's done. The truth hits him until he's crying, more tears leaking out of his
eyes – he can't stop it, and he's choking on Snape's cock.

Snape pulls out of Harry's mouth and strokes his cock until he's coming over
Harry's face, splattering his skin and glasses with come. Harry can't see, and
when Snape puts a hand to his face, wiping away the tears and stroking his
cheek, Harry leans into the touch. It's the only warmth in the cold dungeons,
the only reassurance there is now Malfoy's gone.

Without saying a word, Snape sits on the bench next to him and touches Harry
until he's calmed. Then Snape Banishes the rest of the mess, unties the ropes
and clothes Harry with a spell.

"Go," he says, giving Harry a light swat on the back. Over the marks left by
the whip, it stings, but Harry still leans into Snape's touch. It almost feels
right.

"Come back when you need me."

-------

Harry's pressed between Severus and Draco, caught up in the warmth of their
bodies, and the sounds they make echo in the high-vaulted cathedral, but
somehow it doesn't seem wrong. Severus has unbuttoned his tight collar, baring
his neck with all its scars, and Draco's lips are stretched around a prayer. He
begs for more, and Harry gives it to him.

He pounds into Draco, thrusting so hard that Draco's head knocks against the
pew, and stops only when Severus puts a hand on his shoulder.

Harry lets Severus reposition him, pulling Draco up until the three of them fit
together. Harry lets Severus spread his legs, slicking him with a cool gel,
thrusting into him – and then he starts fucking Draco again. He lets Severus
set the pace and it's good to follow him. It's good not to think.

There's nothing to think about, nothing. Snape's thrusts shake the pew, and
Harry reaches for Draco's cock, stroking it until Draco arches back against
him. Draco's outlined in the light from the stained glass windows, pure white
coming through the glass and the black pattern of the lead that sets the
pattern. Parallel lines cross his face like bars– Harry looks up at the window,
and it's a picture of Jesus that casts those shadows, his fingers highlighted
on Draco's face. He has his hand raised in blessing and his gaze goes straight
through Harry.

Harry closes his eyes. This is right – in spite of everything, this feels
right. He needs Draco and Severus no matter what the law says, no matter what
their vows say. The world as they know it is dead, their magic is gone, and
this is the only way for the three of them to survive. Harry needs them, and
they need him.

Draco closes his eyes, his lips moving as he reaches for Harry. Harry catches
his hand and presses a kiss to the palm of it – this hand that was used to
kill, that was used to repent, that has been used to bless and heal the sick
and wounded. He presses Draco's hand against his heart and he thrusts into
Draco again and again, the pace set by Severus.

Severus stops when he's close to coming, when Draco begins to pray. He kisses
Harry's shoulder blade and his hands brush wide patterns on Harry's back. Angel
wings.

The three of them hold one another, Harry sandwiched in the middle, stopping
just short this side of heaven. It's just a thrust away, Harry thinks – here
with Severus and Draco, here–

The great door of the cathedral opens and closes with a boom. Before the echoes
have died, Severus has grabbed the two of them, pulling them out of the pew and
into the confessional at the end of the aisle. Harry's heart thuds in his chest
and his breath comes in quick short gasps. If they had been caught – if they
had lost their refuge in the Church–

It's a tight squeeze to fit the three of them in the confessional. They're
pressed up one against the other, chest-to-chest, skin against skin, all three
of them bare. It doesn't matter what the sins of the flesh are – it doesn't
matter that the wages of sin are death. When the echoes of the door have died
down and there's silence throughout the cathedral, Harry rocks against Draco
and turns his head back for a kiss from Severus.

Silence echoes through the church and the confessional is dark, shadowy. Harry
nudges against Draco, forcing his legs apart and then thrusting into him. He
waits for Severus to join them, putting a hand over Draco's mouth when he would
have moaned. The three of them move together in silence.

Secret, silent … this isn't worth the magic they lost. Whatever it is between
them, the few moments they steal to be together, it isn't worth the price of
hiding from the Death Eaters like this. It isn't enough, and Harry aches every
time he slips a hand in his cassock, looking for his wand and finding only a
rosary.

Severus fucks him harder and Draco moans against his hand, and Harry closes his
eyes, giving himself over to the feelings. It almost feels right, here with
Severus and Draco, needing them. It's right.

-------

Snape has lost the bone-sharp whiteness of death, the colour that his portrait
had at first. His sallow colouring is back and he still sneers at Harry.
There's some comfort in that routine, even if each barb still stings. Even if
Snape's portrait is hung there to keep watch over Harry and keep him on his
best behaviour.

Harry ignores Snape this morning, blowing across Malfoy's coffee to cool it.
Cream and two sugars, sweet and sinful. Harry could eat for a month on the
money that Malfoy spends on coffee.

"Someone from the Ministry will be in to see you today," Malfoy says when Harry
brings him his breakfast. "Do try to behave, won't you?"

Snape's taunts are the same, but then Malfoy is the one who's alive and able to
change. If he's moved on from calling Harry "scarhead" to treating him like a
house elf, there's no surprise there. If his eyes don't shine when he insults
Harry and if he doesn't smirk the way he used to – well. He toadies to his Lord
and curses Harry when it counts.

Harry's fingers clench on the tea tray and he almost spills the remnants of
Malfoy's breakfast down the corridor in an ungainly stumble. He doesn't – he
catches himself in time.

The Ministry representative turns out to be Percy Weasley, who ducks his head
and blushes when he sees Harry. The questions about his well being aren't
routine, this month – no matter how ineffective the Ministry is under
Voldemort's rule, Percy actually cares, and Harry knows it.

After the interview, he takes Percy down to the servants' hall and offers him
tea. They're alone, and the clink of the heavy pottery cups echoes in the room.
There's nothing to say – Harry and Percy are both survivors in their own way,
but they've got nothing else in common. Nothing safe to talk about.

Percy cares about Harry, though, and he doesn't push Harry away when the
accidental touches linger and turn into caresses. That's more than anyone else
in this place, more than Malfoy and more than Snape.

Harry pulls down Percy's trousers, pushing him against the high counter. Their
cups clink together when they tip over, flooding the countertop with milky tea,
and Percy makes a sound that might be a protest. He edges away from the
spreading puddle of tea and grabs Harry, pulling him closer.

He stops before unfastening Harry's trousers, his fingers splayed out and
pressed against Harry's belly. "Are you okay … really okay?"

Harry put his lips against Percy's neck, kissing the dry skin there. Percy
smells like everything that Harry's forgotten – the Burrow, Molly's cooking,
home – and Harry takes a deep breath. He's all right. He has to be.

There's nothing else to say, nothing that words can do. There's just the
language of their bodies, the relief of skin against skin. Hands exploring
through clothing, under clothing – cocks pressed together – lips touching,
Percy's chapped lips kissing Harry at last – it's too much, and Harry's glasses
fog up. He can't see Percy, and he fumbles, grabbing Percy's shoulder with
sweaty fingers, holding onto him when the world fragments around them.

He rests his head against Percy's shoulder, his head turned so that he can
breathe in Percy's smell. He feels small next to Percy, with Percy's arms
wrapped loosely around him, with the smell of the Burrow close enough to touch.

Even when the two of them pull apart and put their clothing to rights, Harry
doesn't look up. He doesn't want to know if Snape is in his portrait frame
watching them, doesn't want to see Snape's smirk or hear his taunts.

Harry and Percy bump into Malfoy as they leave the room and he smirks at them
as though he knows. He reaches out and touches Harry's arse as they pass – in
the tight corridor, Percy doesn't see it.

"If you're on your best behaviour, perhaps your friend can visit more often."
Malfoy winks, a wink that only Harry can see. When Percy has smiled and agreed
and escaped, Malfoy presses Harry against the wall, grinding against him. "And
if you're not on your best behaviour, your friend will suffer. Am I clear?"

"Yes." Harry grits it out, trying to shrink away from Malfoy, trying to escape
Snape's gaze. The Death Eaters have him trapped. They've won.

"Yes, Master," Malfoy says, his hand pressed hard against Harry's cock, his
breath hot on Harry's neck.

"Yes, Master," Harry says. He doesn't look at Malfoy, but when he's gone, Harry
looks up at Snape's portrait. Snape is there, but he's not smirking. There are
no taunts about his slavery or his parents. "Quite a show," he says instead.

Snape has opened his robes and he stares straight at Harry while he wanks, his
sallow hands moving on his swollen prick. He swallows hard when he comes, his
semen splattering the frame like oil paint, and he doesn't look away from Harry
for a second.

It's too much. Harry puts his arm over his eyes and flees for his room, for the
bed positioned under another of Snape's portraits. He flings himself onto the
bed, keeping his eyes covered, and pretends that Snape isn't watching him.
Harry pretends that it hasn't all gone wrong.

-------

It starts out simple, but Draco's always known how to push Harry. He prods and
taunts and goads until Harry gives it to him, either with his fists or with a
good fucking. Now, it's usually the latter, but Draco still knows how to do it.


He's unpeeled a banana and now he's drizzling chocolate over it, stretching his
lips wide to suck on it. His tongue darts out to lick the excess chocolate off
his lips, and Harry tries not to stare.

"I bet you couldn't do it," Draco says. "You have a weird cupboard fetish after
being raised by those Muggles. You probably couldn't get it up if we were
fucking outdoors."

He licks a drop of chocolate off the tip of the banana, and Harry clenches his
hands into fists. "I could."

That's how Harry ends up tied to a tree in the Forbidden Forest. They'd snuck
onto the Hogwarts grounds, pilfered the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb, and
found the Resurrection Stone with a Summoning Spell. Simple.

"Are you sure you can do it with Snape watching?" Draco asks, and the taunt
pushes Harry into action. He uses the Stone to summon Snape, and when his wispy
form appears, Harry turns away, looking at Draco instead.

"I can do it," Harry says.

Draco kneels in front of him, running a feather over his bare skin. Harry
doesn't flinch when Draco teases the inside of his thighs – he doesn't arch his
back and lean into the touch when Draco rubs the feather against his cock.
Snape has floated through the air until he's behind Draco, looking straight at
Harry.

Harry gulps when Draco starts sucking his cock and Snape's still staring at
him. Snape's almost insubstantial, not really there – Harry closes his eyes and
thrusts into Draco's mouth, straining against the ropes that bind him to the
tree.

"None of that," Draco says, pulling away from Harry. He stands, kissing Harry –
he still tastes like banana and chocolate – and taps his wand to the ropes,
binding Harry tighter. Harry struggles, but it does him no good, and Draco only
grins at him. "You'll just have to wait."

Feather-light kisses over Harry's collarbone, the touch of the feather to his
nipples, his stomach, his cock – Draco touches him again and again, until he's
driving Harry crazy. Until he makes Harry beg.

It's easy to do, even with Snape watching. Harry begs, the words falling out of
his mouth in a meaningless jumble, and Draco leans in for a real kiss at last.
He presses his body against Harry's, covering him, rubbing against him. He
wraps a hand around their cocks, stroking them off together.

Harry keeps his eyes closed when he comes, squeezing them shut tightly so that
he won't see Snape, so that Snape isn't there – but he feels empty, afterwards.
Snape is staring at them, and he's just mist and vapours. He can't touch them.
He can't touch anyone.

Draco pillows his head against Harry's shoulder, the tree supporting both of
them. There's silence in the forest around them, and at last Harry reaches for
the Elder Wand, using it to loosen his bonds and free himself. He and Draco
dress, not saying a word. Draco's lips are swollen and he takes Harry's hand.

Snape's gone when Harry looks back at him, and there's nothing to mark the spot
where he had been. Harry lets the Resurrection Stone fall to the ground and he
kicks at the twigs and leaves, scuffing them over to cover the Stone. He
squeezes Draco's hand and they Apparate home.

It started out simple, but Snape wasn't simple when he was alive, and he isn't
now, not between the two of them. Harry pulls Draco up to their bedroom,
closing the door behind them and leaning back against it.

"I knew you had a cupboard fetish," Draco says. Something of his old smirk is
back, and Harry pins Draco to the wall, kissing the smirk away.

-------

There was one thing that made it Harry's life – the moment after he had
defeated Voldemort, when Severus and Draco had rescued him. No matter how many
possible futures there were, that was his reality and what made it his.

Harry shivers, and Severus rubs his shoulders. "All right, Harry?"

"Yeah. It's nothing," he says. Visions, nightmares, might-have-beens … there's
no life where he's without his lovers. It couldn't happen. "Just a goose
walking over my grave."

Draco kisses him, a soft kiss that lingers on his lips, and Severus pulls him
into a tight embrace. The two of them bracket Harry, and he relaxes.

"Shall we go back to the masquerade?" Severus asks, tracing the line of Harry's
spine. He lingers over each vertebra, following his fingers with kisses.

"I don't think we need masks or costumes, do you?" Harry reaches for Draco's
cock, shifting so that he rubs against Severus too. Rocking between them,
Harry's caught up in the heat of their bodies and held in their arms. He kisses
Draco and then twists back to kiss Severus, prolonging each kiss and drawing it
out to make it last. No future is better than this.
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