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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 Five—Among the Records
            Harry peered closely at the records in front of him, the rolled-up sheaves of paper that he thought had to contain the crimes that Snape had supposedly committed. He hadn’t come on them anywhere else, and this was a huge box in the Recent Crimes Section, which meant the cases that had been solved or laid aside in the past ten years. He hoped it was the right one. He had already spent two hours down here among the dust and unfriendliness of the stares from the Archive staff, and he had—
            He sneezed as more dust flew up, and then grimaced in resignation. He didn’t enjoy sneezing, but he could endure it for Snape’s sake. The problem with using Cleaning Charms was that it would vanish some of the older ink in the records, because of course the Ministry couldn’t spend enough money to buy lasting ink, so he didn’t dare use them.
            “Mate? What the hell are you doing down here?”
            Harry jerked up, which meant he bumped his head on the shelf above the big box. He cursed and turned around, dragging the box with him. He knew it was Ron, no reason to be alarmed, but he also wasn’t going to have this conversation with Ron staring at his back and arse.
            The last thought made him flush, not because he’d had it, but because he didn’t think Ron was the one who had the right to stare at his arse.
            “You realize you still haven’t answered me?” Ron stood in front of the nearest table with his arms folded and his heavy stare drilling into Harry. “And you’re absolutely ridiculous when you try? And I know that some important thing must have brought you down here, and you’re even more ridiculous not to let me know what it is?”
            Harry grimaced and ducked his head, shaking it a little. Yes, all right, he had known he would have to tell Ron about Snape and Malfoy when he started looking for Snape’s records, because nothing would explain why he wanted them but the truth. It was still embarrassing. “Fine. I’m looking for Snape’s trial records. He wants to come back out and live a normal life, and I promised I would look through the Archives.”
            Ron’s hands dropped, and he stood there with his mouth hanging open. Harry regarded him haughtily. He had already chosen his response, he thought. He was going to be as aloof as he could, and pretend nothing was wrong at all with the thought of wanting to fuck two men.
            Well, maybe there was nothing wrong with it. But it did make his stomach burn and tingle when he thought about it.
            “You want his trial records?” Ron whispered at last. Harry couldn’t see any reason to whisper, and started to say so, but Ron nodded at the box and moved closer. “Don’t you remember that the case was closed and they said that they didn’t want to reopen it, mate, no matter what convincing new evidence you found? Don’t you remember that you told me once that you had every reason to wish Snape well, because you knew that he killed Dumbledore on orders and you were willing to forgive and forget what he did to you?”
            Harry licked his lips. “Snape is the one who asked me to look up the records. He wants to come back into wizarding society, but he’s afraid that charges might be brought up against him if he does. So he wanted me to see, ah, if there’s any way that he could escape having a trial right away.”
            Ron narrowed his eyes. “That even sounds like it could be true, assuming Snape would trust you. But there’s still something you’re not telling me.” He paused a second. “You want to arrest him and you’re just pretending to oblige him?”
            “No.” Harry sighed and mopped his hand through his hair.
            “You want to disoblige Malfoy and take his main source of income away?” Ron suddenly clapped his fist into his palm. “That was the reason that Malfoy was suddenly able to make all those brilliant potions and sell them, isn’t it?”
            Harry nodded, but Ron started talking again before he could, sounding satisfied. “That’s great. I never thought you would forgive Malfoy, mate. Never heard you talk about it, anyway.”
            “I—I have forgiven him, Ron.” Harry knew he was blushing, and that Ron was staring at him like he was mental, but, well, Harry felt a little like he was. “Listen, Ron,” he added warningly, when Ron opened his mouth to speak again. This was going to be hard enough to go through once. “I’ll tell you this.” Harry was waving his wand as he spoke, setting up the wards around them that would hold in their voices and make it impossible for someone to eavesdrop. “I’m going to say this once. And I don’t want you to interrupt until I’m done, all right?”
            Uneasily, Ron shifted from foot to foot. “I can’t promise that, mate. If you say something…”
            “Ron.”
            Finally, Ron seemed to realize that this was different from other things Harry had asked him in the past. He hesitated a long moment, but then he nodded and drew his finger across his lips. “Fine. I’ll be quiet.” And then he sat down in a chair and looked at Harry expectantly.
            Harry clasped his hands in front of him. He had the feeling that he would make this confession more than once, and to less sympathetic audiences. There was nothing he could do other than make the words blunt. “The Glass of Heart’s Desire showed me a vision, because I’d done a service for its owner. It showed me that I could have what I want if I allowed Snape and Malfoy close to me.”
            Ron opened his mouth, prepared to break his promise, after all, it seemed, but it didn’t matter. Shock was choking him, and he couldn’t say a single word.
            “Yeah, I know,” Harry said. “But I want someone I can trust, and someone to take care of me, and someone who can…” He trailed off, not because he didn’t trust Ron with what he was about to say, but because he had never tried to express it in words before. He spent a long moment searching his mind before he decided that he could say it after all. “Someone I can lower my guard in front of. They’re it.”

            “But you can lower your guard in front of us!” Ron’s hands were locked on the arms of his chair. “Me and Hermione! We’re the ones that you can always trust! You said so! You don’t need Snape and Malfoy!”
            Harry took a deep breath, and reinforced the wards that were up against anyone hearing this. Again, his hand went up and rubbed the scar above his left eyebrow. He hadn’t done that much in the last two days, he realized. What with Snape and Malfoy and all the rest of it, the habitual gesture had faded a little bit.
            But Ron had followed the movement of Harry’s hand, and his own eyes were slits. “Is that what it’s all about, Harry? You feel that you can’t trust me since the Whibble case?”
            Harry just looked steadily into Ron’s eyes, and said nothing. Whibble had been a wizard who had discovered his talent for Legilimency late in life, and combined that with a spell he’d crafted to pull uncomfortable secrets to the surface of everyone’s mind, where people would speak them before they ever thought about what they were saying. Whibble had mostly used that to blackmail his victims, but when Harry and Ron finally managed to track him down and corner him, he had used it on them, too.
            “You know that I love both you and Hermione.” Ron was speaking with the same steadiness, the kind of steadiness that they’d both used to repair their friendship after that day. “Just not in the same way. Hell, I wouldn’t want it to be in the same way. And I don’t think that you would, either.”
            “No,” Harry said quietly, and gave Ron a small smile. “I don’t think either of us would want that. But it does mean that—that I want someone who loves me that way. I don’t want it to be you. But I want someone.”
            Ron looked at him with desolate eyes. Harry sighed a little. The secret Whibble had forced to the surface of Ron’s mind and out of his lips was that, if Ron had to choose between rescuing Harry and Hermione from a Dark wizard, then he would rescue Hermione. Harry had been so stunned, hurt, distracted, that Whibble had managed to fling a Dark Cutting Curse at him, and it had left the scar above Harry’s eye that refused to heal completely.
            “I can understand why you want someone to love you that way,” said Ron, and shook his head, hard, as though the admission had been harder for him than Harry could understand. “But…Snape and Malfoy?”
            Harry laughed and reached out to take his friend’s hand and help him to his feet. “I don’t know. I could always walk away if it turns out that it’s not what I want. But I think I need to pursue it for a little while. And right now, I can help Snape by finding out exactly what his trial records say. So leave it alone. All right?”
            Ron stood there so long that Harry didn’t know if he would. Ron was perfectly capable of going to Hermione and engaging with her in a plot to save Harry’s life, if it turned out that he thought Harry was impervious to argument.
            Then Ron rolled his eyes in the old, familiar way, and reached out and clasped Harry’s hand again. “Fine. If it’s not what you want, you walk away.”
            Harry nodded. He had always intended to do that, really. The mirror said he could have this kind of love, and the vision was tempting, for reasons that Harry would have found hard to name even to himself. But the mirror could be wrong, too. Harry wouldn’t enslave himself to a vision that had no hope of coming true.
            “Good,” Ron said, and hesitated one more time, and then departed the Archives with a little wave. Harry smiled and turned back to the box in front of him, digging through it once more, patiently, searching for Snape’s trial records.
*
            Draco frowned up at the ceiling, then around to either side of himself. It took him long moments to remember why he was sprawled on a couch in the middle of the big red sitting room instead of bed, especially since it was late, from the shadows on the walls.
            Oh, right. Draco sat up, slowly. He and Severus had been brewing a potion together, and the fumes had made Draco dizzy and lightheaded. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes with potions that used grindylow toes, which he was mildly allergic to. He’d had to leave the lab, and let Severus finish the potion alone. He had stumbled as far as the sitting room before giving up, collapsing on the high-backed red couch, and calling one of the house-elves for blankets.
            This time, one of the elves appeared with a tray of steaming tea and biscuits. Draco frowned and shook his head. He ate meals at this time of day in the formal dining room only. It was the least he could do, in remembrance of his parents.
            “Mr. Harry Potter is being here, sir,” said the elf, and set the tray on a table, beginning to pour tea carefully out of the pot’s high silver spout into thin, delicate cups. There were three, Draco noticed. Severus must have finished his work in the lab.
            Draco paused, and then smiled. That was another reason he had been overcome, besides his allergy. He was bored, without Potter around, and not concentrating properly on the brewing procedure of the potion.
            That might not be the best thing, if Potter didn’t choose them after all. But he had come here on his own this time, not because they’d made an agreement and he had to honor it. As he picked up the nearest cup and sipped the tea, Draco found himself looking forward to an afternoon in Potter’s company as he had never thought he could.
*
            “Master Harry Potter is be coming this way!”
            Do all the bloody house-elves know about that damned mirror? Harry was half-convinced they did. The one trotting in front of him kept looking back over its shoulder and gesturing him helpfully forwards, its smile wide and bright. The elves had been polite enough the times that Harry had visited the Manor before, but this was beyond that.
            They led him into a room so furnished with red that Harry was taken aback. Who knew a family full of Slytherins could put up with that much of a Gryffindor color? But there were red roses on the walls, and huge, plush scarlet furniture, and a mantel made of what Harry thought might be cherry wood.
            “Please, Harry, sit.”
            The warm words made Harry’s breath catch in his throat in the moment before he spun around. He had almost lifted his wand, but it was just his first name. It was nothing to make him feel battered and swept off his feet, as though a wave had crashed into him. It was normal. It was nothing but normality.
            Nothing but that, to see Malfoy rise to his feet and hold out a cup of tea to him. Anyone could have offered tea. Anyone else might not have had an irritated house-elf hovering off to the side, which suggested to Harry that the elf had wanted to pour the tea and Malfoy had got in the way, but it was still an ordinary gesture.
            Nothing to make his breath catch, so Harry managed to sit down with the teacup and a nod to Malfoy. Then he sipped the tea, and couldn’t help the way his breath caught this time and he looked up at Malfoy with a smile. “This is delicious.”
            “Nippy always did make the best tea.” Malfoy smiled serenely at him and sat back down on the couch that, from the tangle of blankets, he’d been using as a bed. Harry blinked a little. He hadn’t thought that Malfoy would sleep anywhere but in some huge bed with even richer sheets and bigger pillows than the ones they had at Hogwarts.
            Like the one in your vision?
            Harry hoped that his flush could be attributed to the heat of the tea.
            “Will Snape be joining us?” Harry did ask, pushing resolutely into the real purpose of his visit. It wasn’t to exchange jokes and banter with Malfoy, no matter how tempting that was. He drew the sheaf of parchments out of his robe pocket and waved his wand. They unshrank themselves, returning to normal size, and Harry laid them calmly on the table in front of him. “I think these documents relate most to him. I took a few of your trial records, too, but just to make sure that you couldn’t be implicated for anything that related to him. You can’t.” He looked up and smiled at Malfoy again. At least this smile didn’t feel unnatural. “So there’s no way they can try you for harboring a fugitive.”
            “Am I a fugitive?”
            Harry shivered as though he had a fever when Snape’s voice spilled into the room, followed by Snape himself. This was what he had wanted, Harry told himself sternly, and took a fortifying gulp of the tea, ignoring the way Malfoy winced a little. If it was the finest tea in his kitchens, he probably thought Harry should sip it. “Not according to the records, no. They accepted that you weren’t guilty of murder after I showed them my own memories. I mean, my memories of your memories.” He paused, wondering about something. “Do you want those memories back?”
            Snape’s mouth quirked for a moment, and he settled into his own seat, accepting the cup of tea that the house-elf—Nippy?—offered him a moment later. “I am content to have the memories that you have helped me make recently. They are payment of that debt, if it needed to be paid.”
            Harry felt his face flush hot again, because of course the recent memories were the ones of the vision and the way that Harry had kissed both Snape and Malfoy as if he had spent years lusting after them. “Right. Well.” He cleared his throat when those words weren’t sufficient and held out the sheaf of parchment to Snape. “You’ll probably want to see them for yourself.”
            Snape took the parchments, but didn’t immediately sort through them. He laid them down in his lap instead, and continued to regard Harry with the most piercing sort of gaze. Harry felt irritation trickle down his spine. “Is there anything else you wanted?” he asked, and set aside his teacup. “Because I should really be getting back to the Ministry.”
            “You just got here.” Malfoy’s voice was the soothing one, now, and Harry felt himself relax almost against his will. “And we do have some things to talk about.”
            Snape nodded and turned back to the parchments. “Not guilty of murder,” he said. “Not a fugitive. Which does not mean that the world will rejoice to see me alive.”
            Harry relaxed further. This was something he understood, the sort of legal tangles that Snape could get into. Well, he should, after a bloody afternoon of studying the parchment. “I can’t say that everyone will be happy, but I don’t think that they can actually charge you. You were forgiven for your crimes as a Death Eater during the same time that you were pardoned for the murder. Again, based on my memories. There are some people who might sue you personally, and lots of people won’t be happy to see you, but the Ministry can’t do anything.”
            “Good,” said Snape, and then picked up the parchments. Harry thought he would look further through them for details, but he laid them aside, on the same table that held the teatray, and focused back on Harry in a way that made his heartbeat fill his throat. “Now. On to the other things that we have to talk about.”
            Harry flung a half-panicked glance at Malfoy, but he was only watching with one hand on his teacup, one on his knee, and a bright, amused smile on his face.
            “What?” Harry asked. His voice came out thin and nervous. He scowled and forced it back down into something approaching normality. “I mean, yeah, I kissed you, and I’m willing to try out what the mirror recommends, but that doesn’t mean that we’re suddenly—I don’t know, lovers in all senses of the word.”
            “What I want to do will lead to us being lovers eventually, I hope,” said Snape, voice low and slow and persuasive. “Your vision gave you the sense of having someone to trust?”
            “Two people,” Harry muttered, and sneaked a glance at Malfoy again. Malfoy should really do something about how bright his smile was, Harry thought. He wasn’t sure that was medically healthy.
            “Then we should try and become those people,” said Snape, and reached across the distance between him and Harry. Harry stared at him in turn. Snape couldn’t nearly reach him from there. Snape sighed a little, and flexed his fingers. “Will you come here and let us try?”
            “You mean that you think you aren’t those people yet?” Harry muttered, but he stood up. It was true that the Glass of Heart’s Desire only showed the path to where they were going, not that they were already at the destination.
            He moved forwards step by step, until he was near enough to clasp Snape’s hand easily. He opened his mouth to ask what was next, and started a bit when Malfoy stood up and pressed himself to Harry’s back, his arms slipping around Harry’s waist. That was the perfect height for Malfoy to rest his lips on the nape of Harry’s neck, too. Harry sighed and tipped his head back.
            “Yes, that’s it,” Snape said, his voice as thick as though he was hard. Harry couldn’t look down and see if he was. He was a little involved in the way that Malfoy’s lips moved against his nape, the soft giving way to the warm as Malfoy’s tongue slipped in, and Harry realized that he was forgetting about his nervousness, leaning further back.
            “You trust me not to drop you already,” Malfoy breathed into his ear. “It’s remarkable.”
            “What, were you planning on it?” Harry got a little of his paranoia back now that Malfoy wasn’t touching him with lips and tongue. He gave Snape a hard look. “Is this some kind of test?”
            “Yes,” said Snape, standing. Harry blinked, shocked that he’d admitted it, and Snape leaned in. “But for us as much as for you. I don’t know that we should progress to sex yet. Can you remove your shirt and show us some of those scars you’re hiding? And tell us the tale of this?” He reached out to trace the scar over Harry’s left eye, the one from the confrontation with Whibble.
            Harry swallowed and wondered what would happen if he pulled away and stormed out of there. Probably just that his wish wouldn’t come true, he thought. He didn’t think Snape or Malfoy would follow him. He didn’t think they’d make fun of him.
            And that’s a sort of trust already, isn’t it?
            “The scar came from a Dark wizard who liked to use Legilimency to make people speak their secrets,” Harry said, when some moments had passed and Malfoy’s arms hadn’t left his waist and Snape’s finger hadn’t left his eyebrow. “I got distracted by something he made Ron say, and he was able to fling a hex at me that left a mark.”
            “What did Weasley say?” Malfoy asked in interest.
            Harry shook his head. That was Ron’s secret to betray, if for some unfathomable reason he ever wanted Snape and Malfoy to know it, and not his. “And how did you know that I have scars, anyway?” he added to Snape. “Beyond the ones that everyone knows I have.” The Daily Prophet had found out about Umbridge and her Blood Quill after the war, and run stories on that, along with the lightning bolt scar. SCARRED SAVIOR! had been their favorite headline for almost a year.
            “I can see the edge of one above your shirt collar,” Snape whispered, as if confessing a great secret. “I would like to see more of it.”
            Harry licked his lips. There was no reason for that confession to make him feel as if he was draped in warm melting chocolate. There was no reason for it to make him hot, for God’s sake.
            But it did. And he knew that Snape and Malfoy, standing as close to him as they were, couldn’t mistake his interest for anything other than what it was.
            “All right,” he whispered back, and stepped away to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
*
moodysavage: Thanks! Harry will have some times like that, too.
Meechypoo: And more idea! Though I think Harry would not appreciate your pun. ;)
BAFan: Thank you!
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The Glass of Heart's Desire