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The Glass of Heart's Desire	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 13568 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Four—Burning Cheeks
            Draco shivered. The look on Potter’s face, the way he met Draco’s eyes and then turned away, his clenched fists and his slightly swaying body…
            Draco wouldn’t have believed it, but this was even better than the smile he had wanted to see on Potter’s face, the one he had seen in the mirror during his own vision.
            He looked at Severus, while his heart sang to him like a drum far away. He had to be familiar with the man—anyone would—to see the slight signs that his arousal and passion made, but when he was this close, they were easier to see. Severus’s breathing had picked up, and his cheeks had acquired a redder tint than usual.
            “The description of your vision would distress you,” Severus murmured. His voice seemed to slip through the room, to coil around Draco’s ankles and shoulders like a cat. From the confused expression on Potter’s face, he felt the effect, but he was so utterly unfamiliar with it that he had no idea what he was feeling. “Is that not true?”
            “Well, yeah,” Potter said, with a little drawl that Draco recognized as an attempt to regain control. “Otherwise, I would have described it to you already.”
            Severus simply nodded, eyes not shifting from Potter’s face, and took a step closer. Potter seemed equally focused on Severus’s face, to the point that he might honestly not have noticed the movement. “So. Instead of describing it, why don’t we act it out, and see what happens?” Severus’s voice actually got a little hoarse on the last words.
            Potter froze.
            Draco added his voice to the conversation, just in case Potter was too much in the habit of distrusting Severus to give that habit up now. “Why not? Just think of it, Potter. Whichever one of us it was, you don’t have to speak about it. You don’t have to describe it. You only need to move forwards and touch whichever one of us it was.”
            He found himself hoping it was him.
            Potter’s gaze went back and forth from him, to Severus, to him. Draco wondered if it was his imagination that Potter looked longer at him, but then he saw the faint tremors that had invaded his body, and he doubted it. Potter would probably be less afraid of approaching Draco. They were more on an equal footing, and it had once been a point of honor for neither of them to show fear in front of the other. Besides, Potter hadn’t even known Severus was alive until a few days ago.
            And then Potter turned and stepped up to Severus, raising one hand in such slow motion that it seemed he thought Severus would stop him before he got that far.
            But rather than stopping him, Severus turned his head so that Potter’s hand came to a stop on his cheek.
            Even then, Potter might have frozen, flinched, said something stupid, but instead, Severus raised his hand and covered Potter’s with it.
            Then he leaned in, and Draco shifted around to the side a little, holding his breath. He wanted a better view, but he didn’t want to disrupt what was happening in front of him, either. He wanted…he wanted it to happen.
            Severus’s eyelid flickered at him, a sign that he understood what Draco was doing and approved of it, on some level. But not if it distracted Potter, and Severus slid a hand beneath Potter’s chin and raised it as if to ensure that Potter wouldn’t look off to the side and freeze some more.
            You don’t need to worry, Draco thought. Potter was gripping Severus’s arms, holding onto him, letting Severus bear him up. All his focus was for Severus, all his breathing was for him, his limp body was for him.
            But someday soon, they would be for Draco as well.
            He had to admit that was the only thing that kept him still, watching, and let the vision happen.
*
            The kiss was more violent than the one in the vision.
            Harry thought it wouldn’t be. He thought their lips would touch, and he would do something wrong, like stick his tongue in the wrong place, and Snape would pull back and sling him to the floor and taunt him. That would be horrible, but at least it would make this weird interlude be over, and let Harry go back to hating Slytherins and being an ordinary Auror in peace.
            But instead, Snape hissed and dragged him closer, arms around his shoulder and around his waist and in all sorts of other places that Harry had never let a man touch him before. Harry shuddered, limp, except in the place that he should have been limpest, and clutched at Snape, and ran a hand up his arm towards his shoulder.
            Snape pulled away from the kiss to look at him, and Harry swallowed a little and prepared for the scolding. Snape probably didn’t want to be touched while he was kissing Harry, or something.
            “Please,” Snape said, his voice as thick and slow as honey while he dragged his jaws apart, “continue.”
            Harry gasped once, because he had to, this was as overwhelming as diving underwater, and then he reached up and manipulated Snape’s head into a position that was more like the one he had seen in the vision. He knew Malfoy was watching from the side, but with Snape standing like this, Harry didn’t have to look at him. He thought looking would be the more embarrassing thing, right now.
            When he kissed Snape again, he did close his eyes.
            That might have been a mistake. Every movement of those long fingers was more intense when he had his eyes shut, from the way that Snape’s nails scraped and clutched at his waist to the way that his knuckles tangled in Harry’s hair. Harry wasn’t limp anymore, but he didn’t honestly know what he was doing. He had to focus on the movements of his tongue in Snape’s mouth, and the movements of his own lips, and he could have been clawing Snape’s eyes out with his free hand, for all he knew.
            Someone hissed from the side, loudly enough to almost sound like a word in Parseltongue, and Harry started and opened his eyes, having forgotten that he’d had them shut in the first place.
            Malfoy was moving in. His eyes were huge, and he had his arms open as though he expected to have to catch Harry if he collapsed. But his cheeks were red, and that look of burning desire…
            Snape hadn’t looked at him like that even after the kiss began. Harry understood that, in part, understood that Snape was more private and Malfoy more open. Well, of course he was. Hadn’t Harry been able to read Malfoy’s every emotion in school?
            Well, those thoughts had gone through his head, and they had given time for Malfoy to reach him and bend him nearly backwards in his desperate clutch. Then his hold gentled, and he kissed Harry on the cheek and the side of his neck before he turned his head, mouth open as if he was waiting for Harry to meet him like that.
            Harry thought it was more than he was capable of, to meet him like that. So he met him with a closed mouth instead, and Malfoy sighed and used his tongue to tease along the edge of Harry’s lips, asking a silent, desperate question.
            Harry hesitated once, and then cracked his mouth open. Instantly Malfoy’s tongue was inside, lapping up and down, flitting back and forth, and Harry gasped with surprise. It was pleasant, but not in the same way that Snape’s kiss had been. It was different.
            It would be bloody hard to say how it was different, but Harry knew it was.
            This kiss went on long enough that Harry’s legs were a trembling mess when Malfoy let him go, and Harry probably would have collapsed if not for the couch that Malfoy steered him over to. Harry sat down with a small gasp, and nodded to Malfoy. Then he put his hands over his burning face, gulping once or twice. He felt as if he could have swallowed an entire glass of wine and not really noticed it.
            Something bumped his hand. Harry looked up. Malfoy was holding a glass of water out to him, and that looked even better than wine. Harry seized it and swallowed it, holding a little in his mouth to swish around. It wasn’t that he wanted to wash out the taste, but the ordinary action reassured him that he was still alive, and everything was still normal.
            He hadn’t thought he would be doing this when he came here, that was for sure.
            “Those are the sorts of kisses that you saw in your vision?” Snape was the one who asked that, and of course his voice sounded calm. Harry glanced at him and saw that he was at least sitting down, on a chair that looked identical to the one he’d occupied in the other room, but his face was composed. If someone had asked him to come into the room and say which one had just been kissing someone, Snape or Malfoy…
            Harry turned his head and met Malfoy’s eyes, still open and bright in a way that left him with no doubt whatsoever about what Malfoy was feeling. He flushed and looked away a little.
            “That sort,” he said weakly. The vision had taken place in a ballroom, which might have been part of the Manor or somewhere at the Ministry, but Harry knew that the literal qualities of the room didn’t matter that much. The Glass of Heart’s Desire had shown him the first step along that path, and it had been accomplished.
            “There is something you can do for me, if you will.”
            Harry turned to Snape, remembering suddenly that he had never heard the story of how Snape had survived Nagini’s poison, and why he was living here with Malfoy. Then again, Harry thought Snape himself might wave his hand in dismissal of that part. He was a Potions master, and Malfoy had been brewing and selling magnificent potions for the last few years. It explained itself.
            “Of course,” he said, and flushed further when he heard how creaky his voice was. Snape smirked, but didn’t make fun of him, and Harry used that unexpected reverie to catch his breath and nod firmly. “Right. What did you need?”
            “I am tired of hiding,” Snape said, and leaned forwards, his eyes intent. “But I am no longer exactly sure what I was charged with, and what happened to the charges when I failed to appear for my trial. I need you to find out for me.”
            Harry shook his head in confusion. “There was never any trial, or charges. Since everyone thought you were dead, and all.”
            He let his voice rise at the end of that statement, a little invitation for Snape to explain, but Snape ignored it with a high-handed manner as magnificent as his potions with Malfoy had been. “Then I need you to find out what Ministry policy might be in a case like this, when a criminal who is believed to have faked his death appears again. At the very least, I cannot believe that I would not be charged with Albus’s murder.”
            Harry opened his mouth, about to say that he didn’t know, and then closed it. Well, no, he didn’t know, not right now, but he knew how he could find out. And there had been that brief period during the war before Voldemort and his allies took over the Ministry, when Snape had been listed as wanted for the murder of Dumbledore. Those charges would probably come back into force if he reappeared, but more to the point, they would still be on the record.
            “I can find out for you,” he replied.
            Snape gave him a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said. He turned to Malfoy, as though he should have something to say about it. Harry turned, too, wondering if Malfoy was concerned about Snape going back to the wizarding world after hiding him all these years, or maybe concerned about whether anyone would blame him for it.
            Malfoy folded his hands beneath his chin and smiled at Harry.
            “I’m not going to ask anything of you for right now,” he murmured. “At least not in the way you seem to be thinking I will. Only that you hurry back.”
            Harry discovered that his cheeks could still burn, even after everything he had shared with both of them. He cleared his throat and nodded, then hurried away in the present, towards the door. A house-elf popped up to guide him before he got lost, with a kind of discretion that he suspected Malfoy must have learned to practice if he was hiding Snape.
            It made Harry want to shake his head and pinch himself, but he remembered the visions in the mirror instead. Snape and Malfoy had seen their own, and Harry was sure that that was what had made him go ahead with it. He wasn’t going to be subjecting himself to anything uniquely embarrassing. They had taken chances, too, and increased their chances of ridicule by sharing them with him.
            It was odd, to feel so comfortable around people mainly because they were taking the same kind of risk in trusting you that you did in trusting them, but Harry thought he could get used to the feeling.
*
            “You look pleased, Severus.”
            Severus glanced up. He’d had the house-elves bring his tray to the library, because he hadn’t wanted to leave his book. It explained the interaction between blue gems—which were not sapphires—like the one on the frame of the Glass of Heart’s Desire and certain kinds of potions. Severus did not intend to try and pry that particular gem loose, but he was interested in seeing the potion that might result with a similar stone.
            “I am,” he said, and laid the book aside when it became obvious that Draco had finished his own meal, which he always insisted on eating in the formal dining room, and wanted to talk. “I think we have begun a course which will prove pleasurable in itself, as well as profitable for me personally. Why should I not be pleased?”
            “I thought you might be having second thoughts.” Draco held out his hand, and a perfectly trained house-elf appeared and placed a glass of brandy in his fingers. He ignored Severus’s rolling eyes with the same practiced ease, staring intently at him. “Since this is Potter that we are talking about.”
            Severus shook his head slowly, eyes locked with Draco’s. “I do not have the same problems with the notion that you might.”
            “I don’t have problems.”
            “Then I have the same lack of them,” Severus said promptly.
            It took a moment, but Draco smiled, and then he tilted his head back and burst out laughing in the way he did so seldom, damn the training that Lucius had instilled in him. It was a sound Severus loved to listen to, and in his opinion, always tamed too easily. Draco calmed it quickly now, too, to a mere matter of twitching lips, but he was shaking his head, and his smile held some of the same warmth. “Look at both of us, worrying about something that it turns out neither of us needs to worry about. What a pair.”
            “Yes,” Severus said mildly. He waited, but sometimes Draco was unable to take a hint, and only remained sipping his brandy and smiling. There had been evenings when Severus could have looked at his smile in peace and done nothing else, but this was not one of those times. “What a pair we could make. Potter is essential to the whole vision, but not to all corners of it.”
            Draco sat straight up, his face flaming so suddenly that Severus wondered if he, and the Glass, had been mistaken. Perhaps Severus might need both Draco and Potter for his happiness, but that was no reason to suppose that Draco needed them both for his.
            Then Severus remembered Draco’s vision, and was reassured. No, this was something else, not disgust and rejection.
            One way in which he differed from his younger self was that he had learned some patience, and did not assume that he needed to have his own way all the time. Seven years of hiding had not given him his own will in all matters, but in enough of them that he could relax about individual instances. He had brewed potions he had never known that he could, had borne down numerous challenges from those who had tried to find his carefully covered tracks, and had come to terms with some of his own guilt over killing Albus and his other parts in the war. So he waited, and had the satisfaction of seeing Draco’s throat bob up and down as he swallowed.
            Then Draco set aside the glass of brandy, and murmured, “Shall I come to you, or will you come to me?”
            “I have been waiting a long time for you to say those words,” Severus murmured, in a voice that even he had not realized would come out that husky, and then he stood and strode across the distance between them.
            It seemed to narrow, or perhaps that was only the effect of watching the way that Draco’s eyes widened and his head tilted up. In this, he would not surrender, not the way Potter had when Severus touched him. Potter was essentially a giving person, up and until the great sacrifice he had made for the wizarding world. Draco was proud until the end.
            Severus thought he might come to enjoy both tastes.
            He certainly enjoyed the taste of Draco’s mouth when he entered it almost gently, although the scrape of his tongue should have warned Draco what was coming. But Draco still uttered a—muffled—sound of shock when Severus leaned forwards and gave him as much of his tongue as Draco could ever need or want.
            For a few seconds, Draco clawed the arms of the chair, and Severus was afraid that Draco would encourage him to back off. But then Draco surged up to meet him, and Severus was the one reeling from the clash of teeth and the push of a slick tongue against his own. Draco walked him several steps back across the room, and seized Severus’s hair so that he could manipulate his head into the right position.
            It was exhilarating. Not the same as the kiss with Potter, but Severus would not have wanted them both to be the same. Two lovers he could not distinguish from each other would have led to confusions and problems.
            No, he wanted someone who could melt at his touch and someone who could challenge him—as long as that challenger understood where Severus’s priorities lay. When Severus lashed his tongue around Draco’s and gripped both his shoulders to hold him in place, Draco showed he did. He still didn’t melt, but he did let Severus take control.
            Severus did so with a passion that he hadn’t been ready for, a passion that he hadn’t satisfied for seven years. When he needed to do something about it, Draco had politely looked away, the way that Severus had when Draco needed to sate his. Even when they had become good friends and Severus was careful to avoid unusual risks because Draco was hiding him, they could not expect each other to be celibate.
            With a delicious flash, Severus wondered if Potter was.
            But there had been nothing like this, not for the clash and the combat of it, and not for the severe tightness of fingers upon shoulders, the groans and whimpers and entwining of a leg around his. Severus deftly avoided the attempt to unsettle his balance, and tipped Draco onto the couch instead.
            Draco went down with a flinging out of his hands and gasp that was beautiful to witness, and Severus was on him in seconds, his hands clasping either side of Draco’s head, his fingers settling into place on Draco’s temples and eyelids, pressing them shut. Draco stiffened and raised one hand as if he was going to stop Severus, but Severus kissed his eyelids and murmured something, and Draco sighed, then tilted his head to the side.
            Permission.
            Severus licked the side of Draco’s mouth, and found that he liked the taste so much he couldn’t resist doing it again. Each time, Draco made a muffled protest and squirmed, but he didn’t try to get up or, more importantly, tell Severus to let him up. From the bulge between Draco’s legs, he wasn’t protesting the licking itself so much as the slow pace.
            Severus closed his eyes. Thinking about Draco’s erection had called his attention to his own, so hard that it hurt, abruptly. No matter how much he might have been able to ignore it before, he couldn’t now.
            He altered the pace of his licking, trying to keep it absorbing enough that Draco wouldn’t notice his hand moving until he had reached down and closed his fingers around Draco’s erection.
            It worked, although perhaps only because Draco had his eyes closed and was also caught up in his own reactions. He arched a little, he cried a little, and he squirmed, this time, against Severus’s hand. Severus leaned back and tightened his grip, smoothing his hand slowly, in curiosity to see if Draco would protest this kind of pace.
            He didn’t. Draco’s head had tilted back and he was frozen, his panting loud enough that it sounded as though he was in pain. But from the way he pushed up when Severus paused once, nothing could be further from the truth. He turned to the side and thrust himself against Severus’s resting palm, and Severus chuckled and resumed his stroking, while rutting against Draco’s hip, and flank, and side, and anything he could reach, given the position he stood in at the moment and the positions Draco was assuming from the way he turned over and over.
            Neither one of them could last, with the excitement of doing this for the first time between them, and soon enough Severus was coming violently against Draco’s side, still in his robes, as Draco was still in his trousers. Severus had to admit that it hadn’t even occurred to him to take his clothes off. To take Draco’s clothes off. To do anything but enjoy themselves with each other as wantonly as possible.
            He subsided onto the couch beside Draco, panting slightly. Draco turned his head to the side, and it took an embarrassingly long time before Severus realized what he sought. He kissed Draco tenderly, and Draco sighed and slid his tongue in, returning the kiss.
            It seemed a long time before either of them spoke aloud, and then it was Draco. “I’m going to enjoy this more than I thought I would,” he said. “And I was already expecting to enjoy it quite a bit.” He stretched languorously against Severus’s side. “Why don’t I do it to you, next time?”
            Severus laughed softly and rearranged them so that they were stretched out with Draco’s head resting on his shoulder. “I think that can be arranged.” He paused, then added, “Think about doing it with Potter.”
            Draco opened his eyes for the first time since this had begun, and they were already wide with desire. Severus could not be jealous of that, not when he could still see the dark patches where Draco’s desire for him had already been expressed.
            Yes, I think this will work out very well.
*
Ciara_D: Yes, they’re the most likeable versions I’ve worked with in a long time, I think.
BAFan; Thanks! It’s one thing the conceit of the story allows me to avoid, all those angsty bits.
moodysavage: Thank you!
Meechypoo: Harry is absolutely sure there’s nothing about being an Auror that he doesn’t know—but this is pretty different.
SP777: Sorry? Then I’m afraid this chapter will be even more so!
Tellnoone_Noonetells: Thank you! Harry is going to have to try to explain it to his friends in the next chapter. I’m looking forward to writing that.
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The Glass of Heart's Desire