It starts, as often these kinds of stories are known to do, with a kiss.
Voldemort is dead, Draco's parents are dead, one-third of the Golden Trio is dead, everything they've ever known has been wiped away in a single night. Potter's tan skin is caked in blood and dirt, and Draco would normally care, but he just… doesn't. The kiss is filled with relief, exhaustion, anger and grief, and Draco accepts it greedily, more so than he's ever accepted anything in his life. Neither cares they're basically out in the open and anyone could walk past and see them, too caught up in the end of a war, in victory.
When it's over and Potter is gone Draco is left alone in the courtyard, breathing hard and shaking. He pulls himself together enough to leave the somehow still-standing apparition wards and apparate to Malfoy Manor.
He stares at it, ugly and imposing, from the pathway between the hedges.
He wants to burn it to the ground.
The second kiss comes six months later when Draco attends the Hogwarts Memorial. He'd been cleared of most of his crimes and made financial reparations for the others, and despite that, or perhaps because of it, his attendance at the memorial had been made mandatory. He gets to sit there and listen as they list the names of the people who died at the hands of Voldemort, at the hands of his family.
Albus Dumbledore. Fred Weasley. Lavender Brown. Cedric Diggory. Colin Creevey. Mykew Gregorovitch.
He supposes this must be part of his punishment, being faced with the death and destruction he helped cause. If this is the worst they can come up with, he'll take it. He'd rather be here than Azkaban.
Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Charity Burbage. Ron Weasley. Narcissa Malfoy.
He's not expecting to hear his mother's name, but he supposes if the rumours are true and she lied to Voldemort to save Potter's life, of course, the bloody Gryffindor would demand her name be read.
It's what breaks him. He's still a Malfoy, even if he's the only one left, and Malfoys don't make a scene, so he slips away quietly, unaware Potter has followed him.
He finds an alcove to hide away in, pressing his back into the stone wall and reaching into his robes for the packet of muggle cigarettes, a habit he'd picked up during the nights spent at a muggle pub. To pass the time, he'd tell himself. He's put one in his mouth and lit it, hands shaking, when he realises he isn't alone.
"Didn't know you smoked," Potter says, appearing from the shadows, voice barely above a whisper.
"It's a new habit," Draco replies, staring at the cigarette between his fingers disdainfully. "It's disgusting."
Draco's glad Potter doesn't ask 'then why do you do it?' He's not sure he knows the answer to that question, and even if he did, he's sure he wouldn't like it. "Heard Malfoy Manor burnt down."
"Mm-hm," is all Draco says, throat burning as he breathes the smoke into his lungs.
"Said it was leftover dark magic." Potter doesn't look like he believes it, but Draco doesn't think he'll be pushing it either. "Where you been since then?"
Draco doesn't really feel like telling the Boy Wonder he's living in a shitty little flat above a muggle pub, so he gets his free hand around Potter's neck and pulls him in by a handful of thick dark hair for a kiss. It's messy and rough, and Draco can't really taste Harry over the burn of the nicotine. Potter kisses him back, snaking his tongue into Draco's mouth, pulling him closer by his hair.
At this point, Draco's dropped the cigarette and he uses his now free hand to grab at Potter's hip and dig his fingernails into the flesh there.
They're interrupted by someone calling Potter's name, and Draco pulls away, leaving without another word. His heart is hammering in his chest and it makes it hard to breathe.
Potter gets engaged to the Weasley girl a few weeks before the second anniversary of the Hogwarts Memorial in November of 1999. That, of course, does not stop him from following Draco from the Great Hall and out to the courtyard.
He's lit a cigarette and is halfway down it when Potter appears, face set into a neutral mask. "Uh, hey."
Annoyed, Draco rolls his eyes, flicking his cigarette away and grabbing a fistful of Potter's robes, dragging him forward. He kisses him, uncaring of his engagement status, licking into his mouth, chewing on his bottom lip until he's sure it's red and raw. He gets an odd sort of flash of satisfaction at that, leaving a mark on Potter when he goes back to his fiancée. He enjoys the thought immensely.
Just because Draco can, because he's angry with the world and with Potter, and particularly himself, he pushes Potter into the stone wall and gets a knee between his thighs. If they're going to do this, they're going to do it properly. Potter lets out a low groan, and Draco swallows it, grinding up against Potter until he can feel the hard length of him through the layers of their robes. He's not sure where he's taking this, but he wants more, wants to fucking ruin him.
He's not really expecting it when Potter turns him around and slams him into the wall, but he can't say he doesn't like it 'cause he really fucking does. He especially likes it when he's hoisted up by Potter's thigh, so he's stuck on the tips of his toes. It makes his whole body feel like lightning.
Potter's mouth latches onto Draco's throat and he bites, hard enough that it stings, and Draco decides then he's definitely going to embarrass himself and come in his pants for the first time since he was in his fifth year. He honestly couldn't give a fuck though. He's far more interested in the fact it's Potter giving him an orgasm than the fact he's about to come in his trousers.
He rocks their hips together, cause if he's going to come, he's going to make sure Potter does, too. It hurts when his head falls back against the wall, but the pain is suddenly swallowed by the pleasure.
Potter comes too and lets Draco back on his feet. He feels a bit shaky, heart hammering in his chest, and without saying anything, he casts a quick cleaning spell over himself and rushes away with as much grace as he can muster.
Potter gets married and the girl is pregnant. Draco's not stupid enough to believe their engagement was for anything other than the obviously unplanned pregnancy. Potter looks unhappy in the photos Draco sees of him in the Prophet and he gets an awful sort of pleasure in that.
He finds out Severus Snape is alive almost six years after The Final Battle, completely by accident. It's one of those stupid crazy coincidences that only happen to Draco cause the universe hates him and loves him in equal measure, but mostly just wants to see him squirm. He's collecting ingredients for a lung-clearing potion, having fallen ill to a nasty lung infection (which he has no doubt is due to his shitty flat), too proud to take himself to St Mungo's (as well as unwilling to tolerate the stares and abuse). Some of the ingredients he could definitely get in a muggle grocery store, like raw honey, garlic, mint, and turmeric, but others he has to collect himself. Niffler's Fancy is rare, but he knows there's a small patch of it in Cumbria; he helped Snape collect it once when he was a boy.
He apparates in, only to stumble into another body and fall onto his arse in the dirt, groaning expletives. He's picked up some bad behaviours from the muggles in the bar, including a large glossary of bad language.
"My, if Lucius Malfoy could see you now."
"He's rollin' in his fuckin' grave," Draco says, staring up at Snape, looming over him. He doesn't look much different than the last time he saw him, still mean, menacing and tall, but the stress lines on his face aren't so pronounced anymore and there's silver streaking his black hair. He looks just as unimpressed with Draco as he always did. "You aren't dead, I see."
Draco rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet, waving his wand over his body to clear his clothes of dirt, just before he's taken over by a coughing fit. He feels as though he's swallowed glass shards. It's getting worse.
"You have pneumonia, you foolish man," Snape says, grabbing Draco's arm, apparating him somewhere, which only makes the coughing and the tightness in his chest worse. He collapses to the floor when he's let go, fingers digging into the shag of a thick grey rug. When he coughs, phlegm and blood splatters onto the floor, and that's definitely the first time that's happened, that's really not good.
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the lights on the ceiling, listening for Snape in the background, wondering where he's gotten to. The open lip of a potion bottle is pressed to his mouth and a liquid that tastes like aniseed and cassia bark tips inside. It burns his throat and scorches his lungs, but once the ache has subsided, he feels better than he has in days, maybe even in weeks.
He licks at his top lip, tasting the potion, considering. "Lung-clearing mixed with an antiseptic and a healing draught. Personal invention?" Snape is staring down at him, a look on his face Draco recognises from years as his student: unimpressed and uninterested, as if having Draco on death's door on his carpet is boring.
"Someone with pneumonia as advanced as yours would have signed themselves into St Mungo's by now," Snape says, crossing his arms over his chest, fingers tapping impatiently on his arm. "Yet I find you in Cumbria picking potions ingredients to make your own healing potion. That was inconceivably irresponsible. You put your own life at risk for your pride."
"My pride?" Draco says, suddenly infuriated, climbing to his feet. "You think this is about my pride? Thanks for the potion, thanks for saving my life, I'm glad you're alive. Go fuck yourself."
Draco doesn't tell anyone that Snape is still alive, at least, not for six months, not until he sees Potter again.
They're at a Ministry function, and Draco had thought he was over these, he hadn't had to attend one for years, but he'd come home to find the fucking Minister for Magic in his living room as if that was fucking normal. He'd made it clear his attendance was, again, mandatory. Draco started to wonder what would happen if he refused, just once. Maybe he would be thrown in Azkaban. Fuck, Azkaban would be a fucking improvement on this shithole.
So he goes, clothes himself in the only dress robes he owns anymore and makes himself look ever the martyr. It's what they want, to see him miserable, so that's what he gives them.
He sees Potter, standing across the room with Weasley, all glowing and round with pregnancy. Draco feels something like loathing claw at his throat when he looks at her, a dark feeling in his chest that threatens to squeeze the breath out of him. He catches Potter's eye and lifts his chin, tilting his head to the side. The hold it like that for a few moments before Potter turns away and says something to his wife.
Draco drinks. He has champagne and firewhiskey and when he's done playing friendly with the witches and wizards desperate to hear all about his terrible life, he takes a bottle of bourbon out onto the balcony.
Potter's already there waiting for him, and Draco hadn't even realised he would be. If he'd known, he would have come earlier.
"You look like hell."
Draco throws him a scowl, sitting on a bench across from the one Potter has occupied, gulping down the bourbon. It's pretty good. American, he thinks. He normally can't stand anything American. Maybe he's just too drunk to care. He raises the bottle and says, "Cheers, appreciate it."
Potter stares at him, face blank, before snatching the bottle with a, "Give me that." He takes a swig, then another, while clawing at the collar of his robes. "Fucking hate these things." He waves his hand out, and Draco wonders if he's talking about the robes, the party or both. He holds the bottle out for Draco, letting him take it before getting a hand around his wrist and tugging him forward. Draco loses his balance and falls into Potter.
"What the f-" His words get muffled by Potter's mouth, a tongue in his mouth and a strong hand around the back of his neck. He's not expecting it, and a startled sound is tugged out of him. A small voice in the back of his head gently reminds Draco of Potter's wife and unborn brat waiting for him in the ballroom, but Draco's body won't let him stop, not when Potter feels so good against him.
Reality kicks in once Draco's come. Potter extracts his hands from Draco's trousers, sticky with come, and sticks it in his own to get himself off while Draco watches. His head is spinning, and a weight settles in his gut, heavy guilt.
"I- I gotta-" Draco stutters, climbing out of Potter's lap, hurriedly fixing his clothes and casting a cleansing spell. He scratches the back of his neck and turns to leave, takes a few steps, then stops. Fuck it, Snape's gonna kill him. He can't be the only one who knows anymore, he can't hold Snape's secret inside, not when it feels like it might crush him. "Snape's alive. I didn't tell you."
Draco doesn't really realise what's happening at first, only registers the shocks of pain through the tendrils of sleep. Something is hitting him, over and over again, something heavy, and it's only when he opens his eyes that he realises they're books. His books. His books are hitting him.
"What the fuck!"
"You told Potter? Potter!" Snape says, using his magic to flick books from Draco's bookcase onto Draco's body. "You selfish, irresponsible, imprudent... boy!"
"Would you fucking stop!" Draco cries, falling out of his bed, protecting his face with his hands. "I was drunk!"
"And no doubt without your faculties. Potter told me all about your little… faire des papouilles," Snape takes a couple books himself this time, throwing it at Draco with enough force he's sure he'll bruise. "That man is incapable of subtlety. He could not keep a secret if his life depended on it. I am extraordinarily astonished he has not yet revealed me to the world."
"Merlin, Snape, of course he can keep a secret. Could you let go of your animosity for five minutes?" Draco snaps. "And can you stop throwing fucking books at me, please!" Snape does stop, surprisingly, but he looks like he could start again any minute. "How did he find you? I only told him you were alive, not where you lived. Not that I was really paying attention the time I was there, me dying and all."
"Cease your rambling. Potter used a tracking spell. However, he would not have needed to if you had not told him I was alive." Snape throws another book at Draco, but this time, Draco has enough mind to catch it before it hits him.
"Fine, I'm sorry, stop throwing books at me you fucking lunatic!"
Snape's hands drop to his sides and he takes a second to look around Draco's flat. Draco doesn't care enough to feel embarrassed anymore.
"It's funny, couldn't imagine you years ago showing any sort of emotion and now you've broken into my house in the middle of the night to throw things at me. Couldn't imagine it five years ago."
"Yes, the irony is not lost on me either." Snape picks up the muggle mobile phone Draco keeps for calls from the pub and stares at it, contemplating it. "Have you been banished from the Wizarding World, Draco?"
Draco starts sliding the books back into the bookshelf using his magic, apprehensive and reluctant to admit his predicament to Snape. "Well, I mean, I come out only when I'm allowed. Usually, for Ministry functions, they bring me out to show, like a puppy. Technically I'm not legally banished, but I'm as good as."
Snape replaces the mobile phone and says, "I see. And that is why you were in Cumbria with pneumonia rather than St. Mungo's." He takes another look around the room. "And perhaps how you developed pneumonia in the first place."
"Are you going to stay here and criticise my obligatory lifestyle choices? Cause I'll need coffee. Probably some whiskey." Draco says, reaching for the dressing robe hanging on the chair in the corner of the room, flinging it over his shoulders. He stomps into the kitchen with Snape trailing along behind him and fills the kettle with a quick aguamenti before he levitates it to the stove. There's a muggle clock above the countertop and it reads five-fifty-seven. It makes Draco wonder what time Potter was at Snape's house until, if Snape had arrived at his house so early. "Coffee? Well, I've got tea as well. Whiskey too."
"No," Snape replies, and when Draco turns to look at him, he's waving his hand over a discoloured patch on the wall Draco's pretty sure was left over from since treated mould. "You cannot live here any longer, Draco."
Draco rolls his eyes, retrieving the milk from the fridge and the coffee and sugar from the cupboard. After a pause, he also takes the loaf of bread and starts making toast, he's already up after all. "Tell me where to go, I'll happily leave."
Snape takes a deep, loud breath in through his nose. "You may stay with me. For now."
Draco shoots him a look. "What makes you think I'll be taking you up on the offer?"
"You live in a veritable cesspit. Would you prefer to stay here?" Snape knows he's not going to say no, and Draco hates how transparent he is to the man.
The next time he gets a Ministry summons comes around Christmas. Draco's never received an order to attend the Christmas Ball, and it surprises him enough that he shows it to Snape. Snape, of course, is no help at all, because all he suggests is to disregard it, despite Draco informing him it could mean spending the rest of his life in Azkaban Prison.
Despite this, Draco still chooses not to attend.
He should not have been surprised, then, when Potter appears in Snape's living room, still in his dress robes, looking for him.
"Fuck, I thought you'd died or something. What are you doing at Snape's?"
"What am I doing at Snape's? What are you doing at Snape's!" Draco says, frozen where he was when Potter stumbled in, lying on the lounge with one leg hanging over the back and the other planted on the floor, one of Snape's books on healing charms held above his face. His head spins when he sits up too fast, and he pulls at his hair until the sharp ache in his scalp hurts worse than the headache. He's not sure if the pain's from the copious amounts of alcohol he and Snape drank the night before, or another one of those tension headaches he's been getting. Either way, it fucking hurts.
"You weren't at the Ministry Christmas Ball." Potter gives him a funny look.
"So you came looking for me? Missed your sporadic booty call?"
Snape appears then, still in his brewing apron and gloves, and glowers between Draco and Potter. "I am tremendously busy, is it necessary for your voices to be raised? The next time you decide to invite Mister Potter to my home, Draco, I would prefer some warning."
"I didn't invite him." Draco hissed. "He showed up cause you told me not to go to the Christmas Ball."
Snape rolls his eyes, pulling his gloves off finger by finger. "I did not tell you not to attend, I suggested that you had fulfilled your obligation as the Minister's martyr and should no longer object yourself to their nonsense. There is a vast difference."
Draco rolls his eyes at Snape before turning back to Potter. "So did you come just to make sure I was alive, or did you want something else?"
Potter looks nervous then, blinking over at Snape who honestly looks like he couldn't care less, and says, "Well, to be honest, I was going to ask you out for a drink, and then I was… well, I was going to going to tell you that I'm gay and the kid's not mine."
Draco blinks a few times, mouth open on words he hasn't yet chosen. He's not sure if he's more surprised that Potter's admitted he's gay or that the baby the Weaslette had wasn't his. In the end, he decides he's more surprised Potter wanted to be seen with him out in public. "I… How did you know the kid wasn't yours?" Is all he can think to say.
Potter gets this long-suffering look on his face. "The same way a lot of people do. Wrong colour."
It takes a second for Draco to understand.
He regards Potter's tan skin, tanner than anyone can get in a continent where the sun scarcely reveals itself, and says, "White?"
"It's Dean Thomas'."
Draco grimaces. "No shit?"
Snape huffs from the doorway and declares, "As riveting as this conversation is, I will be returning to my brewing now."
When Snape is gone, Draco goes to the drinks cabinet and pulls out a nice bottle of whiskey Snape won't yell at him for drinking. "Guess we're definitely gonna need that drink after all."
"Those will kill you, y'know," Potter says when he apparates into Snape's wards, hair messier than usual, clothes ruffled. He's got a bloody nose and a bruise blossoming on his chin.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
Potter wipes his nose, staring at the blood that comes back on his hand. "The other guy looks worse."
"I'm sure he does." Draco replies, taking a drag of his cigarette, no doubt in his mind that the 'guy' is Dean Thomas. Both Potter and Snape chide him for the smoking, Snape in particular after the pneumonia incident, not that he really cares. "Want one?"
The look Potter gives him is both disgusted and amused, but he takes the proffered lit cigarette. He stares at it for a long time before he lifts it to his lips and breathes into his mouth. Draco doesn't bother telling him he's done it wrong when he looks so proud of himself, probably for not coughing. "I thought it would be so much worse, but it'll still kill you."
Draco shrugs his shoulder and takes the cigarette back from Potter, flicking ash off the tip into the ashtray Snape begrudgingly gave him once he'd had enough of finding ash and butts in his yard. He takes a drag and says, "I think your nose is broken."
"Probably. Not the first time." Potter says. Touching his red, swollen nose with a small wince. Definitely broken then. "In fact, I seem to remember you being the cause of one of those times."
"Fuck off," Draco says, no heat in his words, throwing the cigarette into the ashtray and jumping into Potter's arms, attacking his mouth with his own. This is a really bad thing that they should really stop, but Draco doesn't fucking want to. Draco gets an arm around the back of Potter's neck and tightens his legs around his hips to keep them both steady, using his free hand to clutch at Potter's hair and turn his face up so they can kiss. Potter's mouth is warm, and he tastes like cigarettes, coffee and blood, and Draco might just be halfway to addicted. Draco doesn't even care he's getting Potter's blood on his face, not when he licks into Draco's mouth to taste him.
"Would you two please cease fornicating on my front doorstep? I've made dinner."
Potter lets Draco back to his feet when they pull apart, smiling wolfishly at Snape. "You made dinner? Why Severus Snape, you're the perfect man. Why has no one married you yet?"
Draco and Potter burst out laughing, which only makes Snape annoyed, a faint red tinge in the apple of his cheeks.
Snape doesn't often drink with them, but when he does, he drinks them under the table. Draco only admits to it when he's drunk, but both Snape and Potter could drink him under the table with one arm tied behind their backs. He's a terrible lightweight.
"This stuff," Draco says, holding up the glass he's drinking from and staring into the dark liquid. "This stuff is fantastic. What is it? It tastes great."
"It tastes like goblin piss," Potter replies, cheeks pink. His head is resting on Snape's thigh, and though Snape had argued when he'd first settled there, he'd given in rather quickly, too drunk to argue with Potter when the man would win either way. "You're just drunk."
"No, it's wonderful. I need more." When Draco reaches over the side of the lounge for the bottle that sits on the side table, he tries to plant his hand on the arm only to miss it and lose his balance, crashing to the floor. He's not injured, only winded, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, and he laughs, full-bellied and loud. "I've had too much."
"I like it down here, much more comfortable." Draco reaches again for the bottle and swipes it from the table, getting up on his elbows to drink from the bottle. Snape makes a warning noise; he doesn't like when Draco drinks from the bottle, but other than that, he doesn't really bother to stop him. So Draco does it again. "We should get takeaway; I really want Indian."
"Where the fuck you think we're getting' takeaway from, we're in the middle of fucking nowhere."
"Watch your fucking language." At Snape's words, Draco and Potter fall into helpless laughter, and Potter rolls off the couch to collapse on the floor next to Draco. "I will not be joining you on the floor."
They laugh harder.
When they've stopped laughing, Snape leans down to pluck the bottle from Draco's fingers, refilling his glass, downing most of it in one go. Draco sees Harry staring at him, mesmerised by Snape's long, thin fingers and the way his throat works as he swallows. Draco's mesmerised by the pink in his cheeks and the movement of his eyes as though he can't figure out where he wants to look more. Fuck, they're really, really drunk.
Draco climbs to his feet and flops back onto the couch, taking a cigarette from the packet and putting it to his lips. Snape only lets him smoke in the house when he's drunk, and only on the proviso that he does thorough cleaning charms the next morning and lets Snape have one when he asks. Draco hands one over to him without Snape needing to. "You'd think someone would get far less unnecessarily and perpetually horny once they're no longer a teenager," Draco says, using his magic to light his cigarette, too lazy to find the muggle lighter, and then doing the same with Snape's. "I'm hornier than a bunny on euphoria elixir."
"How vulgar," Snape replies, making a face while Potter bursts into uncontrollable laughter on the floor.
"Well, when was the last time you had sex, Snape?" Harry says in between breathless giggles, eyes wet and cheeks red.
"Yes, Snape, tell us!"
Snape gives them both a very unimpressed look, takes a drag of the cigarette and a sip of the whiskey and says, "Far before either of you were born," Harry's laughter is cut off and he and Draco stare at each other for a long time, unsure how to respond. "That was a joke. I was joking."
This time when Draco laughs, he can't breathe, too engulfed in the hysterics. Harry doesn't seem to be doing much better, curled in on himself as his body wracks with his cackling. When they settle, Snape's sitting there with the smuggest look on his face, which only starts the howling laughter up again.
Draco likes the muggle pub close to Snape's much better than he liked the one he worked at previously. It doesn't smell half as bad, and the floor's far less sticky, and his boss isn't a great big pervert who hits on all the young people in his employ (Draco admits that when he left, he was starting to get sick of getting his arse squeezed by a disgustingly dirty and sweaty hand). Most of the regulars are miners and construction workers, with a handful of park rangers from the nearby national park. They're rowdy, but they aren't rude, and they don't objectify the women he works with. He reckons it's probably 'cause the owner looks as though he'd murder them and burn their bodies if they did.
Harry comes in a lot, sits at the bar and orders a few beers, has some food and watches Draco while he works, and Draco gets a weird sort of thrill out of it. Every time he does, Draco's boss calls him his boyfriend, and Draco hasn't really bothered to correct him.
Snape never comes - he doesn't like pubs or people – so he's definitely surprised when he turns around after taking a bottle of rum from the shelf for a customer to find both Harry and Snape.
"Severus-fucking-Snape, didn't think you ever left the house," Draco jokes, finishing the drink for the woman at the end of the bar and setting it down in front of her. "How much did he pay you to come here?"
Harry rolls his eyes and Snape says, "He has committed to cooking ossobuco again." Just thinking about Harry's ossobuco makes Draco's mouth water. He replaces the rum on the shelf and grabs a beer from the fridge for Harry, then pours a scotch for Snape. Snape gives him this look, like he didn't think Draco cared enough to remember what he likes to drink. "Perhaps you could make the potatoes to accompany, you are quite good at them." Snape gives him this intense look, and Draco goes to take the order of a man down the bar to hide the red flush on his cheeks.
They order food, steak and chips for Harry and lamb roast for Snape. They're quite obviously trying to not distract him and keep out of his way, but them just being here is distracting, no matter what they do or don't do.
When he's finished pouring another patron's fifth beer his boss hands him a plate of food, steak, and roast vegetables, and says, "Take a break, go sit with them. You're being annoying." He doesn't look angry, just amused, and Draco doesn't argue, he takes the plate, pours himself a drink and joins Harry and Snape at the booth.
"Did they fire you already, Draco?" Harry jokes when Draco shoves him over so he can sit next to him on the bench, settling his plate on the table. He notices Harry's body tense and almost flinch when Draco touches him before he settles again, and Draco wants to ask him about it, only he gets distracted when Harry says, "I would have given you at least another week."
Draco points his middle finger up at Harry, which only makes him roar with laughter. He catches Snape looking at him and rolls his eyes, mouth turned up into a smile. The corner of Snape's mouth twitches, and for Snape, that's the equivalent of someone laughing so hard they wet themselves.
Harry disappears for a few days, but despite never receiving a reason why, Draco doesn't feel worried. He's basically moved into Snape's house, but he's still got his own, and a job, and people get busy sometimes. He doesn't worry, but he does miss him. Snape does too, Draco can tell, even if it's only a little bit, and even if he won't admit it.
With nothing else to do during the day, Draco starts helping Snape with potions. He's got a small mail-order business under a pseudonym that makes Draco laugh every time he hears it (Arsenius Glover, after two famous potioneers, Arsenius Jigger and Glover Hipworth), through which he sells simple healing potions, cosmetics, and other household potions. Draco helps Snape when he's inundated with orders or has multiple express orders, and it's nice, standing in the lab, working with him in something he used to thoroughly enjoy.
They've got three cauldrons' going, one with a double Pepperup, another with eighteen months' worth of Wolfsbane, and one with hair-regrowth potion. Draco's handling the bases of the hair growth and the preparation of the Pepperup while Snape focuses on the Wolfsbane, the hardest potion of the three. He's familiar enough with the Pepperup that he doesn't need instruction, the ingredients and method seared into his brain from years of potions classes and illnesses after the war, but as far as he can remember he's only ever made the hair-regrowth once, in fifth year, so he needs written instructions, which Snape easily supplies.
He gets hungry once the pepperup is complete and the hair-regrowth is in stasis, so he makes sandwiches and takes them back to the lab to make Snape eat because he knows if he doesn't, Snape won't. "Can it wait for fifteen minutes?"
Snape doesn't look up at him, too engrossed in the potion, so Draco repeats himself, a little louder, careful not to startle him. Again, he receives no answer, so he sits behind him and waits; the sandwiches will last.
After almost ten minutes, there's a pause in the potion, and Draco asks the question again.
"Yes, now I can." He sits down next to Draco, wiping his hands on a cloth and taking a half a sandwich from the plate Draco holds in front of him. "Thank you. Have you spoken to Potter?"
Draco hides his smile behind his sandwich; he doesn't want Snape to think he's been condescending, because he's not. "No. If he doesn't come back by tomorrow, I'll go make sure he's not dead."
Snape hums, head bobbing up and down in a nod, eating the sandwich as if he's a starved man, and Draco suddenly realises he doesn't remember if Snape had breakfast that morning. He makes a mental note to make him breakfast in the morning, so he doesn't forget again. "Perhaps I could visit you again tonight at the bar."
Draco bites his lips to stop from looking so pleased and says, "Sounds good." Snape eyes him suspiciously but doesn't reply. Draco summons tea for them, handing a cup over to Snape, made how he likes it (black with half a teaspoon of sugar – Draco still doesn't see how a half a teaspoon makes any sort of difference). "Can I ask you something?"
"Well, I suppose it is contingent on the inquiry in question."
Draco snorts. "Rather roundabout way of say 'depends on the question'." Snape gives him an unimpressed raised eyebrow over the rim of his teacup. "Are you lonely?" Snape tilts his head, confused now. "I mean, you work, you sleep, and sometimes you eat, when you remember. The only people you talk to regularly are Harry and I. Are you lonely?"
Snape looks at Draco for a long time, and Draco gets the impression he's trying to decide if Draco's asking to mock him or is genuinely curious. He hopes he's giving off genuinely curious vibes. "No. Well, occasionally I would like to speak to someone other than two erstwhile students, but other than that? I appreciate my privacy." Draco goes to say something, only to be interrupted by Snape. "And sex? The last time was a month before I found you in Cumbria."
"Oh," Draco says, staring down at the dregs in his cup, trying to decide how to word his next question. "Do you… do you want to? With me, I mean?"
Snape eyes him for a long time, but he doesn't get a chance to answer Draco when the automatic alarm goes off for the Wolfsbane potion. Draco leaves him to finish it, cheeks stained red.
Draco wakes to someone sliding into bed behind him, smelling like whiskey and strong aftershave, and it takes him a second to realise it's Harry. He also realises he was hoping it would be Snape.
"Where 'ave you been?" He mumbles, taking a deep breath in when Harry's hand slides over his hip and across his belly, towards the waistband of Draco's tartan pyjama pants.
"Quit my job."
Draco blinks his eyes open, squinting into the dark, far less interested in the hand sliding into his trousers compared to the owner of the hand. "What?"
"Quit my job, sold my house. Don't tell Snape."
Draco suddenly feels a very strong inclination to tell Harry what he's done, so he does. "I- shit, I propositioned Snape. And I wasn't even drunk. Sober as a nun."
Draco feels a crack of Harry's magic, and the lights in the room flicker on, revealing the look on Harry's face as he holds himself over him: complete disbelief. "What."
"He said he hasn't had sex since before Cumbria and I - I basically laid myself out on a fur rug in front of a fireplace naked as the day I was born." Draco wipes a hand over his face. "Okay, that was an exaggeration."
Harry's face twists and suddenly he looks like he's trying desperately not to laugh. "You propositioned Snape? Do you have a death wish?" Harry bursts into helpless giggles, laughing so hard tears drip down his cheeks and his face turns a blotchy red. Draco hates him. "Well, what did he say? Yes or no?"
Draco groans. "Well, he didn't get a chance to say anything. We were making potions and one of them needed attention before he could answer." Harry falls into another round of uncontrollable laughter, pressing his face into Draco's ribcage, muffling the sound. Draco considers a range of lethal potions and spells. "Shut the fuck up."
"Oh man, if you're not dead by the morning you're about to have the ride of your fucking life."
He's still laughing, and Draco's still angry, and it takes him a moment to process what Harry's said. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, words stubbornly staying inside. "What." Harry's face goes beet red, and that's all the answer Draco needs to confirm his suspicions. "When?"
Harry falls onto the bed beside him and groans. "He's going to kill me."
"It's complicated. It was... well, technically it was right after the war. I... I went back. To try and change it."
"You meddled with time!" Draco cries, heart thumping in his chest, feeling like a dragon is sitting on his ribcage, squeezing it. "Are you insane! You could have been arrested!"
"Look, I was grieving! And I... I made a spell."
"You made a spell!"
Snape bursts into the room, wand raised, annoyance marring his features. "If the two of you do not stop yelling at each while I am trying to sleep, I will turn you both into toads."
Draco turns his anger to Snape, taking a book from his bedside table and throwing it in his direction. He easily shields himself, and it makes Draco even angrier, so he throws another book at him. "You let him meddle with time!"
"I did no such thing. Harry Potter does not need anyone to let him do anything. He does it because he can." Snape says, voice calm and even. Draco hates that he can be like this when Draco feels out of his mind.
"Tell me what happened." Draco hisses, sitting up so he can stare disapprovingly at them both at the same time.
Harry wipes his hands over his face and groans, long and loud. "Fine, look, I was really drunk, and I just sort of… made up a spell? I'm surprised I didn't splinch myself. But I landed… when was it?"
"March ninth, nineteen-seventy-nine."
"Right, so I land, drunk as a skunk, in the middle of Snape senior's funeral, worst possible timing." Harry grimaces, but Draco notices that Snape looks more amused by the fact than angry. Draco's reminded that Snape's dad was an arsehole who hated his son and his wife because they weren't like him. "Snape thinks I'm my dad for like, a hot second and he's just about as drunk as I am and he just, he starts laughing and he can't stop. It was pretty funny. Well, until he tried to kill me. Had to convince him I wasn't my dad, was far too drunk to come up with a lie and told him the truth."
"You're fucking kidding me." Travelling through time is one thing, but not protecting his identity is a whole other bag of worms.
"Look, anyway, told him everything, there was more drinking, objectively way too much, extremely drunk sex was had, went to sleep in nineteen-seventy-nine and woke up in nineteen-ninety-nine." Harry finishes, nodding his head. "Wasn't sure it was anything more than a dream until I went to see Snape after you told me he was alive."
Draco sits there staring at them, trying to process what he's been told. "Did you…" Draco frowns. "Are you the reason he's alive?"
"Perhaps I lived before, in the previous timeline, perhaps I did not. We will never know," Snape says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am not a foolish man, I have no doubt I knew my death was imminent, and I would have taken steps to prevent it. That is, if I wanted to."
Draco doesn't want to think about the implication that Snape would choose not to save himself. He stares at Snape for a long time. He's not the first one to speak, Harry is. "Are we done now? I was angling for a handjob."
"Fuck off," Draco says, climbing back under the covers, hiding his face. "I'm going to sleep. If you want a handjob, ask Snape."
There's a pause, and then Snape says, "Not bloody likely, Potter. I would much rather eat glass."
Harry disappears for a few days again, but this time, they know he's leaving because he's finalising his divorce, and they know he'll be back by Friday. He officially lives with Snape and Draco now, which is pretty weird when Draco thinks about it, but it means Draco knows he'll be back.
Draco helps Snape brew the first day, Pepperups, an anti-paralysis, a wiggenweld and a series of healing potions for a magical STD. Snape won't tell him who or what it's for, but he does say it's for multiple people, and Draco can't help the snickering that bursts out of him. Snape gives him the same unimpressed look he always gives him when Draco does anything he deems untoward, and Draco pokes his tongue out in reply.
During a break in brewing, they find themselves outside with a cup of tea each and a smoke for Draco, and he says, "Look, I didn't really mean to blame you or anything, it's not your fault drunk-Harry likes to meddle with time."
Snape eyes him. "I was not aware this was still a problem." The two of them aren't the best communicators, but Snape knows Draco's trying to apologise for acting like a twat, and Draco knows Snape's forgiving him. They know each other well enough to be able to get their points across without speaking. "I never gave you an answer."
"An answer?" Draco repeats, his brow furrowed. He lifts his teacup up to his mouth and finishes the dregs. When he pulls the cup away from his face, Snape's got his eyebrow raised. It takes a long while for Draco to understand what he's getting at. "Oh, right. So you have one, then?"
He doesn't elaborate, and Draco stares at him for almost a whole minute before his brain catches up. "Oh, shit, yes? Fuck alright." His heart is hammering in his chest and his mind is working a mile a minute. "Now? No, not now, you've got potions. Tonight? No shit, I've got work."
"If you continue to blither on, I might change my mind," Snape says, though he seems far more amused than annoyed with Draco. Draco really, really doesn't want him to change his mind.
"Alright, alright, I'm done." Draco butts out his smoke in the ashtray and sets his cup down on the table. Before he can make himself nervous and change his mind, he climbs to his feet and says, "I'm just gonna…" then slides into Snape's lap. Snape doesn't say anything, but he doesn't push Draco away either, and Draco takes it as permission to continue. He settles onto Snape's thighs and cups his jaw, thumbing at his bottom lip. His lips are dry as they always get when he's been brewing all day, and Draco likes the way they feel rough on the pad of his thumb. "Okay?"
Snape rolls his eyes at Draco and pulls him down by the back of his neck, smashing their lips together. Despite the rough way they began, Snape kisses him soft, and slow, drugging like dripping honey. Draco gets lost in it, licks into Snape's mouth to chase his tongue. He can taste the tea he drank, and the couple drags of Draco's cigarette he stole, and he licks behind Snape's teeth to steal it back.
The potions alarm startles them and ends the kiss, and Draco's left in the chair both he and Snape once occupied with tingling lips and a hard dick.
There's a letter waiting for Draco on his bed when he gets home from work in the early hours of the morning. His name sits on the front in Harry's chicken-scrawl handwriting, an answer to the question Draco had posed to him before he had left for work.
You did what! Holy shit. I thought he was gonna hex you for sure. He will murder you if you wake him up or interrupt his potions. Tomorrow night for sure, you don't have work, right? You have to write me afterwards. I'm all the way in London and I'm so lonely.
Draco rolls his eyes and leaves the letter on his bedside table with his muggle mobile, finding a change of clothes and a towel to take with him to the bathroom. He smells like sweat and beer and cigarette smoke, and it's positively disgusting. He only considers the shower for a moment before he waves his wand at the bath, starting the taps and plugging the drain, pouring one of the bath oils Snape keeps on the shelf into the water, the one that smells like citrus. He strips off his clothes and slides into the water, until the water covers everything from his mouth down, and closes his eyes.
"If you fall asleep, you will drown," Snape says, right next to Draco's ear, scaring him. He breathes in some of the bathwater and splutters, coughing it up.
"I will if you scare me, arsehole," Draco says once he's stopped coughing, frowning up at Snape. Snape's standing there in nothing but a pair of low-hanging sleep trousers. Draco's never seen him in anything less than a dress shirt and trousers; even when he's drunk he never loses his clothes. His inky hair is up in a haphazard bun, which means he can see the scar on his throat from Nagini's bite. It's not the only scar on his skin, and Draco takes a moment to study them all one at a time. He gets distracted by the wisps of pubic hair he can see peeking out from his waistband, black like his hair and the ones on his chest. "Why're you awake?"
"I needed to relieve myself."
Draco closes his eyes and says, "Be my guest." He slides back into the water, dunking his whole head this time, holding his breath for a long moment before he comes back up. He wipes the water from his face and slicks back his wet hair, then looks up at Snape who's regarding him intensely. "What?"
"Are you exceedingly exhausted?"
Draco really is incredibly stupid, because again, it takes him a long time to figure out what Snape's angling at. He sits up straighter when he does realise and hangs over the side of the tub. "Not even a little bit. You going to join me?"
Snape gives Draco his trademark unimpressed look, blinking slowly at him, and says, "No. I shall not be fucking you in the bathtub. I will meet you in your bedroom."
Draco climbs to his feet and out of the tub, body tingling as he uses magic to dry himself and drain the water. Snape watches him, heat in his eyes, and Draco sends him a cheeky grin. He leaves Snape in the bathroom, padding across the hallway into his bedroom. He finds his hairbrush and runs it through his hair while he waits for Snape, so it's not a bird's nest in the morning, then settles himself on the bed and rubs his hands on his thighs nervously.
With nothing else to do with his hands while he waits, he reaches over to the bedside table for his cigarettes, lighter and the ashtray. Besides while he's drinking, his bedroom is the only place he's allowed to smoke, and only because Snape had set up venting wards similar to the ones in his lab. Even then, Draco doesn't do it often. The smoke sinks into the furniture and despite the habit, he hates the smell.
Snape appears soon afterwards, confidently striding towards Draco on the bed, taking his face in his hands to kiss him. He kisses like a starving man, as if he's trying to swallow Draco whole, and it makes his heart drop into his gut. He wasn't really expecting it, to be kissed like this by Snape, so thoroughly and completely, but now he is, it feels so normal, so right. He threads his fingers through Snape's hair, letting out an annoyed grunt when they get caught in the tie holding it together, pulling it out so he can really feel the soft strands.
"Sorry, hold on," He pulls away when the cigarette still between his fingers burns his skin, butting it out in the ashtray. "You got a preference as to how this goes? I'm pretty flexible either way."
Snape runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face and shoots Draco a look, one that says, 'Are you serious?'
"That's not an answer, Snape."
"I do not get fucked."
Draco lets out a snort of wry laughter, then, in a croon, he says, "That's not what Harry said."
"Yes, you have. As have I." Draco gives Snape a wolfish grin and pushes him onto his back, straddling his belly. When he sits he can feel the hard line of Snape pressed against his arse, and he grinds down onto him, just to make Snape groan. It's a little thing, his groan, muffled as though he's holding back, so Draco does it again, harder, smile still sharp like shark teeth. "I'll let you pretend if you like, but I'm on top."
That earns Draco one of Snape's signature unimpressed expression, diminished by a moan when Draco lifts himself up onto his knees, gets his hand in Snape's pants and grasps his cock. Draco slides his hand around the head and squeezes, stroking the pad of his thumb over the slit. Snape swears and thrusts his hips up into Draco's hold. Draco knees his way further down to get a better hold of Snape, whispering a quick spell that slicks his hand so he can properly stroke him.
He touches Snape the same way Harry likes it, firm and fast, and after a while, Snape takes Draco's wrist, pulling him away as he says, "If you continue, this tryst will be over far before it has begun." Draco acquiesces, sitting back on his heels with his palms spread over his thighs, staring intently down at Snape. "Shall I stretch you manually or magically?"
"It's only fair you do it manually," Draco replies with a toothy grin, summoning the jar of lube he keeps on top of the dresser, setting it gently on top of Snape's chest. He crawls further up Snape's body until he's kneeling over Snape's ribcage, so the angle won't be so awkward for him.
"I suspect it would be far easier if I were on top."
"Too bad you aren't," Draco says, rolling his eyes, whispering a quick cleaning spell. "Hurry up."
Snape breathes out an annoyed huff through his nose, but Draco has absolutely no doubt it's put on rather than real. He takes the pot of slick and gets his fingers wet, rubbing his fingers together until they shine in the light. He tosses the lube away once it's stoppered and adjusts Draco on top of him so he can get a good angle.
The first finger slides in easily, long and sure, with barely any ache, and Draco plants a hand on the headboard to hold himself up, moaning. When he looks down at Snape, he looks pretty pleased with himself, and Draco seriously thinks about smacking him. Before he can, Snape adds another finger and Draco's whole body shakes with a sob at the stretch. Snape's mouth turns further up into a smug smile - particularly at Draco's groan when he finds his prostate - but Draco's far too preoccupied to care.
To his credit, Snape doesn't drag it on for too long, switching from two fingers to three before pulling them all out, reaching around Draco and using the excess lube on his skin to slick his cock. Draco lets himself be manhandled backwards until he's suspended over Snape's cock, held in his hand, steadying it for Draco.
The head fits in after barely any pushing, and Draco breathlessly mumbles, "Holy fuck." The ache of the stretch causes his chest to clench, breath falling in short pants. When he looks down at Snape there's a question in his eyes, nowhere near worry but the shadow of it, and Draco, as payment for Snape's smugness, bears down until the rest of his cock slides inside.
Snape's muffled grunt is extremely satisfying to Draco, and he pushes through the cloud of his own pleasure to pull more sounds from him. He plants a hand on Snape's shoulder, the other still on the headboard and rolls his hips down onto Snape's cock. Draco feels so full, bursting, and it knocks the breath from him. Snape's hands snake around Draco's hips, just to hold on while Draco rocks harder.
Suddenly, without warning and no explanation, Snape's hips snap up, shoving his cock deep inside Draco, tugging a sob from Draco's mouth before he settles back on the mattress, smug look on his face.
"Fuck, do it again."
Snape does, planting his heels in the mattress with his knees up to give himself some leverage before snapping his hips up into Draco again while Draco groans into the air between them. Draco really had wanted to be in control of this, but every thrust feels like lava sliding through his veins and he needs more. Snape's adjusting his hips every few thrusts, and it's not until he snubs up against Draco's prostate that he realises why. His entire body explodes with sensation and he realises just how close he is to coming, in barely any time at all. It's almost embarrassing really, but also so fucking good.
He thrusts his hips down to meet Snape's, fingernails digging into Snape's shoulder and moaning, "Snape, fuck, I'm so close, keep going."
Snape huffs, and Draco thinks if he weren't pretty preoccupied he'd make a snarky comment; instead, he pushes himself up onto his forearms then sits, grabbing Draco round the middle and flipping them over so Draco's on his back and Snape is looming over him. Draco whines, mostly because he was enjoying being on top, but it stutters out into a loud moan when Snape grinds his hips.
His pace is punishing, much faster than the one Draco had set, hands on the inside of Draco's pale thighs, holding his legs open. It aches, in his hips, his legs stretched farther than they can technically go, but the ache threads itself around the pleasure and Draco comes without any warning. His whole body shudders with it, and he throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for Snape's mouth. His teeth sink into Draco's skin and he clutches at the sheets by Draco's head as his hips rabbit inwards, until he comes as well with a deep groan.
When Snape pulls out and collapses onto the bed next to him, Draco's chest is rising and falling rapidly with his breath, he's drenched in sweat and pleasantly sore. It's going to get disgusting pretty quickly, but for the time being Draco lets himself enjoy it.
In the morning (or, perhaps later morning), Snape's body in Draco's bed has been replaced with Harry's. He wasn't even supposed to be home for another day. He's lying on his side, fully clothed, shoes still on, with his head propped up on his hand and he's smirking at Draco like a fucking idiot.
"Reeks of sex in here," he says, extremely pleased with himself as though he's the reason it smells like sex, as though he's the reason Draco and Snape fucked. Twit.
"You weren't supposed to be back until tonight," Draco replies, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms, sheet pooling in his lap. The abrupt wake up has jarred him, but it's nothing compared to the immensely satisfying feeling of being freshly fucked. He's just too pleased to care. Not that he'll be admitting that to Harry.
"Got everything done quickly. Now shut up and tell me how it was."
"That's an oxymoron," Draco realises Snape's left things on the bedside table for him, a glass of water and two potions, one for mild pain and the other a Pepperup. He takes them both and chases them with most of the glass of water. "Must I really describe my sex life in intimate detail to you?"
Draco just rolls his eyes, flinging the sheets off of his legs and climbing off the bed to find a pair of pants. "Merlin, Harry, you should've seen it, when I got back he was in nothing but like really low pyjama trousers. I could basically see his dick."
Harry falls onto his back and cackles.
"That's all I'm saying. I need a shower." He veers away from the drawer of pants he was riffling through and towards the hook where his dressing-gown hangs, sliding onto his body so he's not roaming the house stark naked. Not that he thinks either of them would mind. When he turns back to Harry, he's half undressed, in the midst of unbuttoning his jeans and toeing his shoes off at the same time. "What are you doing?"
"Joining you," Harry says, making a face as if Draco's missed something obvious, as if it's normal for the two of them to climb into the shower together.
"Uh," Draco replies dumbly. "Okay?" He really has no argument to Harry joining him in the shower, so he doesn't bother trying. A small voice in his head reminds him what he and Snape were doing only hours earlier, but it doesn't help; in fact, all it does is set fire to his blood, the thought of taking them both with barely any time between them. The Pepperup and the pain relief potions are doing their job, and yeah, okay, he definitely wants that. "Okay."
Draco makes his way to the bathroom before Harry's fully undressed, turning the shower on the way he likes it, uncaring if Harry will find it too hot. He hangs the robe on the hook behind the door and suddenly becomes aware that neither he nor Snape cast a cleansing charm before they fell asleep, because the back of his thighs are suddenly sticky and wet with Snape's come. He makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.
Harry's standing in the doorway and the awestruck look on his face is rather infuriating. "Stop looking at me
like that, this is disgusting."
He grins stupidly at Draco and says, "I completely disagree. Coming?"
Draco follows Harry into the shower, intent on cleaning Snape's come out of his body, only to be shoved face first into the wall. "What the fuck?" He hears Harry's knees thud on the floor tiles and Draco tries to turn and ask what the fuck he thinks he's doing when Harry's hands plant on his cheeks and pull them apart. It's disgusting, he should be disgusted, but he can't be anymore, not when Harry's hot breath is on him.
Harry's tongue licks a wet stripe over the puckered skin of his hole and Draco's entire body shakes. He's still sensitive, despite the potions and the hours passed, and the feel of Harry's tongue turns his blood to lava. Harry licks into him, using the leftover stretch to wiggle his tongue in. Draco squirms in his holds, scrabbling for purchase on the tiled walls.
Harry's tongue is confident and sure, and whilst they've never done this together before, Harry's obviously done it with someone else, and a small, unhelpful voice in the back of his head wonders if it was with Snape. It probably wasn't, Harry's obviously practised, he's done this more than the once with Snape, but the thought still sticks to his brain like treacle. His brain helpfully supplies a mental image of Snape on his front on the bed, Harry kneeled behind him. It makes the hard length between his legs throb.
Once Harry gets his hand around Draco's hand and on his cock, stroking it, Draco's done for, coming in thick wet pulses onto the tiles, forehead crashing with a heavy thunk. His chest feels tight, and he breathes in heavy, gasping gulps of air, turning to face Harry when the other man climbs to his feet.
"If you want to kiss me, you have to brush your teeth first."
Harry's laugh stutters out of him in unrestrained guffaw and he hides it in Draco's neck.
Draco's most of the way through his shift when he turns around behind the bar, holding a bottle of Jack, to find Hermione Granger in front of him, staring intensely at him. She doesn't look much different from the last time he saw her, after the Battle, besides the rounding of her cheeks and the unruliness of her hair. She's let it go back to its natural state after straightening it for so many years, and Draco thinks it suits her far better.
Draco makes a sucking noise with his tongue pressed to his top teeth and tries not to let his face fall into a grimace. "Granger."
The man at the end of the bar waiting for his Jack on the rocks waves at him to get his attention and Draco accepts the out, disappearing with a mumbled apology and trying to remember if Harry and Snape promised to come tonight. He knows Snape wouldn't want Granger sprung on him without notice, particularly since he and Harry are still the only ones who know he isn't dead. Eventually, once the regular has his drink and a couple others do, too, he realises he has to go back to Granger or face her wrath at an inopportune time. He's not too proud to admit he's definitely intimidated by her, and quite possibly terrified.
"Did you know I was here?" Draco asks, very gently corralling Granger into admitting that the Ministry is still watching him.
"Yes," she says, without further remark.
"Well… shall I get you a drink?"
It takes her a moment to reply; she's still staring him down, but when she does, she agrees, ordering a soft drink, one she seems unlikely to drink. "I'd like you to tell Harry to answer his letters."
He breaths in through his nose sharply as he pours her drink, back tensing up. Well, at least she's not here on behalf of the Ministry. "Of course, I would do that. However, I haven't spoken to Potter in rather a long time, and it would be quite impossible."
She looks unimpressed. Did Harry tell her? Or does the Ministry know he and Harry now live together? With Snape? "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't lie to me." He sets the drink down in front of her and she grasps it in her hand, staring into the liquid. "Look, Malfoy, I'm just worried, okay? I just want to make sure he hasn't gone off the deep end again."
"Perhaps he's simply busy and will answer your letters when he can."
Granger's head tilts to the side as she stares up at him again, lips pursed. "Just tell him, please." She takes a small drink and leaves the mostly full glass on the counter, a ten-pound note next to it, far more than it's worth. She disappears through the pub and despite the barrier of brick and drywall he feels the crack of magic as she disapparates away.
His chest feels a bit constricted and his heart is beating heavy, and when his boss passes behind him and says, "Friend?"
"Old schoolmate." He replies, trying to get his breathing under control. He's still terrified of the day he gets carted off to Azkaban, and he hadn't even realised until that moment. He's going to tell Harry to answer Granger's letters, simply because he doesn't believe he can take the strain of seeing her again.
"You didn't seem particularly pleased to see her." His boss replies, opening the drawer of the cash register, adding a roll of one pound coins into the tray to top it up.
"No, Draco replies, picking up the glass and the money Granger left behind. There's a smear of burgundy lipstick on the rim, a reminder that she was real, she existed in his time and space.
"Your boyfriends aren't coming tonight?"
Draco splutters, suddenly shocked from his fear of the Ministry and the wizarding world as a whole, and into a weird embarrassment at having Snape and Harry called his boyfriends. "They, uh, they aren't my boyfriends."
His boss sends him a look, as if he doesn't believe a single word he's saying.
"They really aren't."
Draco's staring mournfully into his glass of firewhiskey when Snape finds him in the morning, four hours after the end of his shift. Harry must still be asleep, he's not really a morning person, and Draco's glad he doesn't have to deal with them both at the same time.
"Drinking before noon, now, are we?" He asks, tightening the strings of his robe into a knot at his belly. He looks rumpled, hair fluffier than normal and cheeks tinged slightly red from sleep. If he didn't think Snape would murder him and use his body part for potions ingredients he'd call him adorable.
"I'm wondering if I should've just faked my death, like you did," Draco replies, taking a gulp of his drink before staring down into the liquid again. He feels very sorry for himself, and he'll drink at six-thirty in the morning if he fucking wants to. "Would've been far easier than this bullshit."
Snape huffs and reaches forward to pluck the glass from the cup of Draco's hand. "Perhaps, given the time, we should exchange whiskey for coffee." Draco's too tired to argue. He lets the whiskey go and allows Snape to drag him into the kitchen. "Has the Ministry sent you another summons?"
"No, but fucking Granger showed up at my work. I mean, she was looking for Harry, but it still made me terrified. Like I was going to get sent to Azkaban." Draco watches Snape fill the kettle and collect the things for coffee the muggle way. He's noticed that a lot of the mundane things that Snape does in his life, like making coffee, he likes to do by hand. He's never asked, but he thinks it probably gives him some sort of clarity, or calms his nerves, something Snape would never willingly tell Draco. "It's horrible, living like this."
"Well, perhaps you could still fake your death." His voice is level and calm, and his face is neutral, but Draco knows he's telling a joke. He's been doing that a lot lately, telling jokes. Half the time Harry and Draco don't even know he's joking until the corner of his mouth turns up, just a fraction. "Draco, you mustn't dwell on the Ministry's interference. If they had wanted to take you to Azkaban they would have done so by now. All their ongoing harassment is simply a tool. They want you afraid, they want you nervous. They want you to slip up. Do not."
Draco makes a face. "Infinitely unhelpful, thank you. Maybe I should just fake my death. Muggle automobile accident, perhaps? Potions mishap? I think they'd rather enjoy murder."
Snape rolls his eyes as he pours them each a cup of coffee, leaving the milk and sugar on the dining table for Draco to use. A small splash of milk and a heaping of sugar turns Snape's mouth into a grimace and Draco huffs out a laugh.
"He needs to deal with her. She can't just show up, especially with you around. It's not as though you're, you know, alive or anything," Draco says, pushing past the burn in his throat to gulp down his coffee. It doesn't help, now, he's drunk and caffeinated. "I would be opposed if he wanted to deal with her."
Snape snorts just as Harry stumbles into the kitchen an hour earlier than usual, rubbing at his eyes.
"I can hear you fucking talking from the bedroom, do you have to be so fucking loud?"
Draco stutters out a laugh and says, "Good morning, sunshine!" Harry sticks his finger up at Draco as he passes him on his way to the coffee. He stares at the kettle for a moment, then at Snape before plucking the mug from Snape's hand, gulping it down. Draco's laugh turns hysterical as Snape's eyebrow raises very slowly, watching Harry gulp down the last of his coffee. "You're so dead."
Harry finishes the coffee, squares his shoulders and looks up at Snape defiantly. "Eat me."
Draco covers his mouth to muffle the hysterical laughter bursting from out of him.
"It's your fault I'm this hungover, you owe me your coffee."
Snape lets out a startled indignant sound and it sets Draco off again. "I certainly do not! I did not force you to drink as much as you did. You do as you wish."
"You- you provided the alcohol," Harry says, poking an accusatory finger into Snape's chest. "It's your fault!"
Draco presses his face into the cool of the wooden dining table, trying to keep his breathing under control as he laughs. He's surprised Snape hasn't killed Harry yet, really, and he certainly wouldn't blame him if he did.
Harry hands back the coffee mug and goes to the fridge, staring listlessly inside. Draco sees Snape's hand twitch, then Harry's whole body before the latter begins to scratch frantically at his skin. Draco's laughter turns hysterical again. "Snape, that's not fair!"
Snape makes himself another coffee before he releases Harry from the Itching Hex, looking far too smug over the rim of his mug. Harry shoots him a glare and reaches into the fridge for the jar of jam.
"Harry," Draco starts, once he's calmed himself down, cheeks flushed red and wet with mirthful tears.
"Yes, dear," Harry replies, sending a toothy grin Draco's way as he toasts two slices of bread magically.
"This is serious," Harry turns to Draco with a slice of his newly made jam toast sticking out of his mouth and Draco really would like to laugh but he wants Harry to know he's being sincere. "Granger found me at the pub. I need you to call off your attack dog."
"Oh, shit, yeah," Harry says, like he's suddenly come to the same conclusion Draco had when Granger appeared at his workplace. "I'll send her a letter. You okay?"
"Fucking stellar." Harry grimaces and sits his toast down on the counter before wandering over to Draco and wrapping his arms around him from behind him. His fingers are sticky where they're pressed to Draco's jaw and the material of his shirt at his shoulder and he tries to wiggle out of the embrace (despite enjoying it very much), screeching, "Oi! You're getting jam all over me!"
Harry laughs and pokes his sticky fingers into Draco's cheeks, and Snape has the fucking gall to chuckle.
"Arseholes! I'm going to bed!"
"We should get a television," Draco says one night as they all sit in the living room. He and Snape are reading and Harry's writing in a black leather notebook he'd picked up in the nearest town. (He never tells Draco or Snape what he's writing, and they don't push). It's strangely domestic, and calming, and Draco enjoys it more than he'd admit to. "They've got one at the pub, there's interesting broadcasts on sometimes."
"No," Snape replies, not even looking up from his book. "Idiot boxes."
Harry's mouth tilts up and he bites his bottom lip, but he doesn't look up from his book either.
"Well I want one."
Finally, Snape's gaze turns to Draco, that signature unimpressed look sliding into his features, and says, "Well, perhaps you can have one. In your own flat."
Draco knows Snape probably meant it as a joke, to tease him, but he suddenly realises this isn't his home. This is Snape's home, and he's been intruding in his space for almost a year now. Where would he go if Snape kicked him out? What sort of place would he be able to afford? He feels like a balloon with cut strings, floating endlessly in a fog of what if, what would I do, where would I go, who would I be? He's an ex Death Eater with virtually no real-life skills, tied between a world he doesn't belong in and another in which he's isn't welcome.
"Draco…" Snape says gently, far more gently than Draco's sure he's ever said anything in his life. Harry finally looks up from his book, frowning. When he looks at Draco, he must see something in his face, fear maybe, panic, and his face softens. "I had not meant it literally, I apologise."
Even an apology from Snape, sporadic as they are, does nothing to assuage the panic rising in his chest, squeezing at his lungs and threatening to suffocate him. His head feels thick and foggy, and the tips of his fingers and toes have gone numb.
"Shit, he's having a panic attack," Harry says, suddenly next to Draco, holding Draco's face in his hands. Draco's vision is bleary around the edges, a contrast to the sharpness of Harry's features, his green eyes and the curve of his nose, his tan skin, the colour of terracotta, and the black stubble on his chin. "Focus on me, Draco, on my breathing, in your nose and out your mouth, can you match it? Go get a Calming Draught!"
Draco's heart feels as if it might burst from his chest, beating as hard as it is against his ribcage. He tries to match his breathing to Harry's, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, but it makes his head feel fuzzy, as though he might faint. Subconsciously, he knows he's having a panic attack, and he tries to tell himself to calm to fuck down, but it doesn't do anything, as if he isn't in control of his own body.
"You're doing great Draco, I'm right here. Snape's back, he's going to give you a Calming Draught."
Someone tilts his head back gently and opens his mouth, tipping the potion up to his lips. Draco swallows, feels it slide down his throat, feels his heartbeat steady and his breathing find its way back to normal. When he looks at Harry, Snape now beside him, his vision isn't blurry anymore and his head doesn't feel as though it's full of clouds. His head thuds, aching as if he's woken up from a night of drinking and he winces, holding it in his hands.
"I've never been on the other side of that, that was a bit terrifying," Harry admits quietly, gently running his fingers through Draco's hair, scratching at his scalp. It's soothing, and Draco doesn't ever want him to stop. "D'you want to take a lie down?"
Draco hums his agreement and Harry leads him back to his bedroom, Snape on his heels. He's carrying a glass of water and another potion and, when he hands it to Draco, he recognises it as Dreamless Sleep. He accepts them both eagerly, drinking the potion first, then the water.
"Could you… could you stay? Both of you?" He feels drowsy suddenly, and he lies down, trying to keep his eyes open. Harry and Snape share a look between them before Harry's helping Draco out of his trousers while Snape turns out the lights. Draco watches through fluttering eyes as Harry strips down to his pants and Snape changes into sleepwear he summons from his bedroom before they both climb in on either side of him. He turns onto his side and presses his face into Snape's shoulder as Harry's arm slides around his waist. He's asleep before he can truly enjoy being on a bed between the two of them.
When he wakes, Harry's still wrapped around his back like a koala, but the other side of the bed, the side Snape had occupied, is empty. Draco slides his hand over the sheet, chasing the warmth of Snape's skin, only to be disappointed when the cotton is cold over his palm. He wonders if Snape had simply left early to start his daily potions, or if he'd disappeared in the middle of the night. The thought that it had been the latter makes something ugly and bitter twist in Draco's gut.
He tries to carefully extract himself from Harry so he doesn't wake him, but the arm around his belly pulls him back in, pressing his back into Harry's chest. "Just a little longer," Harry whispers, fingers sliding under Draco's shirt to rest just above his belly button. It's comfortable and warm, and Draco lets himself sink back into Harry's embrace, relaxing his body. Harry nestles his face into the crook of Draco's throat and hums, his hot breath tickling Draco's skin.
"Where's Snape?" Draco asks, fingers tracing the pattern of the sheet's threads, nails catching on one that's come loose.
"Potions," Harry whispers in reply. His toes are freezing cold and he rubs them between Draco's calves, presumably to warm them up. "Alarm for the Wolfsbane woke us up about a half an hour ago. Did you worry he'd left during the night?"
Draco doesn't reply.
"Do you want to talk about last night?" Draco shakes his head no. "Okay. Well, I have them sometimes, too, the panic attacks. Started in fourth year, after the first task. The adrenaline wore off and I couldn't breathe. I haven't had one in a while, since I started crashing here. Feel a lot calmer."
Draco stays silent, sliding his hand over Harry's on his belly, playing with his fingers.
"I had one in front of my aunt once, when I was sixteen. She was bloody terrified; thought I was going to die in her kitchen. She didn't actually care about me, just didn't want me dying on her fucking floor." He snorts derisively and presses his mouth to Draco's shoulder. "Took me to the hospital, the first time I'd ever been. A doctor diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. Remember thinking at the time 'you mean fighting a war?' Was drugged up the whole of sixth and seventh year, surprised I ever felt anything at all."
Draco wriggles out from under Harry's arm and turns onto his other side to face him. "I don't understand what either of those things mean. Why are you telling me this?"
"Because wizards aren't immune to muggle illnesses, and I think you might have one."
Draco raises an eyebrow and shoots Harry a doubtful look. "Uh-huh." He pushes himself up until he's sitting, rubs at his eyes (and hopes that will make the headache still pounding in his skull go away, but it doesn't) and then swings his legs over the side of the bed.
"You're promiscuous and impulsive, you get really chatty sometimes like you've taken drugs or something, and you don't finish thoughts, or sentences before you're jumping to the next topic. You get headaches all the time and you pick a task and you get so engrossed in it, but you never finish it, like the hundreds of books around the house half-read." Draco turns back to look at Harry, frowning. He knows this, he's experienced all that, but he'd never really listed them all at any given time. It's weird, hearing it all read back to him. "I see a doctor sometimes, Mauve, she's a squib, she grew up in the magical world, she raised her magical nieces after their parents died in the first war, I can tell her everything, I wouldn't be able to do that with a muggle doctor or a mind healer."
"If you're angling for a visit, no." Draco can deal with his own fucking problems himself.
"Okay," Harry says, and really, Draco thought he would argue, but he doesn't, he just lies there with his eyes shut, almost serene.
"Why aren't you pushing?"
Harry blinks an eye open and then the other. "Cause I wouldn't want anyone to force me either. Just know the offer's on the table."
Draco climbs to his feet and takes a pile of clothes with him to the bathroom for a shower.
Draco's not really expecting to come home from work to find Snape and Harry snogging on the couch with barely any clothes on, but he doesn't hate it, at all. They look so lovely together, pale skin and tan, dark hair, and something tugs deep in Draco's belly, like a rope pulling him towards them.
He collapses on the couch next to them, grinning, and says, "Hey," Snape gives him a rather long-suffering look, and Draco just shoots him a toothy grin in reply. "Enjoying ourselves, are we?"
Harry's perched over Snape's lap, his fingers threaded through Snape's hair, and he takes his mouth from the other man's throat, where he'd been sucking a rather large bruise, to say, "Are you going to get your kit off, then?"
Draco doesn't bother taking the time to argue. He gets a hand in the fabric at the nape of his neck and pulls his shirt over his head, toeing his boots off and unzipping his pants. He's most definitely not going to miss this. He leans over and takes Snape's face in his hands, pulling him forward for a kiss, licking into his mouth, chasing the taste of Harry's own tongue. Snape tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Draco's head and tugs, angling his face how he wants it, pulling a groan from Draco's lips.
Draco's pants are getting impossibly tighter, and his blood feels like lightning. He pulls away from Snape long enough to say, "Gotta… gotta take my jeans off," then climbs out of his hold to do so. He drops his pants with his trousers, then slides back onto the couch next to Snape and Harry, sliding his arm around Harry's waist and around his hip to palm at him through his briefs, squeeze at the shape of him and draw a long moan from his lips. He turns to Snape, feeling smug, and stutters at the look on his face, colour in his cheeks and pupils blown wide, intense and warm. Draco leans over to kiss him again, one hand in Harry's pants now, around his cock, the other cupping Snape's cheek.
Draco feels a bit crazed then, at the sound of Harry's voice, fucked out, and he pulls away from Snape's mouth again, this time to lean down between the two of them and get his mouth around Harry's hard, warm flesh. The precome at the tip of his cock is bitter, and Draco's never really liked the taste anyway, but he can't stop, not when Harry sounds like that, as if he can't hold in the pleasure, as if he might fly apart at any moment. Someone gets their fingers in Draco's hair, just carefully carding through the strands, and Draco leans into the touch, moaning, which causes Harry's entire body to jerk. Draco licks at the head of Harry's cock and squeezes his hand around the base, and he wants to get Harry off, he really does, but the fingers in his hair tighten and pull him up, smashing his mouth to Snape's. The kiss is bruising, and it leaves Draco's chest aching and tight.
"Hey, I was enjoying that arsehole," Harry whines, and it's really rather funny to Draco, he has to pull away from Snape so he can laugh.
"How exactly is it that I came to find the two of you snogging on the couch?" Draco asks, genuinely curious, settling his back into the couch so he can stare at the two of them. "As far as I was aware, Snape would sooner cut your dick off at the root than snog you."
Harry rolls his eyes and points to the drinks trolley behind him. Right. Like the first time.
"Well, I'm not complaining, but I am getting rather older. Can we move to a bed at least?"
"Who says you're invited?" Harry jokes, rolling his eyes again.
Draco pouts, put upon, which only makes Harry roll his eyes again. Snape, amused, says, "If you continue to roll your eyes, I am sure they will eject from the socket. We can go to my bedroom."
Draco looks at Harry with wide eyes. "Have you ever been in Snape's bedroom? I haven't. Perhaps it's full of medieval torture devices and he'd rather kill us than get off with him," Harry whispers, conspiratorially. Draco bursts into giggles and muffles them in Snape's shoulder.
"If you think the both of you cannot cease acting like children, you're not welcome in my bedroom."
"Harry!" Draco cries. "You made him mad."
They do make it to Snape's bedroom eventually. It isn't filled with medieval torture devices, but instead houses a four-poster bed in mahogany that matches a desk, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. There's a tall mirror in the corner next to the heavy drapes across the window and Draco catches his own reflection in it, the flush against the pale of his skin, hard cock jutting out from his body. It all really seems much too good to be true, and Draco wonders when he'll inevitably wake up to find he's dreamt the whole encounter.
"Draco, c'mere," Harry says from where he's sat at the edge of Snape's bed, pants lying on the floor in front of him. Snape's disappeared and Draco wonders after him for a brief moment before he climbs into the bed on top of Harry. Harry's skin is warm, and there's a light sheen of sweat started at the nape of his neck where Draco slides his hands to hold on as they kiss. He smells strongly of alcohol and Snape's cologne, and of his own underneath that. Draco breathes it in, head going dizzy.
"Lie down," Snape whispers to them both, suddenly behind Draco, and Harry complies, taking Draco with him. Draco shakes with anticipation as he waits to see what Snape has planned for him.
He feels Snape's thumb press against his hole, wet and slick with lubricant, and he cants his hips down, trying to get it inside himself. Snape's answering chuckle is warm and feels like whiskey running down his spine. Draco groans into Harry's mouth.
Snape starts with two fingers, sliding in carefully and stealing Draco's breath. It aches, and it's a bit sore, but not in a bad way. In fact, it's in a very, very good way. Draco bears down on the fingers, helping them along and easing the pain from the stretch of his body.
"That's it pet," Harry whispers gently against Draco's mouth, hand sliding from his nape to the base of his spine, fingers feeling for where Draco's stretched around Snape's own. "Gods."
Snape scissors his fingers apart, stretching and relaxing his muscles for what's to come, searching inside him for his prostate. When he finds it, the tips of his fingers brushing against it, Draco calls out Snape's name, voice already rough. Harry's taken to mouthing at Draco's throat because Draco's suddenly become incapable of kissing him back. He grazes his teeth along the line of Draco's throat before planting his mouth under Draco's ear and sucking a bruising mark into his skin. Draco's thinks he might just come right then and embarrass the fuck out of himself, but he doesn't. (Thank fuck).
A third finger joins the first two and Draco curls his fingers in the sheets on either side of Harry's head, groaning into his neck. He tries to thrust back into those fingers, to feel them deeper, but one of Snape's hands clamps around his hip, almost bruising, and holds him there. "Stay." Snape's voice is so deep and rough, as if watching himself take Draco apart on his fingers is finally getting to him, finally making him lose his cool.
Snape's fingers brush up against Draco's prostate, and he suddenly realises that if Snape doesn't stop he's most definitely going to come. "Hold on, stop!" Snape pulls away and Draco rolls off of Harry and collapses onto the bed next to him, feet hanging off the side of the bed, panting. "Shit. Okay. I'm good now." Snape makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. "Don't look so damned smug." Draco leans up onto his forearms and says with a wolfish grin, "Was Harry going to fuck you before I got here? Because I won't forget that, and I demand to see it."
Snape rolls his eyes and starts to unbutton his pants. Draco watches in rapt attention, and he doesn't need to see Harry to know without a doubt he's doing the same. There's a thick white scar low on his belly, the length of a finger, above the v of his groin, and Draco doesn't remember seeing it before, and now he's tremendously curious as to how he got it.
"Since I'm the one getting a cock up the arse, I suppose it's my choice as to whose cock it is?" Draco turns to look at Harry. They've not yet had sex, nothing more than kissing and foreplay, and Draco really would like to, but he also wants Snape. It's a rather difficult decision to make, really. Eventually, he settles on Harry.
"While I do feel honoured, we can't leave Snape to his own devices, gods know the trouble he'd get up to."
The exasperated look he sends them both when they burst into laughter is softened by his nudity and the red flush darkening the pale skin of his throat and chest.
"Alright, I have an idea," Draco says, climbing to his feet and taking Snape's wrist in his hand to pull him onto the bed. He sets Snape against the headboard before wiggling down so he's lying on his belly between Snape's spread thighs, his face a breath away from Snape's cock. Yes, he definitely likes this. "Okay?"
Snape gives no other reply than a grunt, and Draco takes that as his acceptance (if it hadn't been, Snape most definitely would have moved away by now, probably hexed him for it, too). He presses his face into Snape's thigh, mouthing his skin, revelling in the way the muscles jump under his tongue. He scrapes his teeth along the flesh before sinking them in, sucking a bruise, purple and red a stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. Snape's breath stutters and he threads his fingers through Draco's hair, pulling him up so they're staring at each other.
Draco gives him a toothy grin, surging up to press their mouths together and snog him senseless. The bed dips behind him as Harry climbs onto the mattress, a hand sliding up his back, and Draco pulls away from Snape to settle back between his thighs. He takes Snape's cock in his hand gently, holding it in a loose fist before he fits his mouth over the head. He licks into the slit, fist squeezing around the base before going lax again, and groans when Harry presses the head of his cock to the clutch of Draco's arsehole.
Harry goes slow and Draco appreciates it, pushing into him with tiny, slow jabs of his hips. He's not really capable of concentrating on Snape's dick anymore, and Snape decides he does not like that. He grasps Draco by the hair again to get his attention and pulls his mouth further down onto his cock, but not far enough Draco will choke. At least he's being courteous. Draco slides his mouth off of him, takes a deep steadying breath, then dives back in, trying to concentrate while Harry's cock bottoms out.
Harry's gentle, at first, and Draco matches him with his mouth, but once Harry picks up his pace, his thrusts are merciless, in and out of Draco like a jackhammer. Draco's still trying to match him, but he mostly ends up choking with much more of Snape in his mouth than he can actually take. Snape does seem to thoroughly enjoy it, however, and Draco thinks to himself of course he would.
Harry changes the angle of his hips and Draco cries out as pleasure explodes in him, roaring through his veins like fiendfyre. He pulls off of Snape and presses his face into his groin, panting, trying to catch his breath as Harry picks up the pace even more, cock hitting him where he needs it most on almost every one of his thrusts. Snape's hand is back in Draco's hair, but this time, rather than shoving his mouth onto his cock, Snape pulls him up into another kiss, licking into his mouth. It's an awkward angle; Draco's back curved upwards to meet Snape, who's curved his neck downwards, but neither cares. Once Draco kisses Snape until his lips are bitten-red and swollen, Draco goes back down to his cock, determined to suck his soul out through it. (Like some kind of sex Dementor; the thought makes Draco laugh enough to choke).
Harry comes first, spilling into Draco with a groan into the flesh of Draco's throat, but he doesn't stop fucking him, though he must be oversensitive. He gets a hand around Draco's cock and pulls him off as fast, but also as frantic and uneven, as are his thrusts and Draco can't take another second of it, whining around Snape before he spills onto the bedsheets.
"Just because you have ejaculated, does not mean you can stop," Snape says very sternly when Draco pulls off to catch his breath.
"Merlin, give me a second to breathe!" Draco tells him, grin sharp and full of teeth before he's flicking his tongue over the head as he holds him at the base. He's gone sloppy with his orgasm, but Snape doesn't seem to mind at all, eyes closed and head hanging forwards so his chin is pressed to his chest and his hair hides his face like a curtain. Draco feels Harry come up beside them (and when had Harry pulled out of him?), a hand threading itself through Draco's hair. He's not moving him, just encouraging him gently, and Draco groans.
He wiggles the hand around the base of Snape's dick down to his balls and squeezes gently, testing the waters. When Snape lets out a heavy groan, Draco does it again, but harder, stroking his thumb into them. He sees Harry's hand slide around Snape's thigh, but he doesn't pay it any mind until it makes its way lower, to tease the fingers over his arsehole. Draco's not ready for it when Snape comes, large spurts choking him and leaving him breathless. He can't swallow it all, and it ends up dripping down the length of Snape's cock, out of his mouth.
Draco pulls off and collapses, panting, over his thigh, chin wet with Snape's come and cheeks hot. Harry appears in his eyesight, a smug grin on his face, and Draco's cock makes a valiant effort to get hard again because he knows that look. It always means the fun kind of trouble. Harry leans down, and Draco, thinking he's going for a kiss, leans up to meet him, only to groan in surprise and arousal when Harry laps at Snape's come, streaked over his skin.
"You like that way too much," Draco decides, before Harry's finally kissing him (but possibly only to lick Snape's come from his mouth. "I need a nap now, move."
Draco's skin tingles as Snape's wordless cleaning charm washes over him before they all settle onto the bed, under the covers in a mess of limbs.
"Draco?" Snape asks when he appears in the doorway into his potions lab as Draco's taking a cauldron off the heat. He hasn't burnt the potion this time, and it hasn't exploded on him, so he considers it a success. He can't remember what the potion actually was, but he thinks it's right. "What are you doing? It is three in the morning."
Draco waves his hand in the air and moves onto the next potion. It's turned an ugly green colour since he last looked at it, and a dreamless sleep is not supposed to look like that, but he actually knows how to fix it this time. He finds the jar of salamander eyes he left on the table behind him and squishes three between his fingers before dumping them in the potion, causing it to turn back to its normal midnight blue. "I couldn't sleep."
Snape looks into the cauldron of burnt Pepperup with a frown. It suddenly occurs to Draco that he could be seriously in trouble with Snape here, he's wasted ingredients and burnt utensils, but he gets distracted by the third potion sitting on the fire by the window (which has started spitting fire) before the thought sinks in.
He stares into the cauldron, rubbing his face, wracking his brain as he tries to remember what he had intended to make inside it, and how he's supposed to fix it.
"Draco, stop!" A freezing charm encompasses the entire room, stopping the potion just as it had started to explode, leaving a cloud of fire and liquid suspended in the air. The look on his face is one of horror and anger, and also confusion, and Draco wonders to himself if he's ever seen Snape's emotions so clear on his face. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I was just…" Draco stares around the room, at the chaos he's left in his wake, then back at Snape. "I don't know. I couldn't sleep. Fuck, I'll clean it up, I promise, I just gotta…" He stares down at the potion in front of him and says, "I forgot what it was. I couldn't fix it cause I couldn't remember what it was. That's never happened to me. Ever. And the other ones over there. What the fuck is wrong with me? I feel like I'm going mad." Draco feels a bit like he's sinking underwater, drowning so slowly. His head hurts, and so does his chest, and he really just wants to lie down, but he knows he has to clean the mess he made. It seems insurmountable, really, but he has to.
"Just… just go to bed," Snape says, and there's something in his voice, and it takes Draco most of the walk back to the bedroom to realise it's worry. Snape's worried about him. And suddenly, Draco's worried about himself, too.
Was Harry right?
Harry's spread out in the middle of the bed when he gets back to his bedroom, still fast asleep and Draco slides in next to him, back turned to him. He stares at the wall for a long time.
Draco feels a bit as though he's made of lead after that, as though his entire body is too hard to move. How long had he stayed there? Hours? Days? Weeks? His mind feels fuzzy and jumbled and his chest aches as if it's being squeezed, as if it'll crush him at any moment. As if he wants it to crush him. He's exhausted but he barely sleeps, lying on his side, staring at the wall. He barely thinks either, as if he's forgotten how to.
He can't remember the last time he ate or drank anything, but he doesn't feel hungry, just sort of empty.
He hears Snape and Harry talking sometimes, outside the door or while sitting on the bed next to him, but he doesn't acknowledge them. He's not even sure he could speak if he told himself to.
"He's okay, he just… he needs to know we're here."
"I am very well aware of the effects of depression, Potter."
"I spoke to his boss, told him he had the flu.
"I think… I think when he, uh, comes out of it he might be willing to see Mauve."
"Do not force him."
"I know, I promise I won't."
Sometimes, when he does sleep, he wakes to fingers carefully carding through his hair. Sometimes it's Snape and sometimes it's Harry. They don't speak, don't expect anything from him, they just sit there with him. He feels less alone when they're around, less as if his whole body might shatter into a million tiny shards of ice.
One of the times he wakes with a hand in his hair he's hungry, and he can't even remember the last time he felt anything. It's Snape with him, fingers scratching at his scalp as he holds a book in his other hand, something on herbology and hothouses. Draco rolls onto his other side and presses his face into Snape's clothed thigh, his arm going around his knee. The hand in his hair stops, then starts again, carding through the blonde threads.
Draco's voice is scratchy, and his voice is rough when he speaks, from misuse, and muffled by the cloth pressed to his face. "Hey."
Draco hears Snape sit the book down on the bedside table before he says, "Good morning."
"What's the time?"
There's a pause, and Snape's body shifts, his torso twisting to the side, before he says, "Eleven-forty-three at night. It's Friday."
He's not sure, everything's a bit fuzzy, but he thinks it's been six days. He hasn't eaten, drunk, gone to the toilet or slept in six days. That is not normal. He pushes himself up until he's sitting, groaning when his head starts to ache, holding it in his hands.
Snape summons a glass of water for him and he downs it all in a couple of gulps gratefully, before handing it back for more. When Snape fills it up with an aguamenti, Draco drinks most of that, too, before finally his thirst is quenched and the hunger in his belly has become more persistent. He doesn't need to say anything, because Snape's suddenly summoning food, a tray with tea and stew which comes through the door and settles itself on the bed before it's followed by Harry.
Draco takes the bowl of stew and starts shovelling it into his mouth with the fervour of a starving man (which he supposes he is), only stopping every few mouthfuls to gulp down the rest of his water. They watch him through it all, and when Draco's finally done, he says, "That was unnecessarily creepy, did you need to watch me?"
Harry lets out a breath Draco hadn't realised he was holding before the corners of his mouth turn up into a small smile. "There's the cheek."
'I'll give you cheek," Draco mutters, showing Harry his middle finger before he starts on making himself a cup of tea.
Harry's grinning at him, before his face turns suddenly serious and Draco's left feeling as though he's gotten whiplash. "Mauve has a free hour on Monday," He doesn't elaborate, he leaves it like that, open to Draco so he doesn't feel pressured into making a decision right then and there. "She's keeping it open."
Draco doesn't reply; he takes a sip of his tea and stares over the rim of his cup at Harry. "I need a smoke."
Snape reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table he's closest to, pulls out Draco's cigarette packet and hands them over. Draco takes one out and lights it with magic, then opens the window. It burns as the smoke fills his lungs, a reminder that he's been as close to a coma patient as possible for the last week.
"I suppose I could go, just once," He says once he's smoked most of the cigarette and drunk most of his tea. "I know."
Harry smiles at Draco very gently and sits on the edge of the bed next to him, hand sliding over Draco's cheek, pressing a soft and comforting kiss to his forehead. "I know you do, pet."
"Harry, Harry, for godssakes she asked me 'how I felt about that' four separate times! That can't possibly be normal!" Draco cries once he returns from his first (and decidedly only) appointment with Harry's squib doctor. She'd been terrible and so bloody annoying. How could anyone person be so fucking cheery?
"Well, she's just trying to help," Harry says, shooting Snape a look when he has the gall to snort in amusement from behind his book. "What did she say?"
"Besides 'how I felt about that'? She said something along the lines of 'well I can say for certain you don't not have Bipolar Disorder'. What in Merlin does that even mean?" Snape's snickering gets louder and Draco turns to him and says, "I will hex you."
Snape shots him his trademarked unimpressed look, no longer snickering. "I will turn you into potions ingredients."
"Come up with a new threat," Draco tells him, grin sharp, daring Snape. He's not sure what he's daring him to do; to turn him into potions ingredients or to fuck him over the back of the couch. One is certainly preferable to the other. Draco turns back to look at Harry and says, "I don't want to see her again. I've never met anyone so intolerable."
"Mauve is great, what was so bad about her?"
Harry raises his eyebrow. "Is it because you had to talk about your feelings?"
Draco shows Harry his middle finger, despite the fact that realistically, he's probably right, Draco really is terrible when it comes to talking about his feelings. He won't admit that to Harry though, the man has enough ego as it is. "I'm fine. I can deal with this myself, I have for years."
"Draco, I paid one-hundred-and-fifty pounds for that appointment."
"Well then, that was stupid, wasn't it? And you won't have to do it again." Draco replies, rolling his eyes at Harry. He decides he's sick of standing and tugs off his coat before falling onto the lounge next to Snape. Snape doesn't say anything, but he does move over a touch to give him more space. "Look, she asks too many questions."
Harry sighs, put upon. "That's her job, Draco. Please just see her once more? She really is lovely, and she just wants to help. Draco it's not good, keeping it all in, the mood swings, it's not healthy, and it's incredibly dangerous. You could have blown yourself up in Snape's lab."
Draco groans and turns to Snape. "Fuck, could you back me up here?"
Snape moves the book down so Draco can see his face. "I agree with Harry."
Draco scowls at him, then at Harry before crossing his arms over his chest and falling into the back of the lounge. "Why can't you both be on my side?" He feels a bit like a petulant child, throwing a tantrum because he hasn't gotten his way.
"Draco," Harry says very gently, kneeling on the floor in front of Draco's legs, resting his chin on Draco's knees. "We are on your side, we care about you. We wouldn't do it otherwise."
Draco purses his lips and stares down at Harry with squinted eyes. He wishes Harry wasn't so fucking kind, it would be easier to blow him off, to still hate him. He wishes Harry hadn't wormed his way under Draco's skin, into all the dark places of his being, shining a light through the cobwebs. Draco turns to look at Snape. He's placed his book on the side table and he's staring at Draco too, face unreadable but gaze intense. God, Draco hates them both. "Fuck, fine, one more go."
Harry's mouth tilts up into the brightest smile and Draco pulls him up to kiss him, to hide himself from the brightness of it, to stop the ache in his chest.
Snape slides a gentle but firm hand over Draco's knee, and Draco feels so calm and peaceful in this place between them, within reaching distance of them both. It's a weird feeling, one he doesn't think he's ever felt before. The ache in his chest develops from something uncomfortable to something warm and soothing.
The shirt is soft from age and wear and smells like cypress and nutmeg, and at first, Draco wonders if it's Harry's. He's never seen Harry wear anything like that, but the thought of Snape in it is pretty absurd. It's a dark grey, though it probably started life as black, with a red distorted image that's peeling around the edges that looks a bit like three figures and a hand, with the words The Cure in the top left corner. Draco presses his face into it and breaths in; it definitely smells like Snape, warm and spicy.
He rifles through the rest of the box he found the shirt in and finds a few other shirts, all with the same style, a few vinyl albums, a jacket made from leather and another made with corduroy and wool, a few metal buttons, a few flyers for concerts and festivals and a small pile of yellowing muggle photos. Snape is in most of the photos, with another man with long dark hair that looks suspiciously familiar but not in a way he can name, but he looks so different from the man Draco knew growing up and the man he knows now. He looks far more relaxed than War-Snape, but still less than After War-Snape. Draco feels something like pride well up in his chest when he realises the common denominator in this situation is he and Harry. (He decides to ignore the voice in his head that reminds him that it's also quite possibly the lack of Voldemort).
Snape is in the lab, so he decides to take the box into the sitting room where Harry is to show him, setting it down in his lap.
"What's this?" Harry asks, setting down his notebook and pen. He picks up the photos on top of the pile and flicks through them. "Holy shit, Severus was a punk." At Draco's confused frown Harry elaborates. "Anti-establishment views, revolutions, wage and class equality- shit, he looks sixteen, maybe seventeen here. And I think that's Regulus Black." Harry keeps flicking through the photos. "Voldemort's views, while immoral and evil, were, at their core, anti-establishment. I think I get it now. Sort of. Okay, I don't get it, but I sort of understand it." Harry holds one of the photos up, studying it. "You know, now I'm not looking at him through a cloud of ongoing battle and childhood hate, teenage Severus was kinda hot. I mean, in a classic angles, skinny sort of way."
Draco laughs and takes the picture from Harry. In it, Snape is wearing his leather jacket, a shirt Draco didn't find in the box (Draco can just see the words 'x pisto' between the lapels of the jacket) and the tightest pair of jeans Draco's ever seen in his life. His hair is long and hangs lank over his shoulders and he's skinny, skinnier than Draco's ever seen him, but despite that, Draco agrees. Maybe his current feelings are warping his view of teenage-Severus, or maybe Draco's just really into guys who look like Ichabod Crane.
Once Draco's given the photo back Harry sets them aside to go through the rest of the box's contents, pulling out each button one by one and examining them. He then looks at the items of clothing and when he gets to the wool-lined black corduroy jacket his face lights up, "Holy shit, I really want one of these when I was a kid! I thought corduroy jackets were so fucking cool."
"Why did you never get one?" Draco asks, frowning at Harry. Harry's never really spoken about his childhood, but in that Draco knows there's something to talk about.
"You really don't know? It was kinda like… a Cinderella situation? My aunt and uncle took me in cause they had to, did the absolute bare minimum. They were emotionally and verbally abusive, and there were a few times when Vernon hit me when I was younger, but it wasn't like…" Harry squeezes the jacket in his fist and grimaces. "Honestly, it doesn't matter anymore," His face turns up and he smiles at Draco brightly, despite the subject. "I've a different life, I'm a different person. You understand."
Draco shrugs, though he does understand, better than he did a year ago.
"Do you think he'd hex me if I borrowed his jacket?" Harry asks in a whisper, conspiratorially.
"Wear one of the shirts too!"
Harry grins and climbs off the couch, stripping off his jumper and picking out one of the shirts. It's a bit too small on his frame, stretched tight across his chest and biceps, but Draco decides it looks better like that, revealing the shape of his body. Next, Harry slides the jacket on. It fits like a glove, meaning it was probably a little too big on teenage-Snape, and Draco whistles.
"Merlin," He says, cheeks growing hot. Fuck, that is a look and Draco is completely into it. "I could climb you like a tree."
Draco's about to do so when Snape appears in the doorway, wiping the sweat on his forehead with a towel. His hair's up in a haphazard bun and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the warmth in the pit of his stomach grows.
"I see the two of you have been poking about," Snape says, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the doorframe. He doesn't look angry, but Draco can't name what he is feeling.
"Severus!" Harry says, jumping almost a foot in the air and spinning around to look at Snape, positively terrified. "It was Draco's idea!"
"Traitor," Draco hisses, preparing himself to be hexed.
Snape taps his fingers on his arm and raises an eyebrow. He still doesn't look angry, and he doesn't hex either of them. For a long time, he doesn't say anything, and the room is tense while they wait. "I suppose I don't mind tremendously when you look as you do."
After another long moment, Harry's mouth turns up into an ear-splitting grin. "Severus Snape, I do believe you just called me hot."
"I take it back."
Harry bounds over to Snape and jumps into his arms, grinning up at him. Snape accepts him without argument, though he does roll his eyes, as if he's trying to pretend he hates it. "You're not allowed to.'' He looks a bit like a puppy, or a lovesick fool and Draco waits for the disgust and exasperation that never comes. All he feels when he stares at them is a weird unnameable warmth in the pit of his gut. It's sort of too warm but not in a bad way, in a way that makes him feel… comfortable. Content.
He's not expecting it when he gets dragged down onto the lounge with them, one of Harry's arms around his belly, but he doesn't mind, not at all.
When Draco wakes he's squeezed between Harry and Severus, hot enough to be covered in a thin sheen of sweat and desperate for the toilet. He's starting to get rather bored with sleeping between the two, he's never met another person who burns as hot as they do when they sleep, like human fucking furnaces. Draco tries to slide out from underneath Harry's body, away from Severus's heavy arm, without waking them both, but ends up getting tangled in arms and legs and falling over Harry's side and onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Harry's head appears over the side of the bed, eyes bleary and confused and says, "What happened? Are you alright?"
"I fell," Draco grumbles, lying there on the stone floor for a few more moments before he sits up, rubbing his sore hip. "Ow."
Severus's head appears over the bed next to Harry's and they look almost ridiculous, like meerkats, and Draco snickers. He pulls himself up to his feet by the bed and stretches his arms out over his head, joints cracking. They're both staring at him when he looks back at them and Draco snickers again before heading out of the bedroom to stumble into the bathroom.
When he's done he heads back into the bedroom to find them both curled back under the quilts, Harry curled around Snape's back like a baby koala. When Draco catches his eye, Severus mouths help me, but the look on his face tells Draco he's enjoying it far more than he would ever admit it. Draco climbs back into bed with him, in front of Severus, on his side, facing him.
"No potions this morning?"
Severus hums and shakes his head, eyes slipping shut. Draco wants to trace the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his mouth, but he's still not entirely sure he won't be hexed, so he doesn't. He flops onto his back and wiggles closer to Severus, closing his eyes, too, soaking in his warmth.
He's almost asleep again, tucked under Snape's arm when the door alarm spell rings. It's far too early to be anyone respectable, even if they did visitors. Ever.
Harry groans and Severus mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like swears and death threats. Draco climbs out of bed again so they don't have to and takes his wand from the bedside table before he wanders to the front door. He checks the door hole before he opens it up, heart beating a little harder when he sees it's Granger. He wills himself to calm down, reminding himself that she's probably here for Harry and not to arrest him. Though the time does seem suspicious.
"What?" When he opens the door he realises she's been crying, cheeks wet and eyes red, and Draco is so not up for dealing with anyone's tears, let alone Granger's. Draco purses his lips and crosses his arms over his chest before stepping aside to make room for Granger to get past him. "Get inside before I change my mind." She slides past him, and after closing and locking the door behind her he leads her to the kitchen and tells her to sit down at the table. "Harry!" He hears Harry groan from down the hallway, which is then followed by a heavy thump and sets about filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. "Tea?"
Granger nods her head, hands folded together over the table and Draco summons the sugar and milk to the table in front of her. Harry stumbles in seconds later, dressed in a pair of Draco's sleep pants and one of Severus's old band shirts (now that Severus has given his permission, Harry almost never takes them off), with Severus following behind him in nothing but Harry's checkered flannel pyjama pants. Draco gets a glorious sort of satisfaction in knowing they're all wearing each other's clothes in front of someone other than each other. They're both rubbing at their eyes and yawning, and they don't see Granger until they've both stumbled into the middle of the kitchen.
"Hermione!" Harry says, a bit shocked before worry mars his features. "What's the matter?"
Severus catches Draco's eye and grimaces, Draco has to cover his mouth and cough to stop from snickering. Draco makes a cup of tea for them both and then says, "Severus and I are going to… go." He takes Severus by the wrist and pulls him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the bedroom. He sits his tea on the bedside table and collapses back against the pillows, staring over at Severus as he pulls a shirt over his head. Once he's dressed he summons his tea and picks it out of the air before pushing Draco's legs aside so he can sit next to him.
"Hmm?" Severus says, as if he's asking a question without really speaking. It surprises Draco when he realises what that question is without needing to hear it.
"Yeah, I'm okay. It certainly didn't send me into a panic attack this time. Maybe Mauve is helping," Draco admits easily, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't tell Harry I said that, he'll get all proud."
Severus snorts. "That he will."
Draco pokes his toes into Severus's thigh before sliding them underneath, wiggling them. "I wonder if she's okay," Draco surprises himself by actually caring about the answer. Severus hums his agreement. "It's probably been hard. Losing him."
A comfortable silence hangs in the air, and once they finish their tea they climb back under the covers. It's nice, not having to go anyway, do anything. It's such a juxtaposition to the lives they lived almost a decade ago. Draco curls himself under Severus's arm and presses his face into his ribcage, enjoying the closeness.
Harry reappears when Draco's most of the way back to sleep, climbing into bed next to Draco. He looks a bit like he's been crying, too, but he's not upset. "I put her to bed, I hope you don't mind."
Severus hums his acceptance, sounding far more languorous than Draco feels.
"Is she alright?" Draco asks gently, turning on his other side to face Harry. "Are you?"
Harry nods his head and smiles. "Yeah, it was a happy cry. She's in love. She worried she was…"
"Dishonouring Weasley's memory?"
Harry nods his head again, and Draco wonders if he's going to cry again, and why he doesn't mind so much. "And mine, as his best friend. He's a muggle she met through University, she told him the night before last, about the wizarding world, because he was going to propose and she wanted him to know first. He was one of them muggles who noticed everything that happened during the war, so he took it pretty well." He looks so happy and Draco's heart aches. "I'm happy for her. I'm happy for me."
Severus grumbles and his arm comes out and hits them both gently. "Be quiet, I am trying to sleep." Harry and Draco snicker and Severus hits them again, a little harder, but not hard enough to hurt. "Congratulations to Granger, now shut the fuck up."
Draco and Harry laugh harder.
They're invited to Granger's engagement party. Draco really doesn't want to go, he doesn't want to see anyone from the wizarding world, but Harry's so happy that Draco agrees without a single moment's hesitation. Severus takes a little more convincing but eventually, he agrees too.
Severus surprises them both by offering to make a gift basket, claiming he used to be quite good at them. It makes Draco wonder whom he gifted them to. A basket full of socks and sweets for Dumbledore? Catnip for McGonagall? The thought makes him laugh and when he expresses it to Harry so does he. In the end, the gift basket is full of wine, cheese and chocolate, and Draco is pleasantly surprised to find it looks quite nice.
Harry wears Severus's wool and corduroy jacket and Draco tries very, very hard not to jump him before the party.
As it turns out, both he and Snape worry too much. It's a small get together and the only wizards there besides Granger herself are George and Angelina Weasley and their son, Bill and Fleur Weasley and their daughters and Harry's godson Teddy Lupin and his grandmother. When Draco asks after the other Weasleys and Granger's schoolmates, the look Harry gives him is sad.
Harry socialises most of the night with the people he knows and some of the ones he doesn't, flitting back to Severus and Draco every now and then, tipsy, glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked. He's having so much fun and Draco doesn't really mind being here.
While Harry is dancing with Granger and Teddy, Granger's fiancé watching them with a stupidly smitten look on his face, Draco leans over to Severus and says, "If we don't nip that in the bud real quick he's gonna want it."
Severus snorts. "Which? The engagement or the child?"
"Both probably," Draco replies, leaning over to snicker into Severus's shoulder. He feels a bit drunk, happy and cheery, light and floaty like a balloon and he kisses Severus just because he can, and because he doesn't think Severus will stop him (which he doesn't). When he pulls away he turns serious. "I don't want either, and I know he does. I don't want to be selfish."
The corner of Severus's mouth twitches up before evening out again. He reaches up and pats Draco's cheek. "I suppose then, it is too bad that I am selfish enough for the both of us."
Harry bounds over to them, grinning brightly, and falls into Draco's lap rather than finding a seat of his own, taking Severus's whiskey off the table to swallow it down. Draco snakes his arm around Harry's belly to stop him from tipping over when he sways. "I am so happy guys, so happy. I'm so glad you came with me, I know neither of you wanted to."
"You are rather hard to say no to."
Harry gives Severus a toothy grin, pressing his hands to his cheeks, squishing his face so it puckers his lips. "'Cause I'm so cute."
"You are exceedingly intoxicated."
"Exceedingly," Harry says in a funny voice before he bursts into drunken giggles.
Draco looks over at Severus, amused and endeared, and swears he sees the same feelings mirrored in Severus's eyes, even if only for a moment. It makes his chest ache, with how much he feels for them both. For what he feels for them. He can't ever remember feeling anything like this for anyone before them.
"I think it might be time to retire for the night," Severus says, patting Draco's knee and climbing to his feet. "It's time to bid your friends a good night."
"Severus," Harry whines, pouting. "I don't want to go yet, I'm having too much fun!"
"There is other entertainment to be had tonight, and I do not believe this is the proper place for it," Severus looks so smug when he cuts Harry off mid-whine that Draco can't help the laughter that bubbles out of him.
Harry's eyes go wide, and he jumps from Draco's lap so hard that he stumbles. "Okay!"
Once they've bid their last congratulations and goodbyes they stumble out into the street and find a dark spot in an alleyway away from lamplights to apparate home.