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“I still can’t believe you’re dating Potter,” Draco says, the disdain in his voice clear, albeit diluted by amusement. “I never thought you would stoop so low, darling.”

 

Pansy smirks, hitches her skirt a little higher and leans back against the wall. She’s perched on the dining table, and Draco doesn’t have the heart to tell her to get down. He can see the tattoo on her right thigh; the snitch that she’d gotten inked one night after him and before Potter. He’s still not sure which one of them it symbolizes.

 

“Draco, love, I know you don’t like him,” Pansy says, looking him in the eye. “Frankly, I don’t care. No-one’s asking you to date him.”

 

Draco splutters, staring at Pansy as though she’d suggested something truly heinous, which he supposes she has, in a way.

 

“We might be open to polyamory though,” Pansy says, and the lilt of her smile is teasing. “Last night, you won’t believe who joined us in bed.”

 

“I don’t want to know,” Draco drawls. “Spare me, please.”

 

“Have you ever fucked two seekers at once? It’s really something else altogether,” she says. “Makes me feel like quite a catch.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” Draco says drily. “Very funny. I’m highly amused.”

 

“We’re doing things with our exes,” she goes on to say, not bothering to stop when she sees how flustered it’s making him. That’s just Pansy Parkinson, and Draco knows it.

 

“Which seeker ex, Weasley or Chang?” Draco interrupts, not ready to hear Pansy wax poetic about the female body yet again.

 

“I can’t believe you’re asking me, a certified bisexual, to pick one,” Pansy whines.

 

Draco doesn’t want to think about that. Not really.

 

“Anyway,” Pansy says. “I told Potter my exes were better in bed than his, and he wanted me to prove it.”

 

“No,” Draco says, not even looking up. “Not a chance.”

 

“Well, whatever sweetheart,” she says, and he can see that she’s smiling. “It’s your loss.”

 

***

“Did you see how flustered he got? I think he believed me,” Pansy says triumphantly. “Pay up, saviour.”

 

If they were making a list of the worst ways to use an invisibility cloak, this nonsensical dare and betting system they had going on would probably top the list. Harry shrugs the invisibility cloak off his shoulders and watches it fall to the floor, pooling around his ankles.

 

“Merlin,” he mutters under his breath, reaching into his pocket and pulling out ten galleons. “I don’t know why I bet against you.”

 

“Me neither. I can’t believe you thought you’d be able to convince Blaise,” Pansy says, laughing. She’s aware that Harry’s staring at her, and she wonders if it’s because he likes it when she laughs, or whether it’s because she’s so intimidating that he can’t look away.

 

“I thought my attempt was good,” Harry protests.

 

Pansy smirks. “Yes, except that you shouldn’t list out my non-existent kinks to someone who’s actually listened to me talk about sex while drunk.”

 

“Fine, whatever,” Harry says, but he can’t help grinning back. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

 

“Yeah, so I’ve heard, actually. But I’m your bitch, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

***

 

Luna isn’t as easy to convince, ironically enough.

 

“You’re being followed by orchinaries,” she says to Pansy. “Is this a dare?”

 

“Lovegood, do you think I would lie to you?”

 

Luna raises one eyebrow, and Pansy has a feeling that she’s to blame for getting Harry’s friends to interact with Draco. His odd mannerisms seem to have been adopted by the Dumbledore’s Army kids, which is truly ironic.

 

“What’s so hard to believe about Harry being a power bottom?”

 

“Lots of things,” Luna says, her stare going glassy. “For starters, he’s got a strong aura of wilbershrums, and those usually indicate other bedroom behaviours.”

 

“Hm, right,” Pansy says. “Of course, you’d know.”

 

“Yes,” Luna agrees serenely. “And then there’s the whole fact that power bottoms aren’t real. They’re a social construct.”

 

Pansy blinks. “What are you trying to tell me, Lovegood?”

 

“Our perceptions of reality are skewed,” she says calmly. “Most of us are born with hyproplers in our cognitive spheres, which hinder development. So you might find other people who believe your imaginative falsehoods about Harry, but you cannot hoodwink me. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t here somewhere, under the invisibility cloak. I can feel the wilbershrum count go up, can’t you?”

 

“That’s my girl,” Harry says, throwing his invisibility cloak off his shoulders dramatically, and ruffling Luna’s hair. Luna looks unperturbed.

 

Harry extends his hand to Pansy. “Pay up, Parkinson,” he says.

 

“Fuck, I should’ve known this day would come,” she says, and gives him one knut.

 

“You owe me more than that,” Harry protests, but he’s smiling.

 

“Please, I own your heart,” Pansy says. “Also I buy you all your clothes, if anyone’s in debt it’s you. You owe me for making you look like you have a fashion sense of your own.”

 

“Pans, you’re not fooling anyone,” Harry says.

 

Luna hums in agreement, or maybe she just arbitrarily hums. Pansy can never tell with Lovegood.

 

“We should probably apologize to Draco,” she says, thinking. “I haven’t felt that odd about a prank since we managed to convince Neville that my animagus was a cacti.”

 

“You’re definitely prickly enough,” Harry says, and merely laughs when she glares. “Sorry, sorry. But you gotta admit, succulents are cute.”

 

“They’re wonderful,” Luna agrees dreamily. “Also Pansy is right. You must apologize to Draco, or else he’ll be prickly.”

 

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Pansy asks, smirking.

 

***

“I can’t believe you have a conscience,” Harry says as they wait outside Draco’s door.

“Me neither. I never used to. Must’ve caught it from you,” Pansy says, not a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

 

The door is opened by a tired looking Draco. In this light, Harry thinks he almost looks soft rather than angular. Something about seeing him this sleepy makes it easy to remember that he’s an actual human being, not just Pansy’s weird corporate friend who never has a single crease in his clothing.

 

“Here to prove your point, Parkinson?” he asks, and he sounds more resigned than anything else.

 

Pansy and Harry both know that he only calls her Parkinson when he’s upset.

 

“No,” she says, softly. “Here to offer you an apology, more like.”

 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Pansy,” he says, but the tone falls flat, like he has barely enough emotion to be sarcastic.

 

She moves closer to him, and whispers something in his ear. Harry watches Draco smile, albeit reluctantly.

 

“Well, if you won money from him over that, I can’t grudge you,” he says finally, making it sound generous. He looks more amused now, so Harry’s not too concerned.

 

‘Why are you standing outside?” he asks, making it sound like they’re both fools of the highest order. “Come in, for Merlin’s sake.”

 

They both do, and they accept Draco’s offer for tea.

 

The three of them sit at a small table, taking little sips from elegant Malfoy silverware. Conversation is stilted and awkward, until Draco looks at them both, something steely like determination in his eyes.

 

“Alright, I’ll get straight to the point,” he says. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“It’s actually hilarious,” Harry says. “Malfoy, you should’ve seen your face.”

 

“Potter, not helping,” Pansy says, but Harry can see that she’s trying to hide a smile.

 

“Begin at the beginning, please,” Draco says.

 

So Harry does. Harry tells him about the time when Witch Weekly had asked a very drunk Pansy what it was like, being his girlfriend. He’d been with her at the time, and he had also been very drunk. They’d somehow thought that it was a good idea to use hyperbole and implications that made them out to be the most unusual lovers. Harry’s drunk logic was that maybe reporters would leave him alone after that incident. Of course, that didn’t happen.

 

What did happen is a very hungover Pansy and Harry spent the morning cackling over the articles that had been published about them, and then Pansy had turned to Harry with that spark in her eyes that he’d come to love, and she’d said, “Let’s give them a field day. Let’s shock the socks off everyone. You’re entitled to it, you fucking died, you know. It’s time to have fun.”

 

What had they done in the bedroom? A lot of things Harry couldn’t even have dreamed of. It was always safe and consensual, and they never did anything potentially dangerous or harmful in any way. When Harry accidentally mentioned one such conquest to Ron, who turned green, much to Pansy’s delight, they formed the new pranking system.

 

It was probably one of the most ridiculous things Harry had ever participated in, in his entire life. From convincing his secretary that he was having an affair with a Muggle, to randomly ordering a birthday cake for Blaise Zabini when he knew that it wasn’t even his birthday, they played problematic truth or dare. Usually this was done within the limits of Pansy’s reason and Harry’s conscience – for instance, the secretary had been a bit of a blood purist, and Harry hadn’t even called for cash after he won the bet, because just watching it had been enough, and besides, the racist witch had resigned during that week.

 

The thing with Neville and the plants had been going too far, they both knew this, but in Pansy’s defence, she was high when she’d had that particular conversation. Thankfully, Neville didn’t take any offence, but found them rather ridiculous.

 

Usually, these dares weren’t too problematic. There was the time that Pansy had convinced Daphne that Harry’s boggart was a duck, for instance. And the time when Harry had convinced Theo that Pansy often woke up at three in the morning to put on her make-up. And the time when Pansy had casually mentioned to Ron that Harry slept in full Quidditch gear. The scoring system was based off the nature of the dares. Tiny things that were inconsequential didn’t score as high as bigger things such as sex questions or fake confessions.

 

It was usually like they were pretending to be other people. And Harry knew that it was a dangerous coping mechanism, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“While this has been fascinating,” Draco says, and he looks almost bored, “I must confess I considered your offer. Even if you didn’t really mean it.”

 

“Hold on, what offer?” Harry asks, at the same time as Pansy says, “Well, I’m down for it if Harry is?”

 

It takes a minute to click. “Malfoy, you want to fuck me?”

 

“Potter, you’re the saviour of the wizarding world. Everyone wants to fuck you.”

 

Pansy smirks, though she covers her mouth with her hand to hide it.

 

“I thought you hate me,” Harry says.

 

“No, not really. It’s more of an impersonal feeling of disdain at this point,” Draco explains kindly. “But you’re with Pansy, and Pansy has standards. High standards, good standards. If you’re good enough for Pansy, you’re good enough for me.”

 

“Erm.”

 

“Articulate as ever, Potter.”

 

“Draco, give him a moment. Salazar. Not everyone wants to fuck you, you know.”

 

It’s like the lights going off all at once. The expression leaves Draco’s face, making it resemble the empty unreadable state that Harry’s always thought of as the “Malfoy mask.”

 

“I’m aware,” he says coldly, before walking off, leaving them sitting alone with a bundle of empty silverware.

 

“Shit,” Harry says, which summarises pretty much everything. “You were here to apologize to him, not just provoke him further.”

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Pansy says, and she looks genuinely distressed. “We’ve always clashed, but that’s just how we are, you know? It’s never upset him before.”

 

“Do you think he’s serious about wanting this? He did insult me.”

 

“Yeah, he did. He’s gotta learn that’s not how to get the boy.” Pansy smiled, but it looked sort of sad. “I can’t believe he voluntarily asked for a threesome. He usually doesn’t even bring up sex when he’s sober. Lets me ask, each time.”

 

“Right,” Harry says. “Should I go speak to him alone?”

 

“Yes,” Pansy says. “And if you’re up for the threesome, tell him.”

 

“I don’t think I’d mind,” he says, thinking. “Can I charm him with a kiss?”

 

“Do whatever you need to do, but tell me everything later,” Pansy says.

 

Harry thinks this is why he loves her. He kisses her gently before he runs upstairs.

 

***

 

“Malfoy,” Harry says, and Draco flinches involuntarily.

 

“Potter,” he says, managing to keep his voice even and neutral. “What do you want?”

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, ignoring his question. Draco’s sitting with his back to him, and he isn’t ready to turn around and face the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He can hear the concern in Harry’s voice, and it gnaws at him.

 

“Fine.” He doesn’t sound fine, not even to himself.

 

“Pansy and I fucked up,” Harry says, walking up to Draco and sitting next to him so that their shoulders are touching. He’s not looking at him, and Draco’s infinitely grateful for that. He feels more exhausted than he has in a while, and he’s sure he looks terrible.

 

“You didn’t, not really,” Draco says softly, staring at his feet, at the mismatched socks he was wearing. “It’s a sore point, you know.”

 

“Polyamory?” Harry asks, and Draco can hear the smile in his voice. Before he can snap, however, Harry’s hand finds his, and he laces his fingers through Draco’s.

 

“Finding someone,” Draco responds, mortified. But something tells him that Harry deserves absolute honesty. “Nobody wants to fuck someone who’s been marked.”

 

“Pansy does,” Harry says softly, and then, he whispers, “and so do I.”

 

“Hilarious, Potter,” Draco says. “Ever so funny. Off to give more money to Parkinson once you lose this bet?”

 

“Salazar, Draco. This isn’t a bet, I swear.”

 

Draco looks up, trying to suppress his involuntary smile. “You just said Salazar.”

 

“Pansy’s influence,” Harry explains, smiling.

 

“She’s too much, isn’t she?” Draco asks, but his voice is fond.

 

“Really a handful,” Harry agrees, smiling. “That’s why we love her.”

 

Draco’s breath hitches. “What are you doing, Harry?” he asks, and he sounds confused.

 

“Attempting seduction,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Blaise thinks it’s a Slytherin quality, and that I can’t seduce for shit.”

 

“When have you tried to seduce Blaise Zabini? Never mind, I don’t want to know,” Draco says, but he knows his attempt to hide his amusement isn’t entirely successful.

 

“Malfoy, can I kiss you?”

 

“What, plan to have a torrid love affair with your girlfriend’s best friend?” Draco asks, managing to sound mock-scandalized and bitter at the same time. “I think not. As you pointed out, I love Pansy, and I’m not going to help you cheat on her.”

 

“I’m not cheating, for fuck’s sake,” Harry says, and he sounds a little angry. Good, Draco thinks. You’re too calm and composed for this conversation. “It’s called polyamory, Malfoy. I have Pansy’s explicit consent. Do you really think I’d cheat on her?”

 

Draco feels almost deflated. “No,” he admits. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ve seen how you look at her, like she’s the one. I don’t see why you’d need anyone else.”

 

“You know me,” Harry says. “Never satisfied with what I have, craving adoration from all four corners of the world.”

 

Draco smirked. “Thought you didn’t want to get involved with the wrong sort.”

 

“I already am,” Harry said, smirking right back. “Parkinson, remember?”

 

“As if I could forget,” Draco says, and he’s laughing now. “She actually agreed to letting you kiss me?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I think the unresolved sexual tension was driving her crazy.”

 

“Sounds like her, actually. And for the record, Potter, you’re not allowed to kiss me.”

 

“Oh, and why is that?”

 

“Because I’m going to kiss you,” Draco says, and in a moment of Gryffindor bravery, he leans forward and presses his lips to Harry’s.

 

Fifteen minutes and two very sore lips later, Harry remarks, idly, “That was very Gryffindor of you.”

 

“You’re a bad influence on Pansy, who is a bad influence on me,” Draco justifies. “It’s osmosis.”

 

“Nope, osmosis only applies for water. I think the word you’re looking for is diffusion.”

 

“When did you become Hermione Granger?”

 

“After seven years of osmosis, as you would say,” Harry says, but his smile is kind. “Shouldn’t we go find Pansy so we can do whatever it was that we were going to do?”

 

“You can say threesome, Potter. Since polyamory is your favourite word. I doubt your tongue will fall out.”

 

“Very funny, Draco.”

 

“Besides, I’m sure she’s had more orgasms than us by now. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sitting in the parlour and touching herself.”

 

“Is that a common occurrence?”

 

“It was when we were dating. Pansy’s crass, but she likes to pretend she’s got class. Masturbating in your ex’s house is not fun. That’s more a Blaise kind of thing to do, to be honest.”

 

Harry laughs. “You Slytherins are all wild.”

 

“Yes, and you love us for it,” Draco says, taking Harry’s hand and pulling him across the corridors to the parlour door. “I’m willing to bet ten galleons she’s still at it.”

 

“Not taking that bet,” Harry says. “I’m honestly scared that your mum’s going to show up anytime now.”

 

“No, she’s spending the day at Andi’s. We could have sex on the dinner table, if you want.”

 

Harry gives him an analytical look. “Let’s take it slow, yeah?”

 

Pansy is, as Draco predicted, lounging on a couch with one hand down her skirt. “Took you long enough,” she complains. “Harry, I have half a mind to break up with you. Maybe you should just date Draco instead.”

 

“Maybe I will,” Harry says, smiling. “He didn’t try to hand me over to Voldemort.”

 

Pansy pulls her hand out of her skirt and flips him off with it. Well, okay. Harry can handle that.

 

“You two are weird,” Draco says. “Completely insane. Maybe I’m better off having a one night stand with Blaise.”

 

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Pansy points out. “Good luck waking him up from his nap.”

 

“Right,” Draco says. “So what do you have in mind?”

 

Pansy and Harry share a look.

 

“Sofa sex is a bad idea,” Harry says, knowing what she’s thinking before she even says it.

 

“Potter, when have we ever been anything but a condensate of bad ideas? Sofa sex it is.” She grins, pulling out her wand and magicking the doors locked, and the window shutters closed.

 

“No exhibitionism, Pans?” Draco sounds almost disappointed. “Shagging Potter has made you mellow.”

 

“And yet you want to shag him too, you big Hufflepuff,” Pansy says, half-scornfully and half-affectionately. It’s an odd combination, to say the least.

 

“Do I get to kiss my girlfriend?” Harry asks.

 

“Only if your torrid love affair gets a handjob at the same time,” Draco responds, not missing a beat.

 

“Sure,” Harry says, one hand fiddling with the elastic fastening of Draco’s pants while the other moves Pansy’s hair out of her face.

 

Draco’s about to complain about sentimentality being a Gryffindor quality, when Harry’s hand reaches down, idly tracing patterns around his hips. He wants to tell him to Just get to it, but even the small touch fills him with warmth, and he closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and lets Harry touch him, listens to Pansy laughing as Harry kisses her, very clumsily if the noises they’re both making are anything to go by. He listens to Pansy murmuring something. Feels Harry’s hand changing pace. Hears Harry asking if it’s okay to go down on him. Nods. And then forgets how to think.

 

***

 

They’re lying in a heap, barely clothed and content. If someone had to ask Harry what exactly had happened in chronological order, he wouldn’t have been able to say. There was lots of vocal consent, lots of oral sex, lots of Pansy’s lipstick getting everywhere, along with some hickeys which Harry didn’t know who to credit for. Draco looks like a mess, his hair sticking up all over, pink lipstick stains on his neck and collarbone. The look in his eyes is sleepy but satisfied, and he seems to be at peace. One of his hands is slung around Pansy’s waist. Pansy’s closed her eyes and she looks like she’s asleep, but Harry isn’t fooled. He knows how she looks when she’s asleep, and this isn’t quite like it. He suspects she’s waiting for him and Draco to say something controversial and will use the element of surprise to make a point in the inevitable argument.

 

Joke’s on Pansy, because there is no argument; just Harry running his fingertips along Draco’s scars and murmuring apologies, and Draco ignoring him, and saying instead, “So, this polyamory thing, how does it work? Do I get to be your boyfriend?”

 

“If Pansy says yes, sure,” Harry says. “I would love to.”

 

“And if Pansy says no?” Draco’s voice is steady but Harry can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “What then?”

 

“She’s going to say yes, you git. She wants you to be happy.”

 

“Actually, I want him to be my boyfriend,” Pansy says. “Why should any of us have to choose? I’ll keep my two boyfriends, thank you very much. What you both do together is none of my concern. Be each other’s boyfriends. Ignore each other and pine. Do whatever you want.”

 

“Boyfriends,” Draco says.

 

“Yes, alright,” Harry agrees. “But have you really forgiven me for this?” He runs his fingers down the longest scar, the one that goes diagonally across his chest.

 

“You didn’t know what the spell was going to do,” Draco says, his voice soft. “You’re a fucking fool, and you were a horrible teenager. All that’s in the past, though.”

 

“Good,” Harry says.

 

They’re silent for a minute, and then: “Potter?”

 

“Yes, Malfoy?”

 

“What would you have done if Pansy had forbidden us from seeing each other?”

 

Harry sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “I would’ve gotten with Blaise, obviously.”

 

Draco sits up. “Excuse you? Are you serious?”

 

Harry sits up too, smiles gently at him. “No, but I think Pansy owes me money now.”

 

“Fuck,” Pansy murmurs. “I can’t believe you believed that. Draco, I had more faith in you.”

 

Draco smiles, and then actually laughs. “I’d forgotten how you both get. Merlin and Morgana, both.”

 

“Okay, for real,” Harry says. “Pansy wouldn’t have made me choose, and that’s one of the reasons I love her.”

 

“Sap,” Pansy murmurs, but he knows that she likes it, all the same.

 

“You both are going to be the death of me,” Draco murmurs.

 

“Parkinson, maybe,” Harry responds. “I’m the Boy who Lived Twice, remember?”

 

“Of course, how could I forget,” Draco says. “If Pans had had her way, you might’ve been the Boy who Lived Thrice.”

 

“Take that back, you slimy hag!” Pansy yelled, suddenly wide awake. They all knew she wasn’t really angry though; the “tried to give your boyfriend to Voldemort” joke was standard party game and drinking nights material.

 

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. “I can’t believe I used to hate you both.”

 

“Not as much as we hated you,” Draco says, but his voice is inexplicably fond.

 

“This is better,” Pansy says. “Equality for all, fuck blood purists, fuck my mother and Draco’s father, fuck Voldemort. All hail polyamory.”

 

“Good, good,” Harry agrees. “Wholesome stuff.”

 

They fall asleep in a heap on the floor, and next morning, when Narcissa Malfoy walks in on them, Harry admits that the mortification is worth it.

 

She takes one look at them, and then sighs. “Pansy, Harry, always a delight,” she says pleasantly. “Draco, good to see you happy.”

 

When she leaves, Draco sighs, attempting to smoothen out the crumpled shirt that he’s wearing. “You two are really going to be the death of me. Want to go to the kitchen and get waffles?”

 

“Yes,” Pansy says simply, taking one of Draco’s hands in hers and with her other hand, taking one of Harry’s. She kisses them both on the cheek and the three of them walk down to the kitchen.

 

In that moment, it feels natural. It feels like something predetermined by fate or destiny. Harry looks at his hand, in Pansy’s, and hears Malfoy whistling the Hogwarts song. He feels like he belongs here, with these two ridiculous people who he once hated. He’s been in love with Pansy for a while, but when he looks at Draco he feels the same sort of warmth. He thinks he will eventually fall in love with Draco, that is, assuming he hasn’t done so already.