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Once a Lion	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 6283 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Once a Lion
- 1
Title: Once a Lion
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco/Neville
Warnings: Light angst, established Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3700
Summary: The corridors of Hogwarts haven't been dangerous for Neville since the war--at least until tonight, and the unexpected test of his courage he finds in a dungeon alcove.
Author's Notes: This is an Advent fic for iria4285, who gave me the prompt for Harry/Draco/Neville. The scenario would be that the three of them are teaching in Hogwarts and that one night Neville is doing the rounds and he finds them in a room having sex and the two of them ask him to join...
Once a Lion
            Neville sighed and stepped away from the Potions classroom. He spent too much time down here as it was, speaking with Professor Slughorn about plants from the greenhouses that he needed as Potions ingredients, and potions that Neville could use to strengthen his own plants. It was a good trade, although Horace was always suggesting that Neville come speak to some group of chosen favorites about his experience as a war hero.
            But it wasn't to continue that trade that Neville had come here tonight, when Horace was comfortably asleep, or even to watch for roving students as he was supposed to. He had come for his own private confrontation with Snape's ghost.
            Professor Snape only haunted the school, for most people, in the form of his portrait, which had acid comments for professors and students alike when they visited the Headmistress's office. But Neville had felt the tingle of returning fear each time he stepped into Horace's office, or classroom, or even just walked along the dungeon corridors near them, which admittedly he didn't do often.
            Tonight, he had finally decided that was absurd. Why should he feel that way? Professor Snape was long dead, he'd died a hero, Neville was competent enough with Potions to have earned an Exceeds Expectations on his NEWTS, and there was no reason for that shaking of his hands and shortness of breath.
            So he had gone into the Potions classroom tonight when no one was there, and stood there with his gaze fixed on the place that he'd most often occupied when he was a student. He'd stood there until his breathing slowed, and he could examine the stains on the table and bench and realize that the ones he'd made were long-gone, covered up by ones from a whole other generation of students. It had been eight years since the war. Another group of students had come in as wide-eyed first-years, and tumbled around Slughorn's classroom for the rest of their years, and stained the bench, and left.
            Neville smiled a little as he finally looked at the front of the classroom and realized that he was no longer shivering. From now on, he thought he'd be more comfortable talking with Horace here, instead of wanting to go elsewhere during the entire conversation. It couldn't lay all the ghosts of his childhood to rest, but it had helped.
            He sauntered on down the corridor, and stopped when he heard a set of voices from up ahead, frowning. It was past midnight already, long after curfew. Had a group--or pair--of students really stayed up this late, and dared both prefects and professors to catch them?
            Neville rounded the corner, easing his way slowly along. He had learned from vast experience in the past two years that it was better to trap students in the middle of their activities, whether that was brewing illegal potions or snogging someone from a different House, than listen to their muddled explanations afterwards.
            He found his foot stepping onto something soft and warm, and stopped with a little breath. This was stone, or should have been from what he knew of the castle, but someone had Transfigured it into carpet. Rich green carpet, he saw when he stared down, covered with writhing golden figures of lions that had serpents for necks. Chimeras.
            There were only two people in the castle that Neville thought could do something like that, and the Headmistress was always saying that she hardly had time to take her Animagus form these days, she was so busy.
            Slowly, letting the figures of the chimeras in the carpet guide his eye, Neville looked up along it.
            There was a long, wide white bed in the middle of what had been an unremarkable alcove in the dungeons, the sort of place where students stayed to snog or brew, but only a niche. Pale light illuminated the bed, playing from nowhere and everywhere. The wall had taken the form of a sculpted fireplace, also decorated with chimeras and dancing dragons, and the firelight that poured out from it made the brightness Neville had seen from around the corner.
            On the bed lay Harry Potter--Transfiguration Professor and the only other person who could have done this work--entangled with Draco Malfoy, who taught flying.
            Neville thought he might have swallowed. Or tried. He desperately needed air, needed some way to clear his throat and stop the madness happening in front of him with a sound, but neither air nor sound was coming to him now.
            The white light blazed on and made glittering the sweat that covered Malfoy's elegantly arched throat and shoulders. He was lying with his arms thrown like wings over the red-edged pillows while Harry knelt between his legs and worked him with a pulsing mouth. Malfoy was moaning, sighing, his voice leaving his lips in such indistinct sounds that they also accounted for what Neville had thought was muffled conversation.
            Harry had his eyes closed, his wand laid on the floor beside the bed, his lips parted and his tongue sliding back and forth with utmost concentration. He didn't have the long-limbed beauty that Malfoy did, but that didn't matter. Neville had become used to watching Harry's compact form stride around the castle, power trailing him like a blazing breeze.
            And that same power was in Harry's eyes when he abruptly opened his eyes and fastened them on Neville's face like the eyes of a pouncing lion.
            Neville stood there, and didn't know what to say. In truth, he had no idea why he hadn't turned his back and walked away from the room the second he realized who was there and what they were doing. Why had he let his eyes follow the pattern of the chimeras, and look at the shine of sweat on Malfoy's throat, and then seek out Harry?
            Harry studied him for a second, that wild and brooding power Neville had seen so often rising and surrounding him at the High Table dimmed. Then he turned and nodded at Malfoy, who by now had opened his eyes, probably because he wondered what in the world was holding Harry's mouth up.
            Malfoy rolled over abruptly, one elbow digging into the blankets beneath him, and became very still when he saw Neville. He studied him with less power but the same brightness that Harry had. Neville just stood there and wondered why he still hadn't backed away. Fine, he might have been fascinated at first, but the polite thing to do was mumble some apology or excuse and hurry off. What professors did on their own private time was their own business, and there was no Hogwarts rule that Neville knew of against professors being involved with each other.
            But instead, he stood there, and seemed incapable of either making his feet move backwards or his mouth open.
            "Interesting," Malfoy murmured, meaning what, Neville had no idea, and then he rolled over and took Harry's hand. "What do you think, Harry?" he asked, gliding Harry's arm up his side so that Harry's fingers rested on his hip.
            Harry didn't tighten them in any grip Neville could see. He just examined Neville gravely, as unashamed of his own nakedness as he would be if he was in the shower after Quidditch practice. Neville was the one who felt as if he was balancing a coal on his cheeks.
            "Yes," Harry said finally. "There's something in his eyes when he looks at us that is interesting." He smiled, abruptly, and curled himself up near Malfoy's legs with a grace that made Neville blink. "Do you want to join us?"
            Neville did some more staring. He couldn't possibly be hearing what he thought he was, a sort of invitation that--
            He would have heard something if Malfoy and Harry were inviting people regularly into their bed before this. He knew he would have. You could keep snogging hidden, even fucking if you liked, but not something like this. The wizarding world still buzzed with delight at tantalizing rumors about Harry Potter, no matter how misguided, and someone would have spoken up.
            "We do need an answer, you know," said Malfoy, one of his arms flung across his eyes as if Neville was an annoying light.
            Neville swallowed through a mouth that did seem to have enough moisture in it for that, anyway. He had come down here to confront his past and his courage, hadn't he? And one of the tests was successfully passed. He had forgiven Snape, or forgotten his taunts, and moved on from them.
            Granted, he hadn't thought that he would be confronting something like this while he patrolled the dungeons. But he would deal his courage a blow if he walked away and didn't return. Harry would probably think nothing of it. Malfoy might do nothing worse than catch Neville's eye in the future and smile, especially since Neville now knew one of his secrets.
            But Neville would know. He would know he'd backed out of something that held him, enchanted him, possessed him with its beauty and its light.
            It was silly, maybe, to stay, but it would be sillier to walk away when he'd been here staring so long.
            He took a step forwards. It was all he could do, not having the words he needed to speak at the end of his tongue, but from the way Harry surged up and crawled to the side of the bed nearest him to take his hand, it was all he needed to do.
            "Good," Harry said, in a voice that Neville didn't think even Malfoy could hear, and kissed him.
            Neville reeled and would have fallen if Harry hadn't pulled him onto the bed, while Malfoy's hands reached from behind to pluck off his robe and his wand. Neville had kissed Hannah Abbot, and Ginny, and a few other witches, and one other man. He had never felt the sheer feeling of lightning dancing on his tongue that he did when Harry kissed him.
            Still, none of the people he'd kissed had been as powerful as Harry, either. There was truth to those rumors that you could tell when you were kissing great magic, after all.
            Malfoy draped himself over Neville's shoulder and murmured in what could have been a question addressed to one or both of them, "Mind if I cut in?" He then reached further down Neville's chest, bare from untying the clasp of his robe at the collar, and leaned until he could kiss a corner of Neville's mouth that Harry wasn't occupying.
            The taste wasn't the same, and neither was the sensation, a low and lazy curl of pleasure and coolness. But Neville turned his head further into the kiss with Malfoy, and let the one with Harry go. Kissing Harry was wonderful and made him uneasy at the same time, as if he was in a flying carriage with horses he couldn't control.
            Harry rolled back from them, eyes bright with something that wasn't power, that was more like mischief, and Neville found himself relaxing without meaning to. From the way Malfoy snorted, Neville reckoned he understood.
            Malfoy took over the kiss completely. He did it competently, too, his fingers resting on Neville's shoulders and then on his chin and then on his eyelids, gentle, pressing down, urging Neville to close his eyes on a scene he could never have imagined closing them to. Neville didn't think it was his imagination that Harry was moving around the room, still comfortably naked, rearranging their robes into a pile in the corner and spelling the fire warmer.
            Neville did open his eyes abruptly when he found himself sprawled naked on the bed with that hot, powerful kiss he recognized moving down his belly.
            Harry grinned at him from between Neville's legs, as he'd been between Malfoy's. "If you mind, I'll stop," he said obligingly, and then blew damply over Neville's cock, which--he could acknowledge this now, having taken the step into courage--was hard and bright pink.
            Neville said, "I don't mind." Malfoy had drawn back from his mouth so he could speak, and he was glad of what he'd chosen to say, because Harry's eyes had brightened in proportion to his giving permission.
            Harry dived back into what looked like enthusiastic pursuit of his task, while Malfoy smiled and draped an arm around Neville's shoulders, turning him towards him.
            "I wonder," Malfoy said, "what it's like to have my cock touched by someone who's getting his sucked. We've never tried. Harry's far too clumsy to do it." Harry snorted from around Neville's cock, which made Neville arch his back in response. It felt too wonderful to do anything else.
            But Malfoy was doing something that demanded his attention: taking Neville's hand and guiding it down between Malfoy's legs. "Gently, now," Malfoy gasped, and Neville thought he must have squeezed too hard already.
            It was strange, to feel his fingers tracing veins that he couldn't see because his eyes kept shutting from the wonderful heat and pressure around his cock, but whenever he ran abruptly out of flesh to palm, Malfoy would take his hand and guide it back. And during the snatched glimpses he could get of Malfoy's face when his eyes were open and able to focus, Neville could see the way Malfoy's expressions fleeted and passed across it: pleasure, shock, surprise, wonder, enjoyment.
            Malfoy had never been so open to Neville, even though they'd been working at the same school for two years. Neville wanted to keep that experience, treasure it, although he wasn't sure what he would do with it.
            Malfoy finally noticed Neville was watching him, during one of the moments when Harry's suction was lighter, and he leaned in and kissed Neville with his cool mouth again. Cool and exciting. Neville let his tongue entwine with Malfoy's, and stroked his cock with a cupped hand that made Malfoy hiss into their embrace.
            And then, abruptly, Harry's mouth came down with a suck that drove the orgasm out of Neville, powerful and boneless.
            He did that on bloody purpose, Neville thought, distant and dazed, as he felt Malfoy take up his hand and rub fiercely against it. A second later, the flush of heat and flash of wetness on his hand meant Malfoy had come as well. Neville rolled his head in that direction, trying to see Malfoy's face open, the way it had been, and discovered that he was lying back on the pillows of the bed. He hadn't intended for that to happen. He didn't remember doing so.
            He was about to ask how he had, when Harry's face appeared above him, and his warm mouth came down on Neville's again.
            Neville had expected an unpleasant taste, but it wasn't there, not really. What was there was the same power that was making Neville stir and harden again, and he uttered a moaning protest. Harry drew back, the brightness in his smile a little dimmed.
            "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? It happens, sometimes, when my magic jumps." Harry shook his head in what looked like self-condemnation. "That's why I can't stroke Draco when he has me in his mouth. It's bloody embarrassing."
            "I just...wasn't prepared." Neville wanted to chase that frown away, and he reached out a hand. "Come on, Harry. What was it?"
            Harry rolled back to his side, looking at him wistfully. Neville felt as though his soul was swaying in the blast of a hot wind. Harry could talk all he liked about wands and prophecies and Deathly Hallows and so on, but this was the essential core of him, the power that moved people, the magic that had kept Neville and the others hoping through that long, dreadful year at Hogwarts under the power of the Carrows and Snape. It was just as well that Harry had never decided he should be a Dark Lord. He would have had most of the British wizarding world on his side before one could say snap.
            "Can I be inside you?" Harry whispered. He'd probably been about to use a different word, Neville thought, and then sheered away from it at the last minute. From the side, he heard Malfoy give a snort, if a sated and exhausted one, that said plainly what he thought about that shyness.
            But Neville thought it was adorable. He nodded and then laughed and said, "I don't have any idea how you go about getting ready for this."
            "With my wand," said Malfoy, and picked it up. He had a grin on his face that made Neville squirm a little, although he didn't think it was demeaning, exactly. Just excited, as though Malfoy was imagining himself in Neville's place. "These are spells that will loosen you, relax you, make you lubed up, and put lube on Harry's cock, okay? They'll tickle if you've never felt them before, but they'll get you ready as soon as possible."
            If he can mention them all so casually, he'll have cast them a lot, Neville reasoned, to calm his own pounding heart. And Harry was giving Malfoy a look of approval that made Neville even calmer.
            He did raise his head to get more of that intoxicating kiss from Harry's mouth. It was so much harder to think, to be afraid, when Harry's magic was passing into him and the sensations in his arse seemed distant. And at least Harry gasped a little when Malfoy's spell slicked him up, too. So that was all right.
            Then Harry eased his way back down to the bottom of the bed, and looked at something on Neville's own arse invisible to Neville, and he was burning with embarrassment again. At least he thought someone would have trouble telling it through the general flush of exertion and all the sweat that had made pour out of him.
            From the way Harry looked up a second later, and Malfoy was sitting off to the side, leisurely working over his own nipples with one slow-moving hand, Neville suddenly didn't think he'd have anything to worry about even if they did notice.
            "Ready?" Harry whispered, and waited a long moment after Neville's nod, as though he was the one who wasn't sure if he was ready, until he eased forwards and into Neville's body.
            The sensation of being entered wasn't as foreign as Neville had imagined it would be, although he hadn't done this with the only other bloke he'd ever kissed. That hadn't progressed beyond sloppy kisses in several places, really.
            It was more like Harry's power had been outside him, and now it was inside. And tingling in several different, pleasant places. Neville blinked, and then blinked again. Now the power spread out through his limbs, hardening his cock even more than it had already, and--
            And utterly lacking the distressing edge it'd had before, when he was only feeling it through Harry's kiss. Now it was warming his belly and blazing in his stomach, and Neville laughed aloud.
            Malfoy stopped touching himself in surprise. Harry caught his gaze, and laughed.
            "I'm so glad that you can feel it that way, too," he said, and bent over to kiss Neville, which for a second made Neville worry that the disquieting sensations would come back.
            But they didn't. The circling sensation of the magic told him it had joined up from either end, arse and mouth, like a snake biting its own tail, and wasn't that an image? Neville laughed this time from the force of his own thoughts, and Harry laughed back and began to move with deep thrusts that soon weren't deep enough. Neville heard himself urging Harry on, with a voice that didn't sound like his own but was. He'd just never been ragged enough with passion before.
            Harry was panting, his eyes glowing as they had with the light from the fire. Malfoy twined off to the side like one of the chimeras on the carpet that Harry had Transfigured from stone, now and then glancing a hand down Neville's side, now draping an arm over Harry's shoulder as he had done to Neville when they first kissed, now catching Neville's gaze and mouthing something that Neville didn't even try to understand. He knew he couldn't share the depth of the connection that bound Harry and Malfoy, whatever it had been and wherever it had begun.
            What mattered was the sheer easiness, the joy, of the moment, the feeling of flying without wings, the feeling of the moment when he had seen Harry step into the Room of Requirement. Or even when he had cut the head off that giant snake, and known the war would be won, after all.
            It whirled him back to earth, at last, and this time his orgasm was pitifully small compared to what he had achieved with Malfoy. Even Harry's magic couldn't give him a complete second wind. But Harry seemed pleased enough, bending down and murmuring responses, rough endearments, against Neville's neck in the moment before he too, came, with a grunt and a thrust.
            Malfoy kissed Harry's sweaty back as he lay on Neville, in the ensuing silence. He met Neville's gaze, hesitated, and then leaned over and kissed him, too. His mouth was still cooler than Harry's.
            In the moments that followed, still silent, Neville wound one arm around Harry's waist and stretched out the other to clasp Malfoy's hand. He doubted that he knew what would happen when Harry stirred again and Malfoy found his voice. He only knew that it wouldn't lead him to regret that single moment of bright courage.
            There was no possible way to regret this.
            The End.
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Once a Lion