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Ashborn	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 36149 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-Three—Seekers

            “So I wanted to know something.”

            Draco grimaced and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. He’d slept late that morning, his head aching from the discussions with Laughter and questions about whether he’d done the right thing. He’d have to visit the centaurs later, and ask Severus what had happened between him and Potter in as much detail as he’d be willing to talk about it, and…

            Then he opened his door to an insistent knocking he assumed was one of the Ashborn, and found Potter there instead. Potter, who was leaving. Potter, who his cat automaton silently rushed up to and inspected for a moment. Draco called the automaton back to him and stroked the sleek head, keeping one eye on Potter. He had only ordered the cat to do something like that when someone came to his rooms smelling of intense emotions that the cat’s enchanted senses could detect. He wanted to know if Severus felt like that, and he knew that the Ashborn never would; even their anger if the fortress was attacked would only come from what Severus felt and echo it to that extent.

            He had never expected Potter. That made Draco shake his head. How thoroughly did I give up on him, from the minute he said he was leaving?

            “Listen,” Potter said, and then glanced down the corridor and ran his hand through his hair as though he was afraid someone was going to catch him. That made Draco stare at him. Who, exactly, was Potter expecting? “I wanted to know what—Snape said something that makes no sense—can we go in your rooms and talk?”

            Draco blew out an agitated breath, and the cat automaton took a step back. Draco murmured an order to it, and it retreated behind his legs, but kept watching Potter. Draco didn’t know if he could subdue its protective instincts completely or not. He was torn sometimes between being glad that he couldn’t and irritated that Severus would have made the beast that much independent of him.

            “All right,” he said at last, because while he didn’t know if he was equal to deal with what Potter asked of him, he was sure he couldn’t deal with it out in the corridor. “Come in.”

            Potter stepped past him, watching him with the same wary respect as the cat automaton. Draco blinked and shut the door. What had Severus said to Potter? Perhaps they had begun to renegotiate the Unbreakable Vows, but that was between the two of them, not something Potter should need to consult Draco for.

            “You have nice rooms.”

            Draco opened his mouth to snap back, and then paused and shut it again. Potter had mumbled the words, his shoulders hunched as though he had wings that could keep him warm. Draco tempered his voice. “Thank you. Severus let me pick out the decorations, although I didn’t design them, of course.”

            “Of course,” Potter said, and then sighed and turned around. “It doesn’t matter how much time I spend thinking about this, it isn’t going to get easier,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “Do you—Malfoy, do you like me?”

            “Not when you’re being a prat, but more than I did in school,” Draco said, now wondering if he should try to use Legilimency on Potter—aggressive memories notwithstanding—and study him for a hint of a compulsion charm. Not that it would be like Severus to put one on someone in such a delicate situation. He favored gentle manipulations then, as Draco knew very well. He glanced down at the silver cat.

            “No, I mean.” Potter swallowed. Draco watched the motion of his throat and now wondered if he should check Potter for choking on a chicken bone. “Snape said that you—wanted me. Like, as a lover.” Potter’s cheeks were so bright with blood now that Draco could probably use them like a torch to read in the darkness.

            The words caught up with Draco’s ears, and he stared at Potter for a moment. Then he flung back his head and uttered a few barking laughs. Potter wrapped his arms around himself and blinked, like someone who’d just taken a Sobriety Potion.

            “Right, right,” he said. “I should have reckoned that Snape was joking. He probably wanted to feel less uncomfortable about having to change the Vows and yield something to me in the first place.” He smiled at Draco and began to edge around him. “So we’ll put this behind us and never think about it again, right?”

            Draco narrowed his eyes and reached out with one hand, catching Potter’s shoulder so he could hold him still. “Severus told you this?”

            “Yes,” Potter said, and gathered himself. “He told me that he wanted me, but he thought you did, too. So he was wrong about the second thing, and he might be wrong about the first, too. I mean, he’s not—you’re not sleeping together in the same way you used to, right?” Now his face was bright enough to make a noticeable difference in the way the room looked with the torches going. “So he’s probably just lonely and—something about me reminds him of you.”

            Draco stared at him. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Severus is quick-witted enough to know what he wants now. It’s the admission that startles me. But he’s right about what he wants.”

            Potter nodded. He still looked as spooked as Draco thought the Dark Lord had ever made him. “But he wasn’t right about you?”

            “Sometimes,” Draco said, “sometimes, although not always, Severus is observant, too. He mostly puts those observations to work hurting people,” he had to add, because Potter would say it if he didn’t. “But sometimes he sees what people want before they do themselves.”

            “But not in this case?”

            Draco leaned forwards, bracing himself with one hand on Potter’s face, and kissed him.

            There was a long moment of stillness, probably because Potter stood there too stunned to move and Draco’s mouth was still telling him what he was tasting, the warmth of Potter’s lips and the way they slipped open. When his tongue entered Potter’s mouth, there was a deeper warmth, and a taste of salt and copper, and the scrape of teeth that made Draco shiver as if he’d never kissed someone before.

            But of course he had. Severus, again and again, and even a few people back at Hogwarts, although of course none of them had the experience and the brilliance with kisses that Severus did. This time, though, it was different, the taste a little different, the way Potter had stiffened himself as though to resist an undertow dragging him away was bloody damn unique, and the way a tongue lay cool and still under his made Draco poke and prod more. The people he kissed before now had always responded, even Severus when he was busy with a potion and had kissed back to get Draco out of the way before he ruined something.

            Potter closed his eyes. That could be a positive change, Draco thought, clear-headed and not clear-headed, probing some more. He leaned forwards, and Potter swayed back before him, and then caught himself on the edge of the bed. Draco let his hips come to rest against Potter’s, and Potter gasped, and then they tumbled the short distance down. Draco managed to catch himself with one hip and one elbow so he didn’t land on Potter’s chest and knock all the breath out of him at once.

            Potter blew and snorted up at him, eyes so brilliant a green and so wide that Draco thought he probably couldn’t see. Draco leaned down and kissed him some more, gentle, not greedy. He thought this was good, but it might not be good for Potter, and it might not be something he would ever get to taste again.

            Which was too bad, because Severus had been right. Of course he had. Draco liked the taste of men, and he had admired Potter’s eyes and Quidditch skill and Parseltongue abilities and bloody luck even before the war, and since then, Potter had helped him and worried about him and tried to get him to stand up for himself. It wasn’t burning and all-consuming yet, the way Draco thought Severus’s emotions might be, but it was nice.

            And he was hard, and he could feel Potter squirming beneath him, probably in the attempt to keep Draco from noticing the same thing about him, and he had to smile and run a hand down to squeeze, gently.

            Potter levitated off the bed, or tried, and Draco found Potter’s hands pushing at his chest. He leaned back and broke the kiss. There was no reason not to. If Potter didn’t want this, then Draco wouldn’t force him. And if he did, then it would probably take him some time to admit it to himself. Draco tried to remember if Potter had ever even dated someone before the war, and could only come up with a time or two when he might have seen Potter holding the She-Weasel’s hand. Even that was blurred with time and distance—not a surprise, considering what Draco had had to do during sixth year.

            “I,” Potter said, and closed his eyes and lay there panting for a few minutes. Now that Draco was no longer leaning above him, he seemed in no hurry to get off the bed. He did turn his head to the side, though, and his tongue fell out of his mouth as though he was seeking a way to get more air. Draco hooked his fingers firmly into his trouser legs and didn’t think about the way he would like to slide his fingers into Potter’s mouth.

            Well, not very much.

            “If you let that change your mind about coming back sometimes now you have your freedom,” he said, “I’m going to hex you.”

            “No,” Potter said, and gulped noisily, and opened his eyes. He still couldn’t hold Draco’s gaze for more than a minute or so before his eyes slid away and he flushed in a long, sliding tide of red from neck to forehead. Draco moved to the side and continued watching him. He would make it as easy as he could for Potter, but there was no law against watching, and Potter might only get more embarrassed if he turned away. “That’s—that’s settled. The Unbreakable Vows have been changed, and we’ll swear the new ones later.”

            “Good,” Draco said. “Then your friends are coming to visit tomorrow and take you back with them? Or you’re going to Apparate to them?”

            Potter looked less like he wanted to burrow out of the room or hex Draco, now, which was a good thing. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suspect I’ll have to firecall them tonight and see what they want to do.”

            Draco nodded. “You could use my fire, if Severus is unreasonable about letting you have one,” he offered.

            “I don’t,” Potter said, and then seemed to reconsider whatever statement he was about to offer about Severus’s preferences. “Thanks,” he said instead, pushing those horrible glasses up his nose. “Malfoy?”

            “Hmm?” Draco studied the red that still shone on the side of Potter’s neck. He had caused that. Or at least his words had.

            “Why? I mean, I know Snape’s explanation, I saw part of it in his memories. But you didn’t have the reasons that he did to have faith in me, or protect me, or want me to live.” Potter stared at him. “So why want me?”

            Draco smiled. “Why, Potter, I’ve noticed something you haven’t?” he asked. “In this case, it’s that lust doesn’t always have a reason. I find you attractive, and now I find you decent instead of a git, after living with you for a little while. You still make me angry, but not all the time. And I have Severus’s permission to snog you. Hell if I wouldn’t, if only to see what it was like to snog someone else.”

            “Huh,” Potter said, and stood up and smoothed down his shirt. Draco thought that was the last thing he should be worrying about, with his hair a disaster area the way it was, but then, Potter was probably used to his hair looking that way. Draco leaned back on the bed and watched him in a leisurely way as he reached for the doorknob.

            Potter paused, without looking back over his shoulder. Draco raised his eyebrows. If Potter had gathered up enough courage to say something else about what had transpired, then that was news to Draco.

            “I—how was I?” Potter blurted, and then flinched as if he’d have liked to smack himself in the face, at the very least.

            “Better than I expected,” Draco said, and let a hint of teasing into his voice. “Not a patch on Severus, of course, but I’ve been attracted to him for a longer time, and he’s had more experience. Try it some more and you could become as good as he is.”

            For a long moment, Potter’s neck twitched, and Draco was sure Potter would whip his head around and give him at least one good glare in response. But then Potter shook his head and went through the door, and Draco was left to an empty bed. He lay down on it and glanced around. No, nothing urgent. He couldn’t meet the centaurs right now, not when he was still flushed, and Potter wouldn’t leave until later in the day, or tomorrow, perhaps.

            He set the cat automaton to guard the door and then lay back on his pillows, sliding his hand into his trousers and closing his eyes. He’d told the truth when he told Potter that Severus snogged better—he did have loads more experience, and Draco had spent a much longer time wondering what Severus’s mouth would taste like—but he could imagine Potter’s flushed cheeks and reluctant tongue until he came, at least.

            And he could do it without constant questioning and worrying about what Severus would say first, which made this a vast improvement over how he would have felt and acted a few weeks ago. Potter had given him that much.

*

            Harry shut the door of his quarters behind him, and considered bolting it. Then he shook his head. No, Snape probably had wards up that would inform him when someone did something like that and send Bellatrix to break the door down. Harry settled for sitting down on his bed and staring at the cup with Corners asleep in the bottom of it. He wanted to talk, he wanted to ask questions, but on the other hand—

            Well, on the other hand, given what Corners seemed to think about human mating and how easy it should be, he might not be able to offer good advice, after all.

            Harry groaned and put his hands over his face. Then he took them off again. With skin pressed so close to skin that way, it was too easy to conjure Malfoy’s warm mouth and sliding tongue and flushed cheeks.

            It was—

            Well, all right, it hadn’t been horrible. Nothing like the kisses he had shared with Ginny, of course, because Ginny and Malfoy were different people, and Harry had actually known the kisses with Ginny were coming and had time to prepare himself for them and wonder if he was a horrible person for not returning them properly. Or, well, what he thought was properly. His tongue always seemed clumsy, and he didn’t kiss deeply enough or well enough or with the right amount of passion. Ginny would pull away from him smiling and laughing, though, her hair tumbled around her, and her hands darting out to hold his arms and pull him closer. Harry didn’t think she’d do that if he disgusted her. She was too honest.

            Whereas, with Malfoy, Harry hadn’t worried about any of that because Malfoy had kissed him first, and he hadn’t known it was coming. And Malfoy had backed off when he really pushed.

            Harry flung an arm across his forehead and closed his eyes. It had taken him forever to push, though. Or, at least, it seemed like that to him when he thought about it. He really wasn’t sure. He didn’t know anything.

            He wondered how Snape would kiss, if it would be like Malfoy’s kisses. They were lovers, so they must have taught each other something about how to kiss, right? Or Snape would have taught Malfoy, holding his face close to him, using those long slender fingers for something besides stirring potions for once, his breath traveling hoarsely in and out of his mouth—

            Harry shuddered and shook his head. He really shouldn’t be thinking about this. No, he shouldn’t, no matter what his body muttered at him. He wasn’t going to have Snape and Malfoy as lovers. They had admitted they wanted him, but he was leaving and living with other people, and he wouldn’t be coming back for a month.

            And when you come back?

            By the time he came back, Harry thought, Snape and Malfoy would probably be over him. Snape would have decided it was a bad idea to admit as much as he had to Harry about what attracted him to Harry, and retreated into his lab. Malfoy would probably be Snape’s slave again, and he—

            Harry hissed between his teeth. He was surprised how much those two visions disturbed him, and if the idea that Malfoy would lose his new self-confidence was twice as disturbing as the other, still. He didn’t want Snape to become a bitter, reclusive Potions master again, if only because the Ashborn and Malfoy would suffer for it.

            It isn’t your job to save them, Harry.

            But if he wanted to come back, then the least he could do was send owls and make some firecalls before then, to learn how Snape and Malfoy were doing, and how the experiment with freeing the solitary Ashborn was going.

            Harry relaxed and sat up. That was the way he would do it, then. Checking on them occasionally, making sure that he had something to come back to, that all his work hadn’t been utterly wasted. It was a good beginning. He reached out for Corners’s cup and rapped the side of it. The water inside stirred and bubbled, and then the horse-like head rose and the large, clear eyes stared at him.

            “Corners?” Harry asked. “We’re going home.”

*

            Severus watched Granger and Weasley far more than Potter as they marched out to the stone table set up in front of the fortress, on a hill that still had more than a touch of green. The centaurs stood at a distance, watching them. Severus didn’t recall inviting them, but decided it wouldn’t do harm to have them see this. Perhaps they would leave when Potter did, perhaps they would stay, but either way, they would see that it was not a joke that Potter was going.

            Potter avoided his eyes and Draco’s. He looked down at his parchment copy of the Vows instead, and fussed with his collar and robes when he thought he could get away with it. Granger stood, steel-eyed, at his shoulder, and Weasley kept one hand on Potter’s arm at all times. Severus was surprised to realize how hard that hand was to deal with. He had to look away more than once, and think of numerous ingredients for the Draught of Living Death before he could calm his breathing.

            “Severus?”

            That was Draco, close at his side, closer than the Ashborn guards. Severus had brought those with him because it would take too much work to adjust the links in their minds so that they would be comfortable letting him out of sight, but he had ordered them to stand back from the table, because of Granger. Draco had no such bidding, and might have ignored it if he did. He was behind Severus’s right shoulder and staring openly at Potter.

            Potter kept his head down as much to avoid Draco’s gaze as Severus’s own, perhaps, Severus thought.

            “What is it?” he whispered back, concealing the words under the crackle of paper as they shifted their copies of the Vows in front of them, and Granger pretended to smile, and Weasley did no such thing.

            “I kissed Potter,” Draco said. “I think you were right about my wanting him, although I would have preferred to know first if you were going to say something like that.” He narrowed his eyes in Severus’s direction. “And he tasted bloody good, as a matter of fact.”

            Severus felt a slow, copper-like coil in his gut, but he didn’t know which man he was jealous of. He shook his head and reminded himself that Draco would stay here, and Potter would come back. “Did he,” he said. “Better than me?”

            “Different,” Draco said, and his hand moved, out of sight behind the chair and Severus’s robes, caressing the small of his back. “Because you’re different people, and that is not surprising. Or should not be,” he added, with a voice as small and prim as his mouth had suddenly become.

            Severus looked up. The cup that Potter’s snake stayed in had floated to his right hand, which meant they were done with waiting. He bent his head to Potter, and then picked up his copy of the Vows. “Who acts as Bonder?” he asked, although of course he knew who it would be. There was only one person there with wand already drawn and the look on her face that made him sure she would volunteer.

            Granger moved forwards a single pace and inclined her head back to him. She said nothing. Well, technically the Bonder did not have to. It was only the consent of the one taking the altered Vows that was required.

            Severus turned back to Potter. He met Severus’s eyes with much the same glittering glass façade he had used when he first came to the Ashborn. Severus thought of protesting, and did not. He knew the ways to make it shatter, and it seemed Draco had found one as well. When Potter came back for his next visit would be soon enough.

            “You are satisfied with these Vows?” he asked. Potter nodded. Someone else was determined to say nothing until he had to. Well. Severus folded his hands in front of him. “I am as well. Then we will begin.”

            This time, when Potter’s hand clenched his own, Severus could feel the bones and the slenderness of his fingers. Strange, that such fingers should have wielded the wand that killed the Dark Lord. But Severus had always believed that would happen, because the alternative was unthinkable. Perhaps he should think it stranger that such slender fingers belonged to the hand that had captivated him.

            He glanced up. Potter stared over his shoulder, eyes shuttered. Severus coughed, and the eyes moved back to him.

            “You will swear to go on visits of not more than a month in length to your friends,” Severus said, “at the end of which you will come back to the Ashborn.”

            Potter nodded. “I so swear,” he added then, but Severus thought the words had more to do with Granger’s glare than his own.

            Granger’s wand butted against their joined hands, as blunt as the nose of a shark. The fire shot out of the end of the wand and coiled around their hands. Draco sucked in a little breath. Severus reached out with his free hand to touch his arm reassuringly. Draco caught his palm in a grip hard enough to hurt.

            He did not do that with the first set of Vows. But Draco had been under a sort of sleeping spell in those days. It was not surprising that he should pay more attention to this one, to the words exchanged and the weight of the magic that bound Severus and Potter.

            “You will swear to discuss the timing of your next visit with me, at length, so that we might agree on the nature of it,” Severus said, and now his words were coming more gently and he found he did not need to avoid Potter’s gaze. Draco’s breathing had steadied as well. Repeating the Vows had done much to restore Severus’s mood; listening to them might be doing the same thing for Draco, he decided.

            “I so swear,” Potter said, and the second tangle of fire appeared around their hands. Severus flexed his fingers open and shut to ease a cramp, and was surprised when Potter’s fingers moved under his in turn. He looked at his face, but Potter had turned it away again. The only thing Severus could make out clearly was the flush creeping up under his ear.

            Severus raised his eyebrows. Was Potter that intent on running away, then? Or perhaps he only wished to avoid looking at Draco. Severus darted a glance to the side and surprised Draco staring intently at Potter.

            Severus muffled a snort and added the last Vow. “You will swear that, though able to move about freely, you will not attack me, Draco, or the Ashborn unless in self-defense.”

            “I so swear.”

            The last thread of fire gleamed there, and Granger moved back as though the Vows had dirtied her. Potter’s hand stayed in place only as long as the flames glowed; then he snatched it back and shook it out. Perhaps he thought touching Severus had dirtied him as well, Severus thought, his lips thinning, and took his time about turning over the parchment in front of him so that he could see the words on the back.

            Granger tucked her wand away. “Well, that’s that, then,” she said, and relief rose off Weasley like smoke as he moved to her side. “Have your things all packed, Harry? Not that you could bring along much to this dungeon, not that Snape would allow you to.” She stared at Severus as though she expected him to curl up and die at her accusation.

            “Do you not wish to continue on as Bonder, Granger?” Severus asked, and made sure his voice was the perfectly calm, neutral tone he had used to deal with his mixed Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw classes back in his teaching days. “We have a second set of Vows to make.”

            “What—” Granger was most unattractive when she gaped. Weasley stood there blinking, as if he had known but believed Severus would never keep to his pledged word. Severus turned back to Potter, who at least had not risen from his seat, which must mean he had expected Severus to make the Vows, but who was staring at his hands.

            “Potter,” Severus said, and bit his lips when he heard the snarl in his voice. He had not meant to sound that way, truly. But he was tired of Potter acting as though nothing had passed between them, as if nothing had changed, as if he were still the nasty git of the dungeons from three years ago. Even if Potter chose to discount what Severus had told him and distrust him, he ought to know that Severus, as ruler of the Ashborn, was different from the Death Eater who had killed Albus.

            Potter looked up. Severus did not know what he would see in those glittering green eyes until he met them.

*

            He’s keeping them. Of course he is.

            Snape had written two sets of Vows. He had showed them both to Harry. Harry had argued over the writing in both sets with him. It was ridiculous to behave as if that hadn’t happened. His head felt hot, then cold. It was ridiculous to behave as if Snape would forsake the second set of Vows and let only Harry walk away with iron chains dangling around his neck that bound him to come back here in a month’s time.

            And yet, Harry had believed and behaved as if that was exactly what would happen.

            His hand trembled a bit as he reached back out to grip Snape’s. Snape raised one eyebrow and gave a faint nod, with less hostility in his face about it than Harry would have expected. Perhaps he understood that Harry hadn’t meant to insult him or forget.

            Perhaps he understood? Do you know how unlikely that is?

            Well, still, Harry wouldn’t give up this chance to maintain a cordial relationship with Snape. Not friendly, perhaps, because what lay between them was still too spiked for that name. Harry knew Draco had been gentler about the kiss between them this afternoon than Snape would have been, if Harry had gone to him with those ridiculous accusations and he had kissed Harry to shut him up.

            Harry glanced up at Draco and met a pair of grey eyes that had some kind of heat between them. No, not some kind, really, a very specific kind. Harry had to swallow and turn his head away. Focus on the wording of the Vows. That would help.

            Of course, they still needed someone to act as their Bonder if Snape was going to make his Vows to Harry in turn, and Hermione still had her wand in her pocket and an expression on her face that made Harry wince as if he was touching ice. It was—surely she wasn’t that angry because Harry had failed to tell her and Ron about the second set of Vows, the ones Snape would make? Harry honestly had forgotten. They were too busy rejoicing and exclaiming over his release to leave much time for that, anyway. As soon as Hermione and Ron understood he could leave when he made his Vows, they had insisted on coming that day and seeing the Vows made as the sun set.

            “Hermione?” he asked.

            “You will serve as Bonder, Granger?” Snape had gone back to that neutral tone again, not as cold but as smooth as the ice in Hermione’s expression.

            “This,” Hermione said, and Harry didn’t recognize her voice. “No. Not for this set.” She swallowed, and the click in her throat was the loudest sound Harry had ever heard. “No. Not when it ties you closer together.”

            “How can it tie us closer together than the Vows I had to make?” Harry asked, staring at her. He wondered if something else had happened before they came, something Hermione was anxious to get back and finish. It would make the most sense, if she was upset about that rather than something she had to see as good. She was big on equal bonds and debts and obligations—always had been since the fifth time or so they saved each other’s lives when fighting Voldemort and Ron had started worrying about life-debts and Hermione had told them that they were all equally in each other’s debt and didn’t need to concern themselves with repayment.

            Now, though, she stared at their joined hands, his and Snape’s, as if she had seen a seed of Voldemort growing.

            “I—fine,” Harry said. He started to glance up at Ron, but although Ron was frowning at Hermione, he made no move to come nearer. Harry shook his head and wondered if he could persuade Snape to release the Ashborn woman he had promised to release early. Not that she would be in the mood to do something Snape asked her to, probably…

            “I’ll do it,” Draco said, stepping forwards.

            And of course he would. The instant he said the words, Harry felt something inside him relax in acceptance of the inevitability. It always would have happened like this. Of course it would.

            Hermione glared at Draco, but raised no objection. In fact, she moved to the side as though she wanted to see better, and drew her wand again. At least she kept it low at her side, instead of ready in curse position. Harry had seen how deadly she could become during the war when she was rattled, and didn’t want his first Vow-bound action to be to defend Snape and Draco against his friends.

            Draco leaned his hawthorn wand against Harry’s skin. Harry shuddered and resisted the impulse to move his fingers away. Where would they move, anyway, with Snape’s clasping them like a rope?

            “You will swear to release one Ashborn from your control, the woman called Incognita, and not to enslave her again no matter what her reaction is to her freedom,” Harry said, not reading the Vow off the parchment. He was having as much trouble looking away from Snape and Draco as he had had looking at them earlier.

            Snape nodded before he said, “I so swear.” Draco’s wand trembled a bit, or so it felt like, but Harry didn’t know if he was imagining that or not. He had to look at their faces instead, at Snape’s bent brow and cramped mouth, at Draco’s face empty of everything except intensity, and even the tongue of fire that curled around their fingers was a secondary distraction.

            “You will swear not to restrain me against my will during my visits with the Ashborn, not to call me back early unless you are in need of help, or to attack my friends because they might wish me to stay longer.” Of course, Ron and Hermione wouldn’t have much luck in getting Harry to stay longer, what with the Vow he’d made to return, but he could imagine Snape sending along a potion or poison that might hurt them anyway.

            “I so swear.”



            Harry had to close his eyes for a moment. Both Snape and Draco were watching him, and their expressions were as near identical as made no difference.

            Oh, God. Two men who want me. Two Slytherins who want me, and that might be worse. And they’re already lovers, and I have no idea what’s going to happen with that, either. Wouldn’t they just give up on me after a while and go back to each other? They know how to satisfy each other better than I would.

            Harry shoved the emotion out of his head, hard, and sighed. Now wasn’t the time to worry about things like that. They were supposed to be making a subtle and serious and binding set of Vows here, after all. “You will swear not to attack me during the times I’m here, not with Potions, not with magic, and not physically.”

            “I so swear,” Snape said, and the third tongue of fire bloomed into existence. Harry glanced down at the shimmering mess, because it was better than looking at the different kind of mess in their expressions.

            And then the fire vanished, and Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder, tugging him backwards, and Harry was standing, and he nodded to both Snape and Draco—Malfoy, he would have to go back to calling him Malfoy when he was around his friends, and not thinking about that kiss—and turned around, floating Corners’s cup after him along with his small trunk of possessions. He hadn’t brought much with him to the Ashborn, but then, he had never owned much.

            He had four new possessions to carry away with him now, though. The three Unbreakable Vows, and the mingled gazes heavy on his back.

*

            Draco put his wand away. Then he turned and looked at Severus, who was still staring after Harry, his fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table.

            Yes. The light he had sought and found in Severus’s eyes years ago, when he had finally convinced Severus to become his lover, was there again. Focused on Harry, this time, but Draco didn’t mind that, not when he was sure it was echoed in his own.

            He flexed his hand open and shut. Feeling the fire run through him as he Bonded Severus and Harry was one of the most incredible experiences of his life.

            But the fire in his mouth when he kissed Harry was another, and, well…he could hope to replace them both soon with something even more remarkable.

            “Let’s go home,” he said quietly to Severus, and helped him to his feet, and guided him back inside the fortress, trying to ignore his own feeling that a light had gone out.

*

            unneeded: I hope that you’ll be even more pleased by the opening up in this chapter.

            The snake is probably around, but hunting on his own, given that Harry doesn’t need him to carry messages right now.

            Shadowdog85: Not a lot. He was involved in the war for a lot longer here (at least two years) than he was in canon.

            AlterEquis: Well, I suppose you could say it crashed a bit in this chapter, but not necessarily.
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Ashborn