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A Broken Triumph	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 4719 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Broken Triumph
- 1
Title: A Broken Triumph

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters; I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Threesome: Snape/Harry/Draco

Rating: R

Warnings: Angst, minor character death

Wordcount: 1200

Summary: In the wake of his mother’s death, Severus and Harry help Draco come to terms.

Author’s Notes: This is another of my Advent fics, for 0idontknow0 , who gave me a prompt for Harry/Draco/Severus and the following quote: "I'll fix these broken things, repair your broken wings, and make sure everything's all right" - Maroon 5, This Love.

A Broken Triumph

            Draco stood by the window.

            Beneath him, the snow lay silent and still on the grass. Draco had expected winds to come and blow it about, at least. There were almost always winds with snow like this, near their hidden house in Godric’s Hollow. But instead there was white, and silver, undisturbed.

            It reminded him of his mother’s face as she lay on the floor, but he couldn’t turn away from it any more than he had been able to turn away from her as he fell to his knees, cradling her head and smoothing her hair away from her cheeks. He had called her name, knowing there would be no answer.

            A step from one room into another, and the bursting of a heart that none of them had known was weak. His mother had never seen a Healer who could have identified the weakness for her, and probably would have laughed if she had. Who could predict the future? That had been one of her favorite sayings after the war and the unexpected way everything had turned out.

            Probably including the people Draco had fallen in with and fallen in love with, come to that.

            So he stood and looked at the snow, and kept looking until he felt one hand on his right shoulder and another on his left. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let his breath out in a single, long, low, painful note.

            They didn’t speak. At least, not right now. There were no words that would make it better. But Draco knew what they had come for, and let them turn him, draw him away from the window.

            He faced them.

            Severus was the darker of the two at all times, wearing black robes even to bed. He watched Draco now without moving, letting him choose the time when he would lean forwards and collapse against Severus’s chest. His hair was long and brushed straight back, his eyes deep, his face still. His hand was on Draco’s left shoulder, and never moved, even as Harry stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around Draco’s chest, bowing his face into Draco’s shoulder, murmuring wordlessly.

            Harry was the restless one, the bright one. If Draco turned around, he was sure he would see his eyes gleaming green, for all that the only light in the room came from the dim embers of the fire and the starlight reflecting off the snow. His hands fluttered up and down Draco’s muscles, and his cheek rested on Draco’s hair and darted away again, and his breath was as soft and quick as the kiss of a hummingbird’s wing on the nape of Draco’s neck.

            Draco reached out with both hands, and caught Severus’s shoulder with one arm and Harry’s neck with the other as Harry moved in for another kiss.

            They both stood there, still, for another moment. Draco could taste his heart in his own mouth, and he held it there for a long moment, the taste of blood and copper, the deep, strong beat that pulsed through him and made him turn with his mouth open to Harry first.

            Harry kissed him carefully, his fingers so deep in Draco’s hair that he couldn’t turn his head. He didn’t need to turn his head, though. He knew Severus hovered there, and his fingers were light as they opened Draco’s robe from the back, with buttons and a crease that Severus had put there solely for his convenience.

            Draco closed his eyes and thought of the way that his mother had fallen, how he’d heard the thump, how he’d called to her assuming she’d dropped something, and how she’d not answered. He’d sped through the doorway and there she was, and then he had knelt down beside her.

            He opened his eyes and saw the green gleam he had known would be there, the way Harry smiled, the way he held his arms open this time. Draco came into them and leaned on his chest.

            His robes fell away, pulled down from behind by Severus.

            Draco leaned back, bending over the curve of his spine, enough that he could bring his mouth into alignment with Severus’s. Severus kissed as gravely and as patiently as he’d ever directed Draco to pour boiling liquid into a cauldron, with his eyes open. Draco couldn’t meet them in the darkness, but that didn’t matter. He knew they were there, and that was what mattered most.

            Then Severus’s hands were on his back, pushing, kneading, forcing him down and towards the floor, and Draco went, bowing his head, letting his hands splay out before him, and feeling Harry hover for a moment before he chose his role and dropped down to his own knees to kiss Draco again.

            Draco kissed and licked, and Harry opened his mouth under the kisses soon enough, his tongue darting out, his head pulling back, his eyes alive with one bright blaze of mischief. Then he lay down on the thick rug beneath him—which Draco could feel whispering and crunching beneath his hands—and spread his arms and legs and fingers, beckoning.

            Draco crawled and slunk over him, legs mingling with legs, knees banging into knees, heads twisting to find lips. Severus was behind him, still, and then inside him, and Draco had to still and sigh and accept the sudden twist and pressure of fingers, instead of gasping or screaming aloud, the way he wanted to.

            This had never been about gasping or screaming aloud, as much as he sometimes wanted to.

            Severus kept silent and attentive for long moments, his fingers working in and out, impossibly slick; Draco hadn’t heard him cast the spell. Deep, they probed, and then Severus sat back and eased into Draco.

            Harry gasped beneath Draco. Draco smiled against his lips and ground down, his cock against Harry’s, flesh making its own slickness. Harry always needed more preparation than Draco did before Severus could take him, and each time, he seemed enthralled anew that they were so different.

            Harry rocked Draco now, arms tight around him, while Severus was tight inside him, pushing and thrusting, sometimes moving both him and Harry forwards, sometimes moving the rug. Draco shut his eyes and did nothing, even his hands falling limp. He let himself be cradled, stroked, shoved, moved.

            The image of the pale face behind his eyes shimmered, shimmered like the snow, and shattered like all images did when Severus and Harry, working him between them, handling him like a beloved, a toy, a dream, made him come.

            Draco gasped aloud, but was otherwise soundless, yielding, pulling, enjoying. Harry’s laughter was an explosion of breath against his collarbone, a rush of slickness. Severus followed last, grave as always, his body only showing a slight quickness as he gave in.

            Then they lay together, their hands entwined, their bodies stuck, their breaths winding around each other in a cloud of warmth.

            Draco stretched out his hands and found fingers waiting for him, and beneath the skin, pulses. Steady and strong behind him, rapid and dancing in front of him.

            And, at last, he could enter a different kind of quiet.

            The End.
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A Broken Triumph