Work Text:
The Safe-House Component
There were bodies everywhere. Blood. Screams. Decay and death were howling in the air, heat surrounding him. There was fire that would never be quelled, forever burning, consuming. He could feel it eating away his soul. There wasn't any mercy in this place. Hexes buzzed through the air, lightening bolts in green and red, accompanied by an incredible noise. Blood was leaking out of his mouth from where someone had kicked out a couple of teeth and his left arm hung limp and broken at his side. He lifted his head slightly and -
"Potter? Are you coming?"
Harry turned around to face Draco, who was standing on the doorstep of the small safe-house they had been sent to live in. "It's Harry." The walls of the house had been whitewashed and the roof was thatched, the garden only recognisable as such due to the fence that surrounded it. He could hear the waves not far off crashing against the stones at the shore.
"Right. Are you coming in now?"
Without replying Harry followed Draco into the cottage, one hand in his pocket, clutching his wand. There was nothing to be afraid of, he told himself as he surveyed the room. The cottage itself wasn't big, but it was open without any dark places to hide in. To his left stood a couch and two armchairs and the west wall was covered by huge shelves filled with books. At least they wouldn't get bored here.
Harry stepped a bit further into the room, jumping a bit when Draco closed the door behind him. To his right was the kitchen – nothing fancy, just a cooling compartment, stove, and sink and enough space to prepare food in. And there was a table with four chairs – more than they needed.
"It should be satisfactory," a dark voice with a slight rasp came from the living room, followed by none other than Snape, who still looked terribly frail and pallid. It wasn't a surprise, after they had practically raised him from the dead. It had taken hours and too many potions to count to revive him and pull him back from the edge. And now he was here, with them. Harry wasn't sure who was supposed to watch over whom.
"Is that the only bedroom?" Draco asked, pointing at the room Snape had just walked out of, and groaned at the responding nod. "Great. One bed and three men – where are we supposed to sleep?"
Snape sneered at the two of them, opening his mouth to say something, but Harry was quicker than him: "I can take the couch." With that he slowly turned to the left and walked towards the couch.
"Which you will share with him, Draco," Snape directed and, ignoring Draco's protesting sputter, continued: "I will need the bedroom and some peace and quiet to recuperate. Besides, I am older than you whelps and therefore automatically entitled to the proper bed." He turned around, but there was no swish of his robes, no flourish, and he returned to inspect the bed.
Draco just stood there in the middle of the room, blinking and letting his eyes go from the couch to the open bedroom door. There was a certain amount of disbelief in his eyes, insecurity dancing to an unknown rhythm in there.
"Fine," he muttered finally, crossing his arms in front of his chest, but didn't move until he added another, slightly louder, "Fine."
******
Severus sighed as his back touched the soft mattress. It wasn't the kind of mattress he would have chosen for his bed at Hogwarts, but its was a mattress. It was a luxury he had come to enjoy and be thankful for, no matter what. Especially since only a short while ago he had been sure that he would never have the opportunity to sleep on one again.
Everything was still a sort of blur. He could remember being in the Shrieking Shack, his adrenaline burning high while he tried to get Potter – Harry, now. Harry – some extra time. He hadn't known where the whelp had been, but he had known that something must be done. There was so much depending on Harry, so many lives … Lily would never have forgiven him if he had just let her boy die without at least offering him assistance. In the end Harry had died, but that had been out of his hands. He had had done his best and had breathed his last breath. Or so he had thought at that time.
From the way the Dark Lord had looked at him Severus had known that something was up, that something was not right. He remembered thinking 'This will not end well.' just shortly before the Dark Lord had sicked his blasted snake on him. This will not end well, my arse. It had nearly been a bloody catastrophe. Literally.
And then the whole drama with Harry coming towards him, a look of utter desolation and desperation on his face, coupled with something that Severus imagined had often been mirrored his own face in dire situations like this. Helplessness.
Oh, he had known what Harry's reaction to his memories would be. He had known that this would lead the boy directly like a lamb to his own slaughter, but he had done it nevertheless. Had had to do it.
He wasn't sure if Harry had forgiven him for it, as the blasted boy barely talked any more. There hadn't been any screaming at him, but also not much else – though that was a vast improvement to everything they had had before, so he should probably be thankful for it. And Harry had given him his memories back.
******
The windowsills were blue and the couch was still trying to suck in Harry's body. Draco was puttering around in the kitchen, probably looking for something that didn't need to be cooked before eating, reminding Harry of the fact that there was definitely a downside to the couch not being in a separate room. No privacy all all and Draco being noisy non-stop.
The ceiling had cracks in it. One long one, three shorter, branching ones that went to the right and seven to the left, two of which crossed each other again. In the left-hand corner there was a faint water stain from rain leaking through the roof. And -
"You could help me make something to eat." Draco's slightly trembling voice was somehow edged with worry whenever he spoke these days. Harry still hadn't managed to find out if that was because of what happened during the last two years or if there was something else. Maybe it was because of his parents, who were in custody for questioning regarding their suspected participation in Death Eater activities. After all there hadn't been any real proof – other than the Malfoys being present at the last fight – that Lucius had actually done anything wrong after he had returned from Azkaban.
******
Life could possibly not be any more boring , Draco thought. He didn't want to read yet another book, Harry was staring at the ceiling above their couch and Severus was sleeping his daily exhaustion off in the bedroom. And he, Draco, was sitting in the kitchen part of the cottage, clinging to his weak tea that he had made all on his own, hoping desperately he'd be able to think of something to do.
Even his best techniques in denial and suppression regarding his parents and practically everything that had happened since the end of fifth year only worked as long as he had something to do to occupy his time. It was the quiet moments that gave him ample time to waste with wondering and angst. It was those that he feared.
"All of that is in the past," he told himself firmly. "And it will stay there." Determined to do something, Draco got up to make some more tea. They had some tea bags here, but he preferred to prepare tea with proper tea strainers. It had been one of the few things Mother had shown him to do in the kitchen. Preparing tea, she always said, was the start of a ritual of relaxation. You poured the hot water on the leaves and watched them swirl in the water and dance entrancingly slowly. After a while you'd see them colour the water, long strands of colour moving through the pot. You'd smell the tea, your stomach would trembled in joyous expectation and then, once the tea was ready, you'd sit down in an armchair or on the Ottoman in the reading room and enjoy your tea whilst reading a book or talking to someone, closing your eyes occasionally through sheer bliss.
Draco placed two cups and the pot on a tea-tray and walked to the bedroom with it. Severus had retired quickly after lunch, having looked tired all day, and had not yet reappeared. Maybe a cup of tea would do him some good, Draco thought. But when he entered the room, Draco could see that Severus was still fast asleep. The covers had probably once been pulled up to his chin, but now they had been kicked down until they only covered him up to his chest. For once he looked at peace, though not actually happy, a ray of sunlight dancing over his face. It had been so long since Draco had seen him like this, he realised with a pang, putting down the tray as gently as he could. When they had been on the run together more than a year ago, there had been stress etched into Severus' face. And Draco had wished for nothing more than to give him some relief, make him feel better. He had actually thought about doing something … more forward, but in the end he hadn't. Hadn't dared to, had been too scared that Severus would push him away.
Draco shook his head and tried to dampen the desire to push a stray strand of hair behind Severus' ear.
"Draco," Severus' sleep-heavy voice made him jump. "Would you kindly stop looming over me and make yourself useful by pouring me some of that tea?"
After the initial shock Draco smiled. He should have known that Severus would notice his presence. The man was only tired, after all, and not dead. Thank Merlin. And as long as Severus lived his instincts would be there to protect him. Or rip him out of sleep. "Of course." Draco poured two cups, handed Severus one and then sat down on the bed with the other in his hands.
*****
Harry couldn't help it. His eyes were glued to Draco's bum again as he watched him walk through the cottage, sending cleaning spells left and right. It wasn't a particularly curvy bum – actually it was rather bony. Not as bony as his own, of course – malnourishment did these things to scrawny men – and it was quite firm. Which he knew because his hand had brushed Draco's arse the previous night, when he had tossed and turned on the couch, unable to find sleep. It had left him with a hard-on that had had him running to the bathroom after painful moments of hoping that his brushing touch hadn't woken Draco.
It just wasn't fair. After all the shit he'd already been through he should be allowed to expect that life got easier, right? Instead there were only new problems building! And while they were not problems that involved a megalomaniac, murdering wizard, they still might be the death of him.
"What you staring at?"
While not exactly sounding aggressive, Draco's question still jerked Harry out of his thoughts. He felt his cheeks colouring and sweat breaking out. Had Draco seen him staring at his arse? What was he thinking? Would he be angry?
"Do I have something on my trousers? I didn't sit down in that speck of jam on the chair, did I?"
Harry dumbly shook his head, his expression causing Draco to raise an eyebrow at him. He didn't say anything though and went on with his cleaning spree. After a few seconds Harry went to the bathroom, locked himself in and hit the wall with his head. Stupid Harry. Stupid. That had been way too close. What would he have done if Draco had found out? Stupid!
*****
He didn't know how exactly Draco had managed to get the old gramophone to work, what with not having any clue about anything regarding technology – be it old or new – whatsoever, but he had. The slightly tinny voice of a singer from what could have been the 1930s or 1940s filled the room, gently accompanied by a tune that made even Snape move his finger to the music.
Heaven … I'm in heaven …
Harry looked around. He wouldn't call this heaven, exactly. It was way too small and there were no clouds, no angels, and no buffet. In fact it was just storage space for used war goods that were waiting – and fearing – to be employed once more.
Draco joined the tune. Heaven … I'm in heaven …
But actually … actually it was very peaceful here. No attacks. No blood being spilled. No pained screams. Just them – just Severus, Draco, and him. And they were safe here, right? They got on together.
Harry looked at Draco, who had started dancing with an imaginary partner, and smiled.
"Come on, Harry, move your lazy hindquarters, grab a partner, and join me!" he sung out, wearing an ear-splitting grin.
'I'd rather dance with you,' Harry thought, but joined him with an imaginary partner nevertheless, practising the well-known dance style of standing still and swaying, because he still hadn't learned how to dance properly – let alone waltz.
Draco smiled at him – it was an amused smile, but it wasn't mocking, and it made Harry's heart skip a beat.
*****
In the evening they were sitting together for a while, after having a nice dinner, and just spend some time sitting in quiet and reading. Severus had come to savour evenings like that.
All the dancing had been so exhausting that Harry was the first go to bed. As neither Severus nor Draco showed any sign of fatigue or shared his plans of sleeping, Harry had hesitantly asked if he could sleep in the bedroom for tonight. To Draco's – and Harry's – surprise Severus had shrugged and sent him away with a nod. And then they were sitting alone in the living room, a bottle of wine which they had opened for dinner on the coffee table in front of them.
Draco filled up his glass and then looked questioningly at Severus. "Want some more wine?"
Severus held out his glass as an answer, watching as the crimson liquid slowly filled his glass. He was feeling slightly inebriated, but warm and comfortable. It was nice to share something like this with Draco instead of being on the run. All that hiding in clammy caves and mouldy barns was still so fresh in his memory that it stood out bleakly in comparison to this.
He took a sip of his wine, regarding Draco for a moment. "How are you, Draco?" He should have asked before, he realised. Should have made sure that Draco was fine, that he was coping as well as one could after all this.
Draco shrugged, his eyes hooded. "I have been better," he said and added, before Severus could even start thinking about what to reply, "But I have been worse as well. Life goes on, doesn't it?"
Severus inclined his head. "So it does." Draco was surprisingly mature about the whole matter. "I suppose everything will get back to normal … or rather a new form of normal as soon as we are allowed back into our world." Truth to be told Draco had been nothing but mature ever since he had got the news of the threat to his parents. "Each one of us will be getting on with his life..."
"I … I was hoping that some of us might … might be sharing ..."
He hadn't noticed before that Draco was sitting so close, not until Draco put his hand on Severus' thigh. Draco's own thigh was already pressed against Severus', warmth seeping through his clothes. Merlin, how long had it been since he had had sex? Since he had had kissed someone? Since he had felt like this. Drunk. Elated. Nervous. Passionate.
"Severus -"
Severus lifted his hand to touch the side of Draco's face, making him lose the words he had meant to say. Severus wasn't blind; he had seen the boy – though he was hardly a boy any more, was he? – looking at him. The heated glances, the increasing heart-beat that was betrayed by ever so slightly blushing cheeks. It had started months ago, but Severus hadn't dared to give it much thought. Writing it off to guilt, gratitude, teen-aged lust being enhanced by the war and the feeling that every day could be the last; it had been so easy. But these excuses weren't valid any more. If it had been only that, Draco wouldn't have continued with it here, wouldn't have looked at him like he did now.
Severus wasted no time asking if Draco was sure about this or if he really wanted this. Draco was a Malfoy and a Slytherin – he knew exactly what he wanted and what to expect. Severus moved the hand on Draco's cheek to the back of his neck and pulled Draco closer until their lips touched. Soft hair tickled Severus' face and Draco gasped, his hands looking for something to hold on to, finding Severus' shirt.
Draco was as soft as he was bony. Sharp bones poking out, pulling skin taut here and there, but the skin delicate, his lips full and perfect. Severus ran his tongue over them, making Draco open them ever so slightly to him, allowing him entrance. Never had a kiss felt this good. Never had he wished it would go on forever.
******
He was thirsty, Harry thought sleepily as he woke up only a short while after he had managed to fall asleep. When he slept in the living room he always had a glass of water near by, but he had forgotten to bring it in here. The prospect of getting up and walking all the way to the kitchen – in his state he didn't trust himself with mumbled summoning-spells – didn't seem appealing at all. But the increasing feeling of dryness, which felt like someone had poured pepper down his throat and then turned on the heat, didn't give him much choice.
He swung his feet out of bed, dragging his body after them, and lumbered to the door. His feet barely made any sound as he walked to the sink in the kitchen. He got water on the hems of his pyjama sleeves as he filled his glass and greedily drank it in one go, before refilling it. The cold made him open his eyes wider.
On the way back a movement on the sofa caught his eyes. Two shadows, two – his brain blanked out, taking seconds to process what his eyes were seeing, then everything rushed back to him with the power of an explosion. So fast that it hurt. Everywhere. Draco. Severus. Draco and Severus. Pressed together, touching everywhere. Lips, tongues. Hands clutching at shirts, needy whimpers stifled by closeness, and so immersed in each other that they hadn't even noticed him.
Harry clung to the glass in his hand like to a lifeline. This couldn't – this – this wasn't – His feet wouldn't move, his eyes wouldn't close. Move. Move!, he yelled in his head until finally, blessedly, he moved and closed the door behind him with an almost inaudible click.
*****
Draco and Severus were sitting at the table, silently eating their soup. Their legs were touching comfortably and Draco couldn't stop smiling now and then. Severus, on the other hand, kept casting worried glances at the closed bedroom door.
"He hasn't been out today," he said eventually and frowned.
Draco looked at the door and shrugged. "Maybe he wants to have a lie in." His eyes wandered to the clock at the wall and then he frowned as well. A lie in was not really Harry's style, especially not till it was almost afternoon . "Maybe I should go in." As he made to get up Severus placed his hand on Draco's arm stopping him and pulling him back down.
"Finish your soup first. It won't help if you let it get cold."
*****
The ceiling of Severus' bedroom had twenty-five cracks. Most of them led from the middle to the right, but two branched towards the door and one towards the windows over Harry's head. Harry's eyes were red and puffy and there was no more water in his glass to allay his thirst. He wouldn't go out to get more.
It wasn't that bad, was it? Severus and Draco – they were probably meant to be. Harry should never have thought … it was stupid anyway. He would leave soon enough and then he'd never see either of them again anyway. Harry pressed his eyes closed, trying to hold the sting in. Suddenly his throat felt constricted. Never to see Draco again … never to see Severus again. His heart beat faster until he felt it was on the verge of pain. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Severus either.
"Oh God," he breathed into his pillow. Not Severus as well. "I'm sick." Disgusting. It was wrong. He couldn't love Severus too. It wasn't possible. Ignore their age difference. Ignore that he had been Harry's teacher. Ignore everything that spoke against this relationship. But you just couldn't love two people at the same time! There was only room for one person in your heart, wasn't there? That was how it was supposed to be. Everything else was sick.
And neither of them wanted him. How could it be any good? They wanted each other. Not him. Not the scrawny, scruffy-haired crazy.
*****
Draco pushed the door to the bedroom open, not bothering to knock, and found Harry lying on his side, facing away from the door,
"Harry?" he asked hesitantly. The only indication that he had been heard was that Harry drew his knees slightly closer to himself. "There is soup." Nothing. No answer, just heavy breathing. "Don't you want to come out? We could play another round of that awful card game that you like." Still no reaction.
Draco shook his head. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Had they done something? Harry had been well enough the past couple of days, hadn't he?
Still shaking his head Draco left the room and joined Severus at the sink, where he was spelling the dishes to wash themselves up.
"He didn't talk," Draco said upon Severus' questioning look and sighed. Hesitantly Severus' hand came to rest on Draco's back, his thumb stroking up and down. Slowly Draco relaxed. Draco let his head fall onto Severus' shoulder, craving intimacy but still too shy and unsure to do more than this.
Severus looked down at that face that some would have called angelic, but that was everything but to him. He could never be with someone perfect, needed someone who had seen the depths himself, who had touched and tasted darkness. And that was what he saw in Draco – experience beyond his years, things that no young man should have seen. Fire even. He bent down and kissed Draco – slowly, sensually, without feeling as if he had to justify himself and his action with every movement.
*****
Harry watched the sun set. Still lying on his side, with his bladder pressing him to get up and his rumbling, cramping, empty stomach ordering him to eat, he did nothing. Could it be called betrayal if the one that you liked loved someone else? Even though no-one knew that you loved him? Or could it be called betrayal if you liked two people and they liked someone else – each other? And what about him? Wasn't it a betrayal to Draco that he now liked … loved … liked (What did he know about love anyway?) Severus as well? Betrayal all around, with nowhere to turn to.
The door opened again. He recognised Severus' scent and felt a pang at that realisation. How could he … why was he …
Severus sat down on the bed, causing it to dip, his back facing Harry's.
"This has to stop," he said, his voice calm and yet firm. Harry didn't react. "Whatever spurred you on to behave like – this can be discussed. You will come out with me now and eat something." He looked over Harry's still form. Scrawny, but luminous in the last rays of sun of the day, his hair in a disarray that made Severus' hands itch to flatten it.
"Oh Lily," he thought. "Forgive me." He reached out, taking Harry's sweater-clad arm, and pulled gently. Nothing happened, at first, as if the boy was waiting for him to leave. But then he tugged again, his fingers slipping and touching the cold skin of Harry's wrist. Harry jumped up as if he had been burnt. A wild look was on his face, miserable and confused, and Severus felt helpless in his inability to comfort. "Come. There is soup."
*****
Severus hadn't touched Draco since that day, after they had coaxed Harry out of the room. Oh, of course there had been the occasional accidental brushing. And it wasn't even that Severus shied away or anything when Draco came close. But there hadn't been long, lingering touches – no kisses – even though Draco clearly saw that Severus wanted to. They were sharing the couch in the living room, both unable to sleep staring out into the darkness, but both in different directions.
And Harry? Harry was still occupying Severus' room, as if he was waiting for the rightful resident to come back. And maybe he was. Maybe he was waiting for Severus to come to him and suggest they share the bed. Maybe he wanted Severus as much as Draco wanted him.
The thought made his stomach clench. The two of them together, no blond hair in sight. Severus should be with someone who was the opposite to him. Dark and light. Someone like Draco. And Harry? Harry needed someone who could … someone who …
Draco shook his head. Instead of dwelling on things he should start doing something. If only he knew what.
*****
As Harry slowly came back to himself – quieter, even more withdrawn, but still himself – Draco found himself at a loss. It was as if he was standing between two treasures, both enticing, both fascinating and both so different. And he wanted to reach out for both of them, knowing all the while that he couldn't have both. Or could he?
Draco stared at the bubbling onion soup (that Severus had made – he was just stirring it, of course) and frowned. Why in Merlin's name shouldn't he? After everything … after all he had gone through, wasn't he allowed something? Happiness? He didn't care what everyone would think of him. Their minds were already made up in any case. Only … only he didn't know if Harry wanted him. Or if Severus wanted Harry, or if they thought about the same things as he did. If only … if only there was a way to find out.
*****
Harry glanced awkwardly to the left, where Draco was pressed against him. He considered saying something, considered telling Draco that there was enough room on the couch and that there was no need for them to sit so close. But he was a drowning man, grasping even for the tiniest of straws in the hope it would keep him above the surface. Draco felt warm against him, comfortable, and it took all his willpower not to press back. Though he wasn't sure if he was succeeding. And Snape was right there, sitting in the armchair, drinking his tea and not looking murderous at all. There was something funny going on with his face, but there was no anger, no jealousy.
Harry couldn't understand it. If Severus and Draco were an item, why wasn't Snape flipping with rage? Why wasn't he jerking Draco away, sending Harry out of the cottage? Of course McGonagall and Kingsley might send him back, but still.
He felt Draco's hand moving, turning the page of the book he was reading, touching Harry's finger, and he thought he might die. It couldn't be. Couldn't work. Could never … it was sick!
He blushed, got up and excused himself as quickly as he could.
*****
"Pray tell, Draco, what are you doing?" Severus asked as soon as Harry had vanished into the bedroom.
Draco shrugged and looked innocent enough, but Severus was not fooled so easily. He sidled over to the sofa and placed his hand onto Draco's knee, moving it upwards.
"What has your devious mind planned now?"
Draco squirmed slightly, the hand burning through his trousers, heat creeping up to his crotch. This was unfair fighting – and Severus knew. He was a Slytherin, after all. "I was just … thinking …"
"Yes?"
"What do you think about Harry?" Draco blurted.
Severus raised an eyebrow. "What do I think of him? In what sense?"
Draco quickly checked if the door to the bedroom was really closed. It was, but he lowered his voice nevertheless. "Do you … like him? Find him attractive?" Now it was his turn to blush and he ducked his head.
Severus' other hand, the one that wasn't busy on his leg, came up to tilt Draco's head upwards again. "Why do you ask? Do you find him attractive?"
Draco looked away, then forced himself to meet Severus' eyes and hold his gaze. "Would that bother you?"
Severus' closed the distance between them. "No," he said and kissed Draco. "And you? Would it bother you if I also found him attractive?"
Out of the kiss a smile that resembled a smirk grew slowly on Draco's face. "No." He leant in for another kiss.
"Then the answer to the other question is yes. I do find him attractive. As I do you. And from his reaction, the tell-tale blush on his cheeks and the squirming, I would gauge that he also likes you. A lot."
*****
It happened quite fast. There was no letter, no missive, no Patronus giving them a warning. Suddenly there was thunder, then – not even a second later – lightning and a bang and the tree in front of the cottage was on fire.
Harry shot out of Severus' room, wand in hand and shaking all over. Frantically he looked around, finding Severus and Draco sitting on the extended couch, staring out in alarm. At first he just stood there, then, looking at Severus quickly for confirmation, Draco extended his hand towards Harry. Harry took it immediately, grasping Draco's hand and holding on for dear life.
"Don't be scared," Severus said, his own voice bearing a slight note of uncertainty in it. "It's just a storm." They pulled Harry down to sit in between them. Now the sofa was full and there wasn't any other way than to sit pressed against each other. Heat radiated from them. Harry could feel it as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the feeling, hoping it would make him forget.
"Just a storm," Draco repeated close to his ear and when the next lightening struck close by he ducked his head against Harry's neck. He did not move away after it was gone, stayed there as if he belonged.
Harry's heart beat faster and faster, the thunderstorm only partly responsible. Another roll of thunder had him grabbing blindly for a supporting hand. Severus found his and held it tight, lending him strength. His hands were thin and yet not delicate, warmer than he would have ever imagined.
"Please," Harry whispered and didn't know what he meant. Severus' thumb started moving over the back of Harry's hand, comforting and at the same time asking for something. Shivering – why was he shivering? – Harry looked up at Severus.
Severus met Harry's eyes. He hadn't planned it like this. He had meant to explore this attraction before he did anything, to make sure that this was what they all wanted. That Harry wanted him. But the need in Harry's eyes made him move nonetheless to slowly close the distance between them, his breath caressing Harry's lips before his own mouth did. The kiss was light and slow and Severus pulled back, watching Harry, who was staring wide eyed at him, afraid to move, to destroy the moment. In the background another clash of thunder sounded, unnoticed by Severus and Harry.
Severus, still holding Harry's hand, moved his other to Draco's shoulder, making him look up. He didn't need to ask permission here, just bent down and kissed Draco – more firmly than he had Harry. Then he looked at them both.
Draco twitched when there was another flash of lightning, but wasn't to be deterred. "Harry?" he asked, his voice soft. "Harry, is this okay?"
Harry swallowed. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he was dreaming. But his dreams were never this good – he couldn't be dreaming. He turned his head towards Draco and let himself be kissed.
How could this be? Why weren't they disgusted? Why did they...? "Why?" he finally managed to force out when he found his speech again.
Draco kissed his throat, making Harry close his eyes. "Because we like you. Because we want you." He answered, then asking again: "Is this okay?"
Harry looked at Severus. He had never seen so much … acceptance and desire in the man's eyes. It was as if he had finally realised that there was more to Harry than him just being his father's son or the boy with Lily's eyes. As if Severus could finally see him and like him what who he was. Maybe even love him.
"There is nothing wrong with this, Harry," he said.
"Yes." Harry swallowed. "Yes, this is all right." Draco moved his lips up again, this time kissing him harder, more passionate. "Oh God."
Draco's hands moved over his chest, over his shoulders and didn't even stop when he moved away to let Severus take his place. Not even when Severus and Draco kissed did Harry manage to catch his breath – now that he was included seeing them together didn't make him feel like his heart was being ripped out. He belonged, he felt, he was with them. And they looked hot together, making him want to join their kiss. Instead he planted feathery light kisses first on Severus' face, then on Draco's until they turned back to him.
The storm was forgotten.
******
It was a bright, clear morning, nearly two weeks after the storm. Harry had the windows and the doors open and he himself was standing just outside of the cottage, looking out at the sun glistening on the sea. There barely were any whitecaps in sight and the air was fresh and had this salty quality that made him want to breathe in and in and in and not let any of it go. A smile was dancing on his lips and he was the first to see the small owl coming towards them.
The letter contained little in the way of news. McGonagall had written to them imploring them to be patient for a little while longer and telling them with an attempt at humour that she hoped they hadn't managed to kill each other yet.
They had had some tentative talks about the future, about what to do and where to live, but none of them wanted to dwell on this any longer than they had to. One day, they knew, they would have decisions to make, but it was clear to all of them that whatever had to be faced, they would face it together.
The End.