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The Gift of Their Hearts	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2758 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Gift of Their Hearts
- 1
Title: The Gift of Their Hearts
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing these characters for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Established Severus/Harry, past Draco/Pansy, eventual Severus/Harry/Draco
Content Notes: Fluff, mild angst, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3300
Summary: Draco, newly-broken up with Pansy, thinks that the way to curry favor with Severus and Harry, and eventually become part of their relationship, is to send him Christmas gifts. Only Draco doesn’t know what makes appropriate Christmas gifts for people like Severus and Harry.
Author’s Notes: This is another of my Advent fics, for a request by robinellen, who asked for Snape/Harry/Draco -- Harry and Severus have been together for a while now, but Draco (maybe newly broken up?) wants to convince them to take him on too (I always like how you show how well the three of them compliment each other). Here we are!
Draco stretches his arms on the first morning of the rest of his life. He can feel the satisfaction stirring to life beneath his heart. He spent too much time looking backwards when he was with Pansy, regretting the war and wishing he’d made different decisions.
Two mornings ago, he woke up and realized there was no reason he couldn’t make different choices now.
So now Pansy is gone, and Draco is putting the finishing touches on the first of the Christmas gifts he means to send to Potter—well, no, he should start thinking of him as Harry now—and darting glances at the paper propped up on the table in front of him.
The photograph on the front page shows Harry and Severus smiling up at each other, looking so stupidly in love that Draco aches a little. They’re at some kind of Ministry gala. Draco doesn’t even remember the occasion. What he remembers is attending, and staring at them longingly from across the room.
“Well, no more of that,” Draco says, and steps back from the wrapped gift, nodding. He hopes Severus won’t mind that this first one is just for Harry. Draco has more ground to make up when it comes to him, after all.
The gift lies tucked inside red and gold paper, a perfect Gryffindor masterpiece. Draco smiles. He knows Harry will know it’s a book just from looking. But he won’t know what kind of book until he opens it.
And then he’ll gape and stare in awe when he sees the perfection of the gift: a small red leather book stamped, in silver, with the ancient Potter family crest that no one uses anymore. Draco feels proud of himself for deigning to look it up.
The book is blank inside, but enchanted to start writing the moment Harry writes something down. And it will guard his secrets fiercely.
Draco hands it to his owl and watches the owl wing out the window, shaking his head. He still can’t believe no one has thought of this before. What does the Savior of the Wizarding World lack? Privacy. And what does he need to write his thoughts down in private?
A diary.
Draco is stunned with his own genius, and eagerly awaits the results of his handiwork.
*
“It’s enchanted to write back, but it doesn’t have a Horcrux inside it,” Severus reports, after several spells cast at the diary, and a tension-filled hour that started the minute Harry unwrapped the gift.
Harry sighs and slumps back against the dining room table, shaking his head. He knows his suspicion was stupid, especially since he didn’t sense any Dark magic when he opened the book. But the fact that it was blank, that Severus detected the spell that would make it write back, and that it had enchantments to keep other people out stirred all of Harry’s bad memories.
“Why would Draco send me something like this?”
“He has no idea about your history with such artifacts?”
Harry sighs again and shakes his head. “Yes, but why me? Why not send a gift to you, if he was going to send one to anyone?”
Severus gives him a mightily amused glance, and wraps the diary up to send back to Draco. Harry doesn’t want it in the house, which is in Severus’s best interest, too, in case he doesn’t want to wake up to constant nightmares. “Because I am not the one he wants to court.”
“But I’m with you—”
“He more than likely wants us both, since he broke up with Miss Parkinson, and he is not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t hunt you down if he courted you alone,” says Severus briefly. “He would think he had to start with you.”
“Because, of course, the best way to make up for years of taunting is with gifts.”
“You are dating one Slytherin,” Severus says serenely as they watch the owl vanish out the window with the package again. “You should know how we think by now.”
*
Draco frowns at the diary, still sitting on his table, but then shakes his head and turns back to his newest flash of genius. Severus hinted politely that gifts for Harry’s sake wouldn’t be welcome, but that he wouldn’t turn one down. For whatever reason they rejected the diary, still, someone can appreciate Draco’s generous impulses.
And Draco has had an even more brilliant flash of genius than the diary one. He’s carefully scrubbing out the potions vials he bought in Diagon Alley, prior to Transfiguring them into wood.
How is it that no one has ever thought of keeping potions in wooden vials before? Far more durable than glass!
Draco hums as he reaches for his wand and carefully enchants the vials, one by one, so that sleek oak and ash wood replace the glass. He thought of doing this in his potions lab, and even that’s brilliance like lightning. He remembers Severus, when he was still Professor Snape, telling him once that the potions lab sometimes contributes resonances from all the potions brewed there to the general character of things created in it.
He never specifically mentioned Transfiguration, but that will only make Draco’s gift all the more special and thoughtful.
Draco lets the vials remain still for a long time before he pours any potions into them. He smiles when he watches one Blood-Replenishing Potion shifting and settling, less volatile and full of bubbles than he’s ever observed it in a glass vial.
He does wrap cotton around them several times before sending them with the owl, because he has common sense as well as genius.
*
“You will never guess what Mr. Malfoy has sent me this time.”
“Sent you?” Harry’s head pops around the bookshelves, wearing an unflattering look of surprise. But he laughs when he sees Severus’s face and puts down the tomes he’s been shuffling through in a vain attempt to find a theoretical basis for the spell he wants to create. “Of course, he’s courting both of us, you said.”
“I do think he is,” Severus notes mildly as he stares at the Transfigured potions vials resting on the scraps of cotton in front of him. Draco sent a gushing note, but mostly it was gushing with praise of himself, not any useful tips on why he would think that Transfiguring glass vials to wooden ones would make a good gift for Severus.
Harry comes up beside him and stops laughing in curiosity. “What’s wrong with these, though?” he asks, tapping his fingernail against the nearest vial, an ash one. “They look sturdy enough. Even decorative, I suppose.”
Severus snorts and Summons a Calming Draught that he was working on this morning. It’s finished, but he can always make another one; this is one of the simplest potions to brew. And a few drops should make the point, even to someone as unsophisticated in Potions as Harry is, to ask that question.
When the drops hit the sides of the nearest oaken vial, they immediately turn dark grey and stop bubbling. Harry raises his eyebrows and stares, then looks at Severus. “I assume that’s some kind of reaction with the wood.”
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Severus says, in the best imitation of his old professor voice he can manage now that he’s happy, and enjoys the way Harry flushes and tries not to squirm. He turns back to the wooden vials. “Yes. A simple reaction of most potions to oak wood. There are a few potions that would be better stored in ash vials, but most of them would have the same problem.” He frowns thoughtfully. “As matters stand, Draco might not have learned that fact. It was discovered so long ago that no one brews in wood anymore, and we don’t often teach it for the same reason we don’t teach people not to drink potions that are still in the experimental stages.”
“You did that the other day.”
“There’s a difference. I am an experimenter.”
“So your intellect curves right around to the stupid side again, is that right?”
Severus fixes a freezing glance on him, and Harry shuffles his feet and tries to look appropriately punished. It doesn’t really work. “So I am not surprised that he sent me this gift of wooden vials and decided it would be something no one had thought of before,” Severus concludes. “I will write back and inform him of the reactions.”
“He should know that sending gifts isn’t the way to win us,” Harry mutters, and turns back to his books.
“Should and would are not always the same thing,” Severus murmurs, and goes to write the letter.
*
Draco winces as he looks at Severus’s neat handwriting in the letter, explaining the reaction of most common potions to wooden vials. He was stupid not to think of that before.
But then he turns his gaze back to the gift lying in front of him, and his heart swells. Severus and Harry are a pair, and Draco wants them both. He’s wanted Severus ever since his understanding of how much Severus was kind to him, and tried to protect him, during the war matured into something else.
Wanting Harry came more slowly, but somewhere in between the return of his wand and the way Harry stood up in front of the Wizengamot and told them flatly that he’d already forgiven Draco, Draco’s heart got lost.
So he should send them a gift that they can share together, of course. He should have thought of that before.
Draco smiles happily at the book in front of him and taps it to shrink it. It’s huge and full of small, loopy handwriting; plus, not all the pages were originally attached to the binding, and Draco’s not sure he cast all the spells to keep them in order. But he’s too impatient to wait any longer. Pansy is already hinting she might have made a mistake and wants to come back. His parents are already making noises about other appropriate pure-blood girlfriends.
He has to show everyone where his allegiance lies.
*
Harry taps the book to unshrink it, curious. He does wish Draco would stop trying to court them through gifts and would just come and ask them out, but although Severus claims he hinted at that in his last letter…frankly, Harry doesn’t think Draco’s that subtle.
He still chokes as the book comes back to full size and he can see the title, on the cover and binding, in handwriting he recognizes as Draco’s. At least, what Draco’s might look like when he’s strewing glitter with the end of his wand.
“Harry?” Severus is still sensitive to his sudden sounds, and comes out of his lab with his wand raised.
“Look,” Harry says, and gestures, and then goes back to looking himself, because he really can’t believe it. He doesn’t move even when Severus comes up beside him and does his own share of the staring.
It’s a fat red book, and on the cover and the binding in gold letters are, The Wit and Wisdom to Overcome Albus Dumbledore’s Legacy.
In a dream, Harry finally opens it, since Severus stands at his side and shows no impulse to do so. Harry reads, in the same dream, how to avoid people with twinkly eyes who might send you into flashbacks, and how to excuse yourself from making foolish Unbreakable Vows, and how not to walk to your death in the middle of a forest.
That page has a huge, elaborate title at the top, and only one word in the middle: Run.
Harry turns finally to look at Severus, unsure what he’ll see in his partner’s eyes. Severus has shut away his immediate reaction, and that’s all Harry can really tell.
“We must invite Mr. Malfoy to lunch,” Severus murmurs. “Let it be tomorrow.”
*
Draco walks slowly into the house that Severus and Harry own together, staring around. He hadn’t thought it would be such a huge place. He knows they both grew up in humble surroundings, and Harry has continued to be humble, to Draco’s everlasting disgust, which ought to mean that they live in a hovel or something.
But this is a huge marble building that could rival one of Malfoy Manor’s wings. Draco shakes his head as he walks along gleaming tiled floors and past elaborately carved wooden portals and portraits of Headmasters of Hogwarts who whisper about him. When he opens the door to a library, he’s almost ceased being surprised.
“Hello, Draco.”
It isn’t a surprise to hear that in Severus’s voice, but it is to hear it in Harry’s, as he comes forwards from the fireplace at the back of the room to take Draco’s hand. Draco smiles and lets himself be guided in, ignoring the way Harry avidly studies him. He wants to study other things.
Like the way Severus comes out of a door to the side, which obviously leads into a potions lab, and cleans his fingers of stains with a negligent wave of his wand before he shakes Draco’s hand. The lab is obviously his.
That means this enormous library, domed ceiling and milky skylight and shelves that reach up to the dome and all, is Harry’s.
Even knowing that Harry is a spell creator, Draco is having some trouble with the idea.
He lets himself take a seat at a table that must hold books most of the time, but Harry easily banishes the books to the proper shelves with a whispered incantation Draco doesn’t know. And then a steaming soup comes in, and Draco takes his first bite and gasps. It’s a tomato soup with basil and other flavorings, nothing fancy or special.
Except for being the most delicious soup he’s ever tasted, even counting Hogwarts.
“Who made this?” Draco demands, looking around. He thought Harry was opposed to keeping house-elves, but he expects one to pop out of the woodwork now.
“Oh, I did,” says Harry from the head of the table, where he’s sipping his soup as if it’s good but not extraordinary. If he makes it, Draco admits grudgingly, he can see where that attitude would come from. “I learned to cook for my Muggle family. It’s good, right?”
Draco can see a slight gleam of uncertainty in his eyes, and more than a gleam of warning in Severus’s. But in any case, he doesn’t have to lie when he says, “The best I’ve ever had,” and immediately starts eating again.
Harry leans back now, grinning. “Just think. If you live here, you can have meals like this every day.”
Draco chokes. He didn’t know that was on offer. “I—I mean, you—this house is both of yours—”
“We would not have invited you to lunch if we had not both agreed that we wished to pursue this matter further,” Severus says, and he leans forwards and catches Harry’s eye in a way that reveals their tight bond and makes Draco hot with longing to be part of it. “And while Harry may be a bit forward with his invitations, we will wish you to live here if it works out.”
Draco glances rapidly at Harry, but Harry is nodding, seeming completely recovered from the uncertainty of before. Draco swallows and says, “Well. I would—the Manor is pretty cold and lonely now that I’m by myself.”
Harry’s smile softens, and he says, “But you still have a sense of humor. No one who sent us that book about Dumbledore couldn’t have one.”
Draco hesitates, then says something that might ruin his chance, but he has to say it. “You always used to find my sense of humor offensive.”
“Not anymore,” is all Harry offers, and Draco finds himself nodding with relief and turning to Severus.
“Neither do I,” Severus says, his smile a bit more enigmatic, and Draco realizes he’s going to have to work here. But he doesn’t mind. He expected to work more than he’s had to so far. “But we may wish to continue this conversation after the meal. Harry has prepared some fish next, and I think we need silence to appreciate it.”
They do, although Draco, at least, fills the silence with appreciative little moans and groans as he takes a bite. Harry is as red as a sunset by the time the dinner finishes, but Severus takes charge, ushering them gently but firmly into a sitting room Draco never even saw, overwhelmed as the door is by all the bookshelves of Harry’s library.
“And now for some wine.”
*
Severus watches Draco for long moments as he sips the wine and waves his hand through the air, discoursing about nets that could join potions to magical theory and set potions at certain key points along the supposed lines of earth energy that wizards have never managed to tap, triggering the potion or the energy separately, just as wizards desire. Severus thinks it’s nonsense, but he can see how Harry hangs on every word.
And he can see how Draco also smirks past the stem of his wineglass at Severus, and sometimes toasts him with it in little motions. Draco thinks that most of this is also nonsense, but interesting nonsense, and he’s happy to talk about it because it pleases Harry, and show off his awareness because it pleases Severus.
As far as Severus is concerned, there is only one question left to answer.
He stands when Draco has wound down his latest spiel and Harry hasn’t stopped looking dazed long enough to ask a question. Draco is turning towards him, attuned, at once. It takes Harry longer to glance around.
“What?”
Severus walks over to Draco’s chair and bends down with his hands resting on the arms of Draco’s chair, staring fixedly at his throat. The pulse he’s looking at starts beating ever more wildly. At the same moment, Severus looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. If he sees the slightest sign of disapproval, distress, jealousy, he will stop at once.
But Harry only grins and gestures with his wineglass in a way that says he hasn’t been as oblivious to Draco’s little toasts as either Draco or Severus thought.
Harry is always full of surprises, Severus thinks, and bends down to kiss Draco.
It is sweet and warm lips and tongue, flavored by Draco’s surprised gurgle. But he lashes out a hand a second later, and curls it around the back of Severus’s neck, and holds him there as if there’s nothing that pleases him more than having someone to hold captive.
Severus draws back slowly, letting a lick of wetness between their lips connect them, and spots Harry swaggering up. The best part is that Draco, eyes still closed, doesn’t. He almost shouts when Harry’s mouth descends on his.
“Wh—”
Severus finds himself envying Harry for having got the full shout, instead of the gurgle. He’ll have to correct that oversight later. For now, he enjoys the sight of Draco practically dragging Harry onto his lap and snogging him until Harry is the one gasping back, and they have had their fill of each other’s sounds.
“I think,” Severus says, judicious and pulling their gazes to him as he offers them both, and all three, a toast with his wineglass, “that you’ll do, Draco.”
The End.
- 1
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The Gift of Their Hearts