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schemingreaderI know very well that anyone who read even two of my previous fics would be able to tell this was mine. Also, if you find the other typo that I saw during the fest but can't find at the moment, let me know. I'll write you a smutlet a la busaikko.
Title: The Awakening
Author:schemingreader
Pairing/Threesomes: Harry/Draco, Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco/Snape
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, graphic description of a variety of sexual acts including threesome sex
Author's Note: I wrote this for hds beltane as a pinch hit. My gracious beta readers wereannafugazzi, liseuse, rexluscus, and regan_v. I need to note that the idea of summoning someone by magic during a non-magical religious ceremony was the one thing that stuck with me from casually skimming Starhawk's book The Fifth Sacred Thing.
The Awakening
It was not easy to get a divorce in Wizarding Britain. Bureaucratic obstacles aside--and what obstacle was it, really, for a witch to fill out forms in triplicate?--the nature of wizarding marriage ceremonies required a huge show of magical force. Most people were, if not content to stay married, intimidated by the prospect of having to attend a session of the Wizengamot just to dissolve the marriage bonds.
It was nothing Harry would have ever chosen on his own. He could live with Ginny. It wasn't so bad, he thought. Molly nagged Arthur, after all, and they loved each other. It must mean that Ginny loved him, too.
Around the time he turned 40, she stopped nagging and became very agreeable. He didn't think it meant anything--perhaps he was finally getting things right. When she told him, quietly, that she wanted a divorce, his ears rang and he felt like the bottom was falling out of the world.
The great hall of wizards, some of whom were his contemporaries, was full, but he didn't see their faces. Staring straight in front of him at the floor, he responded when they spoke to him, ritual words to unbind him from his wife. She was right that he didn't love her. He wanted to love her. He liked her. He respected her, but she was right--that was not the same. Surely it was better this way, but it felt like dying. He had wanted a family so much.
After it was over, he went to the men's restroom toilets in the Ministry corridor down one of the labyrinthine Ministry corridors. He sat in a stall, alone for once. Other couples were having divorce ceremonies today, but they didn't have to deal with the bleeding Wizarding press, did they? It was not surprising to him to hear a man bang into the room, swearing, and see him kick the sink. After all, it was what he'd wanted to do--break something.
No, the surprise was that it was Draco Malfoy, crying in another bathroom, twenty years after the first time. He looked up into the mirror and saw Harry.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Harry said.
"Fuck you, Potter." Even though he looked angry, Malfoy was still crying.
"What happened?"
"Fuck you," Malfoy said. "Fuck you."
Harry moved forward on an impulse he couldn't identify. Perhaps he had intended to punch Malfoy, or to grab him, but as he moved toward him he saw the crumpled anguish of that familiar face. He didn't know he was going to embrace him until he had his arms around the other man. Malfoy's hands were trapped at his sides and he put his head on Harry's. He was shaking. Harry wanted to hush him, tell him it was all right, that he knew all about how much it hurt, but he would only be reassuring himself. He couldn't say anything.
Malfoy grabbed at him, pulling him closer. He had an erection.
Harry's breath caught. Oh. He hadn't been thinking about sex. That had been Ginny's main complaint--he was never thinking about sex. He must be gay, she'd said. Well, maybe he was. He had only hugged Malfoy because he was feeling like such utter crap and thought Malfoy must be, too. He had compassion, or pity, or self pity, and now Malfoy thought he was coming on to him, hugging in a bathroom.
He pulled back to look at Malfoy, who opened his eyes. His face was covered with light-coloured stubble, the rims of his eyelids were red and his lips were bitten. He was still a beautiful bastard, wasn't he, with his cheekbones that could cut glass and his pale eyelashes.
Then he was kissing Harry. His mouth tasted a little stale and Harry wasn't expecting to kiss in the bathroom. He wasn't expecting to kiss anyone, ever, not anyone, ever again, and he was kissing Draco Malfoy against a bathroom sink. He pressed his body against Malfoy's. Everything in him was stirred--his cock hard, his heart beating hard against his ribs, and everything echoing against the hard marble of the room. Malfoy bit his earlobe and Harry pressed and pressed his erection against Malfoy's thigh.
Malfoy grabbed Harry's arse with both hands and turned them, so that Harry had his back to the sink. "I got divorced today, too," he said, and kissed Harry again. He dropped to his knees.
"What are you--" It was a stupid question. Malfoy had opened Harry's robes and was mouthing him through his trousers. His breath was hot on the head of Harry's cock, and Harry could feel the moisture of his tongue through the fabric.
"Alohomora," Malfoy murmured. Harry'd never heard that used to open someone's flies before, but he didn't have long enough to think about it before Draco Malfoy had taken his whole cock down his throat. Then he eased back and sucked Harry down again.
It was hot and wet and Harry hadn't even imagined anything like it. Malfoy sucked hard, letting Harry's cock emerge with soft, wet pops, looking up and taking the cock back into his mouth. He teased the head with his tongue, sucked, teased, sucked.
Harry realized that his eyes were closed. He looked down and saw that Malfoy was looking up at him, his eyes wide and grey. Malfoy seemed to smile around Harry's prick, and that was what did it.
"I'm going to come," Harry said, much louder than he meant to say it, and Malfoy, far from pulling off, took him down his throat. Harry could feel him swallow, and he came into Malfoy's mouth, his one involuntary cry reverberating off of the tiled walls.
Harry's prick was still hanging out as he sagged against the sink. Malfoy stood and pushed his hair back. "See you around," he said, and Apparated.
Harry pulled himself together. His face was red. He felt a little stunned. Once he had assured himself that he'd fastened his clothes, he walked out. Hermione was waiting for him in his office on the second floor, to take him to dinner.
Harry was lying in one of the beds in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at the ceiling. He was tempted to watch them again, Snape's memories of his mother, but he knew he shouldn't. A real wizard would have used the Pensieve to examine his own memories. That's what Dumbledore had intended when he left Harry the magical device.
Hermione thought he could find out why his marriage hadn't worked out, if he would only look at his memories. She thought Ginny had tired of Harry's emotional reaction to his job as an Auror. Harry had thought that idea had merit, right up until the moment when Malfoy kissed him.
He didn't even like Draco Malfoy. Yes, he'd grown up to be a decent human being, but it wasn't as though he'd ever exchanged more than a civil greeting with Harry.
Though fellatio was more than civil. Harry couldn't help it; he unzipped his jeans and started stroking himself. He imagined, as he often did at such moments, Snape as a teenager, lying on his bed and wanking, as he had in one of the memories Snape gave him as he was dying. He was thinking about Harry's mother, a beautiful red-headed witch.
That's how Harry had thought it should be. The young wizard, dark inside, who falls in love and is redeemed by a loving witch with red hair. He would be like Snape--loyal, true and brave--but he would win the girl and he would turn aside the darkness. Flowers would spring open in Ginny's palms, as they had in Lily's, for Harry. For Harry.
But like Snape he couldn't keep a witch's love, and like Snape he was alone, lying on a bed, wanking. Only he was 40, and Snape hadn't even lived to be 40.
He could imagine Snape a little too well, on that bed. He'd watched the memory too many times. Snape's cock was large, and Harry had watched his long hands, his index finger and thumb a delicate ring moving against the blunt head of his penis. His belly was young and flat, and his black body hair stood out against the sallow pallor of his skin. His eyelids drooped ecstatically over his dark eyes.
Harry had watched it again and again, never acknowledging to himself that he was turned on by Snape's body. He always thought he watched that memory because he identified with Snape, or wanted to see him as a person. But that was the strength of his self-delusion. It wasn't any of those things that helped him memorize Snape's protruding lower lip, his harsh breaths, the corded muscle in his forearm as he stroked himself. It was the erotic power of seeing another young man touch his own body.
He imagined that he was in the room with Snape. Draco Malfoy was there too. He would watch them kiss, first. A shiver of pleasure ran through him. Which would be the most beautiful to imagine--Draco young and Snape middle-aged, as he was before he died? Snape young and Harry young, and Draco middle-aged and jealous? Harry middle-aged, watching the two of them.
What would it be like to suck another man's cock? He was very hard now. He flexed his hips, imagining one man behind him and one in front, one taking him in and the other fucking him. Fucking him in the arse. He exhaled through his nose. Shit. He could get fucked in the arse. He parted his cheeks, feeling the air touch him there, and came hard, his semen shooting forward in an arc as he arched off the bed.
There were some ways that Harry was brave, and some ways that he was passive, even timid. That had been Ginny's other complaint about him. He wouldn't see Malfoy for another month when they went to pick up their children at the end of the term. Harry thought of what he could write to Malfoy, what he would say if he Floo-called him. Then he did nothing. He went to work and wrote his children owls at school, and wanked and slept and dreamed strange dreams.
The Ministry of Magic assigned him to go to a Passover seder. They wanted an Auror to observe whether the ghost of Elijah the prophet was being raised from the dead and drawn to Anthony Goldstein's grandmother's house in Manchester. (No, but Anthony's Nana had cast some delicious charms on the gefilte fish, and she'd fed him quite a lot of it.) The moon was full that night, of course, and Harry went to bed long after midnight and dreamed that he was his patronus, the great horned stag, chasing the characters in the Passover song about the baby goat.
When he returned from Manchester, he was assigned to monitor a Beltane celebration at Silbury Hill. He had a month between Passover and Beltane to read and prepare. Ever since he'd been assigned to the religion detail, he'd been reading strange spells that wizards might use in religious ceremonies.
He didn't know exactly where Malfoy Manor was in relation to the sacred hill, but in his dreams, the Beltane fires were built there. He dreamed again of being a stag under the full moon. He was jumping with his stag legs over flames, flying through the air.
He woke hard as a rock. What did that mean? Harry's dreams were crazy. They always meant something, but he never found anyone to tell him what it was.
He took his assignments seriously, even though none of these ritual practices ever turned out to be magical, no matter who reported their concerns. Pagan, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Church of England--all of the holidays were excuses for families to get together, to eat and drink and maybe sing. It wasn't a bad duty for Harry, who usually found a warm welcome. He thought it was sad that wizards were so suspicious of anything foreign, since most of the complaints were about minority religions. Floating as he was in a haze of grief for his sundered marriage bond and a cloud of confusion about his sexuality, the easy assignments were good for him.
It wouldn't be easy to see Malfoy again, however. Malfoy's family home was in Wiltshire, not too far from the site. He hoped Malfoy thought such religious rituals were beneath him, or something like that.
Hermione was always ready to help him with finding the right books on the intersection of magic and religion, but he didn't like spending time in their house as much as he had before the divorce. Ron's eyes on him always looked so mournful, even though Ron didn't blame him. He hoped.
The Black family library was full of books on sacred rituals to gain power. He learned that the Avebury Pilgrimage, usually thought of as a way to ensure fertility, could also be a place of darker rituals. For most who practiced the Old Ways in Britain, whether self-consciously Wiccan or just old-fashioned, Beltane was an ordinary family party sort of holiday, with hawthorn trees to decorate and crosses of rowan wood to hang over the door. It was a ritual of bonfires and engagements to be married. Some Muggles had attempted to revive the practice of the sacred marriage between the Horned God and the Moon Goddess.
Harry should have known that Sirius' family would have a record of another ritual to raise the dead. You would think such things only happened at Samhain, when the barrier between the living and the dead was thinned. The Horned God, who accompanied the spirits of the dead to the underworld, could be placated through special rituals and sacrifices to release one of his own.
Harry had so many beloved dead. His parents, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, even Snape--he wished he could call them all back. His job was to stop any Beltane necromancy, though, not to use it for his own ends. In any case, necromancy had a bad name among wizards. If murder split the soul, what necromancy did was considered so much worse that no one would talk about it.
"Just as long as I don't get the burnt bit of the Beltane cake," Harry muttered. "I don't want to pretend to be dead again. Once was more than enough." Though through all his reading those three weeks, he kept dreaming that he was a stag, leaping over the reaching flames.
A day before he was meant to be in Salisbury for the celebration, he learned that Draco Malfoy was his host. What if Malfoy was the one who wanted to do the necromancy? He'd hardly invite the Ministry into his house.
"That won't be awkward, will it?" The witch who made the arrangements for him to stay with Anthony Goldstein's mum for Passover and with Padma and her husband for Diwali knew he'd been to Hogwarts with Malfoy. "You get along with Mr. Malfoy, right?"
"Right," Harry said. Awkward wasn't the word. He'd last been in Malfoy's house when he was a prisoner at age 17. He'd last seen Malfoy in the bathroom at the Ministry--with his trousers down. "It's fine."
Malfoy met him at the door to the Manor. He was acting strangely--he was very polite. There was a wreath of hawthorn blossoms on the front door.
"Thank you for having me," Harry said, and blushed, but Malfoy didn't leer. He was a little subdued, Harry thought.
"Oh, certainly, Auror Potter," Malfoy said, presumably for the benefit of the human staff member who was arranging flowers in his living room. "I'm delighted to be of service to the Ministry. Let me show you your room, and then if you would like to be part of our household ceremony, we are going to put out the hearth fire."
Harry nodded. Malfoy walked him down a corridor. The house had been redecorated since they were teenagers, which was good. It no longer had an air of menace. Somehow it was lighter, perhaps because they had changed the curtains and repainted the walls. It was a little like a museum--the quiet and the institutional quality of the mint green of the carpets on the pale varnished wood of the floors.
"My ex-wife redecorated the house," Malfoy said. "My mother thought it looked like a Swedish spa."
Thought. He hadn't seen an obituary. Malfoy smiled at him.
"Good heavens, Potter, don't look so tragic. She hasn't died, she's only gone to Mexico."
"Not Paris?"
Malfoy smirked. "French family name, right. No, she's always been interested in pre-Columbian art. She's volunteering on an archaeological dig."
"I'm glad she's doing well," Harry said.
Malfoy nodded. "Last of the Blacks," he said. Right. Malfoy was a Black, too. He might know the exact version of the spell that Harry had seen in the Black family library. Perhaps he was being pleasant because he wanted to use Harry in the ritual. Harry didn't sense that in anything Malfoy was doing, though. Confusing.
He stopped at the door of one of the rooms, and opened the door. "Thanks for agreeing to stay here," he said. He stood there awkwardly, as though he and Harry had never touched each other. "Meet me in the kitchen in about 40 minutes for the hearth ritual."
"Thanks," Harry said, and nearly put out his hand to shake Malfoy's, but Malfoy turned too quickly.
The kitchen had a hearth, a real one, like a fireplace. It was some kind of historical reconstruction. Malfoy introduced Harry to his housekeeper, gardener, and a near neighbour. They read a short blessing in transliterated Old English from some kind of pamphlet, and then Malfoy extinguished the fire.
"Thanks for staying late," he told the servants. "I'll see you next week."
The neighbour smiled at Harry shyly. "Draco invited me along, but I'm afraid paganism isn't my cup of tea."
"Church of England?" Harry asked politely.
"No--I don't like religion. Can't see the point of it, really."
Harry smiled. He would have said the same, before the last nine months of festivals. He still didn't believe in any of the religions, but he was rather looking forward to the bonfire and the ritual placating of predatory animals.
"Just you and me then," he said to Malfoy, who coloured. They walked out the back door into the field. Harry could see others converging on the mound in the distance. "Do we have to bring anything?"
"I've brought our share," Malfoy said. They hiked another 25 minutes in silence.
At the top, he and Malfoy were the only wizards, as far as he could tell. So much for Harry's worries about magical rituals. Instead there were some very ordinary English country people, the sort with dogs and boots and rosy cheeks, some goofy hippie types, and a few little children running about underfoot. Just the sort of thing he liked. A lot of women were wearing long dresses to look like the Queen of the May--he thought they must be freezing. Perhaps that was why everyone had bottles of cider. It was not Malfoy's scene, or he wouldn't have thought so. Maybe Malfoy had changed. He was being awfully pleasant to Harry.
He found the people who were setting up the fire and offered to help carry the wood where it was needed. Soon he was ferrying things back and forth, and helping get the fire started.
Malfoy knew a lot of people at the bonfire site and went off to greet them. Harry didn't think Malfoy would have invited someone from the Ministry to stay in his house if he'd intended to violate the Statute of Secrecy or do anything dark. He relaxed his guard a bit. A team of morris dancers arrived and set up a maypole, and some people started playing pipes and drums, and they danced, which could have been embarrassing but Harry was getting used to this sort of thing.
At least he didn't have to dance, or wear ribbons on his knees. One of the dancers did put a wreath of flowers in his hair.
Once the fire was going, someone brought out the Beltane Cake. Harry had thought they would bake it right there, but someone had made it at home in the oven. It didn't look like a rude blob of oatmeal as he'd imagined, but like a birthday cake.
Ah well. First machine-made matzah with perforations, now this. Whoever wrote the books he was using for his research was too romantic. He'd thought they would mix the cake over the fire, like a potion in a cauldron. This cake had icing.
He didn't eat his piece right away, which was smart, because they did have to throw pieces out to appease the fox and the eagle. Finally, though, they ate the cake.
He bit into his piece. It was rich and spicy, chewy with the oats, with a dark treacle or molasses flavour, like sticky toffee pudding. He chewed, and it felt like he'd been chewing for a long time. His head was starting to buzz. The people in the crowd looked further away, and the moon and stars much closer. It felt like they were encroaching on the fire, they were so close.
"Are you all right?" Someone had a hand on his arm.
Harry nodded and smiled. "What's in the cake?" he tried to say, but nothing came out.
Malfoy had the piece for the sacrifice. It wasn't burnt, it was iced black. Everyone started laughing and shoving him. Harry was getting nervous. Malfoy was stepping toward the bonfire, measuring, about to leap through it. He took a running start. Harry thought this was not a good idea. It reminded him of something, Malfoy and the flames, something he didn't like.
"Draco," he said, "hang on, I'll get you out of there." He pulled up on his broom--but he wasn't riding a broom this time--but he was jumping, high above the flames, and then he was in the air. It was like one of his dreams when he was the stag, or like his mother in Snape's memory, leaping from a swing. It was so much easier than he thought, this flying without a broom.
When he came down, they were on the other side of the hill.
"What the hell," Malfoy said.
"I think there were some drugs in that cake," Harry said.
"We're going to have to send someone to do Memory Charms on all of those people," Malfoy said.
"Don't you feel high?" Harry asked.
"I'm a little too shaky right now," Malfoy said. "Maybe. How do you feel?"
Harry looked at him. "Horny," he said, and laughed. "Like the Horned King. Did you do this?"
"What? Make you horny?" Malfoy gave him a mischievous look. Harry nudged him a little with his shoulder.
"This is what I missed, not being friends with you," Harry said. "Being, you know, on the same--on the same side."
"I didn't know you played for my side," Malfoy joked.
They came to a lone hawthorn tree. It looked like it was full of stars.
"Are you going to work a spell?" Harry asked.
"Yes, I'm sure I will, but what do you mean, Potter? You do seem stoned."
"To bring Snape back to life. Isn't that what you want me here to help you do?"
"What?"
"When we fuck," Harry explained. "When we fuck against this tree."
"Are we going to fuck?"
"Don't you want to?" Harry was confused. He pulled Malfoy into his arms, and kissed him. Malfoy turned and began to rub his arse suggestively against the front of Harry's jeans. "Yes, you want to," he said, running his hands over Malfoy's flies. He could feel the erection pressing there.
"Have you done this before?" Malfoy asked breathlessly.
"What, brought someone back from the dead? Only with the Resurrection Stone."
"No," Malfoy said.
"Oh. The fucking part. No, but I thought you'd tell me if I got it wrong," Harry said. He had to concentrate to get the buttons on Malfoy's shirt undone, and then he realized he'd done the rest with magic. "Wizards should not get high," he said. He dropped to his knees behind Malfoy and pushed down his trousers and his pants at one go. "There's something I want to try," he said, and bit Malfoy on the buttock. Malfoy yelped. Then Harry parted his buttocks and started to lick the crack of his arse.
"Oh," Malfoy said. "Oh, Harry." Harry wanted to laugh, but concentrated instead on licking. "Oh God, oh God," Malfoy said.
"I like Harry better," Harry muttered.
"Don't stop," Malfoy begged. Harry started to put his fingers in, and Malfoy made more noises.
"Have you done it before?" Harry asked. But Malfoy turned his head to one side and shut his eyes, and didn't say. Harry Summoned some broomstick wax, because he thought it might fly to him like his broom did. He opened the jar.
"Broomstick wax," Malfoy said. "It smells so good."
"You're high, too." It did, though.
"Grease it up," he said, "grease up that maypole, grease it," but Harry was putting the lubricant all over his arse. "Here, I'll do it, Potter," Malfoy said. "Harry Potter, give me that broomstick wax," he said. Harry snickered, and then groaned. Malfoy was slicking Harry's cock.
"Hold on to the tree and we'll say the spell," Harry said.
"I don't know it," Malfoy said. He bent over, showing his arse. Harry pulled his cheeks apart and started to fit his cock into Malfoy's ripe, pink arsehole.
"But you're a Black," Harry said. "It's your spell, oh guh uh--" His cock slid into the hot tightness of Malfoy's bum. "Oh Draco. Oh I love this."
"Love me," Malfoy said, and Harry said, "Yes," and then they were both quiet except for grunts of exertion.
"Come back, cailleach bealtine," Harry said, "come back to the Horned God who brought you down to death. Come back to the Sun and the Queen of the May."
"Which am I?" Malfoy said. "Harder."
Harry stopped reciting and just fucked for a few strokes, his balls slapping Malfoy's white arse. It was so tight and hot, he was afraid he wouldn't last long enough to complete the Black family spell. "Say it," he said.
"I love you," he said.
Harry stopped. "You didn't bring me here to say the spell?"
"No. Don't stop, Harry, it feels so good."
I love this, Harry thought. I love this, but do I love him? He wished like hell he knew how to bring Snape back, just to ask him a question about true love. He pushed in harder, and Malfoy said, "I'm going to come!" and his arse pulsed around Harry's cock. Harry got in one more thrust before he was overwhelmed and came, too.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking at Severus Snape. He sucked in a breath as Malfoy screamed.
There were a few truly horrible moments with Malfoy crying and hopping up and down in the nude and Snape shouting in a panic. Harry flung his arms wide and grabbed Malfoy, hugging him close, until he calmed down and could pull on his trousers.
"What have you done?" Snape asked. "I was in the Shrieking Shack, and you appeared out of nowhere, and now where are we? Potter, have you used a Time Turner?"
Malfoy was weeping. "Professor, you're alive!" He couldn't look at him, but shaded his eyes with one hand.
"Draco," Snape said, and his voice was almost gentle. "What happened here?"
"Harry thought I wanted to bring you back to life, so--"
"I was dead?"
Harry realized that he, too, was crying. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "It was my fault you died."
"It most certainly was not," Snape said. He came down to sit where they were huddled under the tree, and touched their arms. They each looked at him. "You're middle-aged men," Snape said. "Fully-grown wizards. Stop crying." Malfoy sniffled.
"Someone drugged us at Beltane," Harry said. "Also, I saw you die and--"
"I remember that," Snape said slowly. "What do you mean, someone drugged you?"
"I put hashish in the Beltane Cake," Malfoy admitted.
"Wait, what?" Harry sat back against the tree trunk.
"I also gave the Ministry the anonymous tip about magic at Beltane," Malfoy said. "I didn't know about the Black family spell. I just wanted to have sex with you."
"You didn't know?" Harry was confused. "But wasn't I compelled to help you by the stuff in the cake? Oh God, you didn't mean for me to help with the spell."
"You did it all yourself. You're very powerful," Malfoy said.
"You are buffoons," Snape said. "Buffoons who raised me from the dead." He started to shake. "I'm--I'm terribly cold."
"Let's get him home," Harry said.
"But he's--" Malfoy said. "Isn't he dead?"
"He's cold. Let's get him home," Harry said. He put an arm around Snape, who didn't shake him off. "Can you Apparate us like this?"
"What, high?" Malfoy said, and he did it.
They were all three very hungry when they got into Malfoy's kitchen--Snape because he had presumably been dead until recently, and the two of them because they'd been stoned and then fucking. They were all cold. Malfoy made sandwiches with bread and butter and cucumbers, and they had some cheese.
"I don't feel dead," Snape kept saying. "I feel fine. I should feel ill, shouldn't I?"
"Have another cup of tea," Harry said. He'd put the kettle on as soon as they got in. He poured another cup of the strong tea Snape seemed to like from Malfoy's brown betty teapot.
"You have grey in your hair," Snape said. "You don't look like your father anymore."
Malfoy looked glum. "You aren't angry that he brought you back to life?"
"Not bloody likely," Snape said. "I went through quite a bit to keep you alive and safe, both of you, it's the least you can do for me."
"It wasn't me," Draco said. He hunched down.
"Yes, it was," Harry said. "It's not as though I could perform sex magic all by myself."
"True, and this isn't the sort of spell that works with casual sex. Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy was your one true love?" Snape's tone was neutral, but he was sneering.
"Not me," Harry blurted. Malfoy looked hurt for a split second.
"Just like you to play with others' affections," Snape said. "One might have thought you would have changed since adolescence."
"It wasn't like that--" Harry began. "For one thing, I was married until two months ago. This," he gestured at Malfoy,"is recent."
"How old are you now, Potter?"
"I'm 40," he said.
"And exactly when did you understand that you were gay?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Tonight." The other two men began to laugh. "Wait! I mean, I did know, on some level, that I felt attracted, but... I did have three children with my wife--with my ex-wife. I hadn't thought I was really interested in men."
"You were interested in other boys at school," Malfoy said.
"I noticed it, too," Snape said. "But then I always noticed which boys were queer. Even when I was a queer schoolboy myself. "
"I thought you loved my mum," Harry said. "I thought she was your true love, and you never loved another woman."
"That's right," Snape said. "I did love her, more than anyone." His expression was soft, as though finally, just a little of that love had transferred to Harry. "I would have done anything for her. I did."
"Listen to yourself," Malfoy said to Harry. "Never loved another woman. You're awfully slow."
"Stop gaping at him, Potter," Snape said. "At any rate, I'm not complaining. You figured out your sexuality in time to revive me from the dead, and with sufficient force that my body is in better shape than I have a right to expect. Not that I had any expectations. You must have fucked with quite a lot of enthusiasm."
"You do look good," Harry said. "You're younger than I am, now." He began to play with Snape's hand where it lay on the table.
"Are you flirting with me, Potter?"
"What happens if I am?"
Snape looked into his eyes.
"I could go again," Harry blurted. Now Malfoy looked quite miserable. "You up for it, Draco?"
"I thought you were flirting with Snape," Malfoy said sulkily.
"I was," Harry said. He looked at Malfoy significantly. "Have you ever done a threesome before?"
"It's the hashish talking," Malfoy said. "Makes you think you're the Horned God." He paced the kitchen a bit. "I don't want to be your experiment, Potter, and I don't want to get between the two of your in your epic quest for true love."
Professor Snape got up from his chair, put his arms around Malfoy's shoulders, and kissed him. They were the same height. Malfoy's eyes closed and he hummed. Snape ran his long fingers through Malfoy's light hair with one hand; with the other, he caressed a muscular buttock. Harry stood up so quickly that his chair clattered on the flagstone floor. "There," Snape said. "A bit opportunistic, but you're certainly of age now."
Malfoy looked at him. "So that's how it was." His expression was a little dazed from the kiss.
"No, that's how it is. It was never how it was."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "All right, an experiment, but I'm not doing anything without a shower first."
Harry had thought they would shower together, but Snape said he didn't do that, so they each showered alone. By the time Snape came back to the guest room, toweling his hair, Draco was nearly asleep. He was under the covers, and Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel around his waist.
Snape's bathrobe was tightly wrapped around him.
"Were you really dead?" Harry had to ask it.
Malfoy sat up a little.
Snape shook his head. "I don't remember. Were you?"
"I wasn't," Harry said, "though Voldemort did try. Three times."
"Don't say his name," Snape said automatically.
"He's dead," Harry said. "He's been dead for 22 years. Dumbledore was right."
"Sex, not death," Malfoy said. "Death later. I'm too sleepy."
"Have you ever done it before?" Harry asked Malfoy.
"Which? Died? Been fucked against a tree? Had sex with two people? Eaten hashish?" Malfoy flung himself back down on the pillows. "I've had sex with a man before, but not outside. Not with a Horned God. You fulfilled a fantasy for me."
"Really?" Harry felt terribly flattered. Snape laughed. He had a deep voice and his laugh was dark and seductive. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."
"Did you want to?"
They were sitting side by side on the bed. Snape's eyes, at close range, were quite large, and the darkness of the irises was variegated. "Yes, I think I did."
"What else did you want?" Snape put his hand on Harry's bare thigh, his index finger touching the skin under the towel around Harry's waist.
"You want to hear what I...what I was thinking about?"
"Yes," Snape said. "Tell me what you were thinking would happen." His voice was still the same commanding, low baritone. He moved his hand up beneath the towel, stroking back and forth idly from Harry's thigh to his hip bone.
"I had more than one fantasy," Harry began. "I imagined that I would be spit-roasted," he said. It was hard to get the words out. They were thick in his throat.
"What does that mean?" Snape asked.
"It means he wants a cock in his mouth and one in his arse," Malfoy said. Harry pulled the blankets off of Malfoy's naked body. He was hard. In the light of the lamp, Harry could see the pale colour of Malfoy's body hair, as though his chest and stomach and balls were gilded. His nipples were the most lusciously vulnerable pink. Harry leaned forward to put one in his mouth, and Snape pulled off Harry's towel. Harry crouched, arse up, giving Snape access to touch him.
A long-fingered hand palmed one of Harry's buttocks, and squeezed gently. "I have another fantasy," Harry told Malfoy's neck. Malfoy squirmed under him. "I imagined that I was fucking and being fucked."
Malfoy made a noise like, "Mmm." Snape touched Harry's bollocks, letting them hang in his hand.
"I imagined that you were coming on me, inside me, all over me."
"You wanted to be used that way," Snape said. Harry shivered. Snape said the word "used" as though it had a taste.
"I have lube," Malfoy said, and handed it over Harry's shoulder to Snape. "You'll need it if he's never done this."
Harry bent down and licked Malfoy's balls. He smelled good, still damp from the shower, faintly musky. "I was so turned on when you did this for me," he said. Snape parted his Harry's buttocks and stroked up and down his crack. He slid a lubricated finger over the sensitive skin of Harry's anus, and then inserted it.
"More fingers," Malfoy gasped as Harry swirled the head of his prick into his mouth. "One at a time, or it will hurt."
Harry looked up and tried to look over his shoulder at Snape's body. "Is he very big?" Malfoy could look at Snape's cock and Harry, who was about to get fucked by it, couldn't.
Malfoy pressed his head down. "Suck me. He's going to split you in two." Harry groaned around the penis in his mouth. He tried to bob his head, but he could feel that Snape was using more fingers to spread him open.
"Concentrate on sucking his cock," Snape said behind him. He worked another finger into Harry's body, and fucked two fingers in and out. Harry didn't think he could take any more. Then Snape pulled his fingers out, and began to work his cock in.
Harry nearly bit Malfoy. He definitely clamped his lips down hard as he tried to keep sucking.
"Relax," Malfoy said. "I'll fuck your mouth, just relax." He got up to his knees.
"He's so big," Harry panted. Snape pushed in all the way. Malfoy pushed his prick back into Harry's slack mouth. "Oh," Harry said. Snape was fucking him, slowly, and it felt like his whole body was taken over with it. The pressure on his balls and his cock was intense. Snape reached around to fondle him. "Oh," Harry said around Malfoy's moving prick. He was not going to last. He pushed back to encourage Snape to go faster.
Snape grunted. "Harry," he said. He fucked in and out quickly.
"I'm going to come," Harry said, and Malfoy began wanking in his face as he tried to at least lick the moving head of his cock. "Oh Draco," he said, trying to get the cock back into his mouth, and then his arse was spasming around Snape, and he was screaming from deep in his throat and Snape was fucking him deeper than he thought was possible, and he came anyway.
Dazed, he tried to lick the come from Malfoy's body.
"Stop," Draco said. He got down to Harry's face and kissed him gently.
"I'm going to pull out," Snape said. He did it very slowly.
"Will you stay with me," Harry said. "In the bed, I mean." Malfoy handed him a flannel and he wiped himself off.
"Yes," Malfoy said. Snape stood there, still wearing his bathrobe. "Is it uncomfortable for you to sleep with other people, Professor?" Malfoy asked him.
"Certainly it's the sort of discomfort that I can learn to live with," Snape said. He did look quite uncomfortable. He stretched out on the bed next to Harry. "I'm not your professor."
"Good," Harry said. He could finally put his arms around Snape, who gave a quiet grunt of surprise. "Good," but Harry was too exhausted to say why.
In the morning, Harry woke up alone. He padded down the corridors until he heard low voices in the kitchen.
"Why did he do it?" Snape asked.
"I don't know," Malfoy said.
"You don't seem very happy to see me, Draco," Snape said.
"I would be happier if you hadn't been dead for the last two decades or so," Malfoy said, "If the man I was hoping would be my boyfriend hadn't raised you from the dead."
"You want Harry Potter to be your boyfriend," Snape said.
"So?" Malfoy said. "We're adults now. A lot has happened in the last 22 years."
"Are you worried that I'll steal your boyfriend," Snape said, the sarcasm audible though his voice was almost too soft to hear.
"I did want him, but who knows what it will do to him, raising someone from the dead."
"Oh yes, how terrible, but at least he never murdered anyone for you," Snape said.
"For me! I didn't ask--You didn't murder--" Malfoy said. "Dumbledore told Harry he asked you to do it, so it's not murder."
"Does the entire wizarding world agree with Albus Dumbledore's sophistry?"
Malfoy didn't say anything. They did, of course, because Harry had made sure of it.
"You never liked Potter. Now you want him for your boyfriend and you're jealous of his magical purity," Snape said.
"He saved my life in the war," Malfoy said. "He was kind to my mother and he hugged me when I got divorced. All right? He's got tremendous magical power, pretty eyes and a nice arse, and now he's going to be in love with you instead of me."
"I can live with that," Snape said, and Harry nearly laughed out loud. "Wait. He hugged you?"
"I don't want talk about it."
Harry walked back to the end of the corridor and slipped out the door into Malfoy's garden. It was very beautiful. There was an herb garden in the shape of a Celtic knot and tulips in every colour bloomed everywhere, like parrots in the damp vivid green. Harry walked along the paths, enjoying the pleasant smell of the plants.
Human relationships were always difficult, weren't they? Adding Snape into the midst of them was possibly insane. What would he do with two such jealous and difficult lovers? He couldn't muster much worry about it. Malfoy was handsome, still rather a brat, and in love with him. Snape was brave, brilliant, impossible and had an enormous cock--and at least he wanted Harry for something.
They bickered, but that wasn't any different from Ron and Hermione. It was rather comfortable to Harry than the opposite.
He whistled "Now is the month of Maying," and the birds sang. He found a patch of lawn and lay down in the grass. Spring had come and he was happy.
busaikko.Title: The Awakening
Author:
schemingreaderPairing/Threesomes: Harry/Draco, Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco/Snape
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, graphic description of a variety of sexual acts including threesome sex
Author's Note: I wrote this for hds beltane as a pinch hit. My gracious beta readers were
annafugazzi, liseuse, rexluscus, and regan_v. I need to note that the idea of summoning someone by magic during a non-magical religious ceremony was the one thing that stuck with me from casually skimming Starhawk's book The Fifth Sacred Thing.It was not easy to get a divorce in Wizarding Britain. Bureaucratic obstacles aside--and what obstacle was it, really, for a witch to fill out forms in triplicate?--the nature of wizarding marriage ceremonies required a huge show of magical force. Most people were, if not content to stay married, intimidated by the prospect of having to attend a session of the Wizengamot just to dissolve the marriage bonds.
It was nothing Harry would have ever chosen on his own. He could live with Ginny. It wasn't so bad, he thought. Molly nagged Arthur, after all, and they loved each other. It must mean that Ginny loved him, too.
Around the time he turned 40, she stopped nagging and became very agreeable. He didn't think it meant anything--perhaps he was finally getting things right. When she told him, quietly, that she wanted a divorce, his ears rang and he felt like the bottom was falling out of the world.
The great hall of wizards, some of whom were his contemporaries, was full, but he didn't see their faces. Staring straight in front of him at the floor, he responded when they spoke to him, ritual words to unbind him from his wife. She was right that he didn't love her. He wanted to love her. He liked her. He respected her, but she was right--that was not the same. Surely it was better this way, but it felt like dying. He had wanted a family so much.
After it was over, he went to the men's restroom toilets in the Ministry corridor down one of the labyrinthine Ministry corridors. He sat in a stall, alone for once. Other couples were having divorce ceremonies today, but they didn't have to deal with the bleeding Wizarding press, did they? It was not surprising to him to hear a man bang into the room, swearing, and see him kick the sink. After all, it was what he'd wanted to do--break something.
No, the surprise was that it was Draco Malfoy, crying in another bathroom, twenty years after the first time. He looked up into the mirror and saw Harry.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Harry said.
"Fuck you, Potter." Even though he looked angry, Malfoy was still crying.
"What happened?"
"Fuck you," Malfoy said. "Fuck you."
Harry moved forward on an impulse he couldn't identify. Perhaps he had intended to punch Malfoy, or to grab him, but as he moved toward him he saw the crumpled anguish of that familiar face. He didn't know he was going to embrace him until he had his arms around the other man. Malfoy's hands were trapped at his sides and he put his head on Harry's. He was shaking. Harry wanted to hush him, tell him it was all right, that he knew all about how much it hurt, but he would only be reassuring himself. He couldn't say anything.
Malfoy grabbed at him, pulling him closer. He had an erection.
Harry's breath caught. Oh. He hadn't been thinking about sex. That had been Ginny's main complaint--he was never thinking about sex. He must be gay, she'd said. Well, maybe he was. He had only hugged Malfoy because he was feeling like such utter crap and thought Malfoy must be, too. He had compassion, or pity, or self pity, and now Malfoy thought he was coming on to him, hugging in a bathroom.
He pulled back to look at Malfoy, who opened his eyes. His face was covered with light-coloured stubble, the rims of his eyelids were red and his lips were bitten. He was still a beautiful bastard, wasn't he, with his cheekbones that could cut glass and his pale eyelashes.
Then he was kissing Harry. His mouth tasted a little stale and Harry wasn't expecting to kiss in the bathroom. He wasn't expecting to kiss anyone, ever, not anyone, ever again, and he was kissing Draco Malfoy against a bathroom sink. He pressed his body against Malfoy's. Everything in him was stirred--his cock hard, his heart beating hard against his ribs, and everything echoing against the hard marble of the room. Malfoy bit his earlobe and Harry pressed and pressed his erection against Malfoy's thigh.
Malfoy grabbed Harry's arse with both hands and turned them, so that Harry had his back to the sink. "I got divorced today, too," he said, and kissed Harry again. He dropped to his knees.
"What are you--" It was a stupid question. Malfoy had opened Harry's robes and was mouthing him through his trousers. His breath was hot on the head of Harry's cock, and Harry could feel the moisture of his tongue through the fabric.
"Alohomora," Malfoy murmured. Harry'd never heard that used to open someone's flies before, but he didn't have long enough to think about it before Draco Malfoy had taken his whole cock down his throat. Then he eased back and sucked Harry down again.
It was hot and wet and Harry hadn't even imagined anything like it. Malfoy sucked hard, letting Harry's cock emerge with soft, wet pops, looking up and taking the cock back into his mouth. He teased the head with his tongue, sucked, teased, sucked.
Harry realized that his eyes were closed. He looked down and saw that Malfoy was looking up at him, his eyes wide and grey. Malfoy seemed to smile around Harry's prick, and that was what did it.
"I'm going to come," Harry said, much louder than he meant to say it, and Malfoy, far from pulling off, took him down his throat. Harry could feel him swallow, and he came into Malfoy's mouth, his one involuntary cry reverberating off of the tiled walls.
Harry's prick was still hanging out as he sagged against the sink. Malfoy stood and pushed his hair back. "See you around," he said, and Apparated.
Harry pulled himself together. His face was red. He felt a little stunned. Once he had assured himself that he'd fastened his clothes, he walked out. Hermione was waiting for him in his office on the second floor, to take him to dinner.
Harry was lying in one of the beds in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at the ceiling. He was tempted to watch them again, Snape's memories of his mother, but he knew he shouldn't. A real wizard would have used the Pensieve to examine his own memories. That's what Dumbledore had intended when he left Harry the magical device.
Hermione thought he could find out why his marriage hadn't worked out, if he would only look at his memories. She thought Ginny had tired of Harry's emotional reaction to his job as an Auror. Harry had thought that idea had merit, right up until the moment when Malfoy kissed him.
He didn't even like Draco Malfoy. Yes, he'd grown up to be a decent human being, but it wasn't as though he'd ever exchanged more than a civil greeting with Harry.
Though fellatio was more than civil. Harry couldn't help it; he unzipped his jeans and started stroking himself. He imagined, as he often did at such moments, Snape as a teenager, lying on his bed and wanking, as he had in one of the memories Snape gave him as he was dying. He was thinking about Harry's mother, a beautiful red-headed witch.
That's how Harry had thought it should be. The young wizard, dark inside, who falls in love and is redeemed by a loving witch with red hair. He would be like Snape--loyal, true and brave--but he would win the girl and he would turn aside the darkness. Flowers would spring open in Ginny's palms, as they had in Lily's, for Harry. For Harry.
But like Snape he couldn't keep a witch's love, and like Snape he was alone, lying on a bed, wanking. Only he was 40, and Snape hadn't even lived to be 40.
He could imagine Snape a little too well, on that bed. He'd watched the memory too many times. Snape's cock was large, and Harry had watched his long hands, his index finger and thumb a delicate ring moving against the blunt head of his penis. His belly was young and flat, and his black body hair stood out against the sallow pallor of his skin. His eyelids drooped ecstatically over his dark eyes.
Harry had watched it again and again, never acknowledging to himself that he was turned on by Snape's body. He always thought he watched that memory because he identified with Snape, or wanted to see him as a person. But that was the strength of his self-delusion. It wasn't any of those things that helped him memorize Snape's protruding lower lip, his harsh breaths, the corded muscle in his forearm as he stroked himself. It was the erotic power of seeing another young man touch his own body.
He imagined that he was in the room with Snape. Draco Malfoy was there too. He would watch them kiss, first. A shiver of pleasure ran through him. Which would be the most beautiful to imagine--Draco young and Snape middle-aged, as he was before he died? Snape young and Harry young, and Draco middle-aged and jealous? Harry middle-aged, watching the two of them.
What would it be like to suck another man's cock? He was very hard now. He flexed his hips, imagining one man behind him and one in front, one taking him in and the other fucking him. Fucking him in the arse. He exhaled through his nose. Shit. He could get fucked in the arse. He parted his cheeks, feeling the air touch him there, and came hard, his semen shooting forward in an arc as he arched off the bed.
There were some ways that Harry was brave, and some ways that he was passive, even timid. That had been Ginny's other complaint about him. He wouldn't see Malfoy for another month when they went to pick up their children at the end of the term. Harry thought of what he could write to Malfoy, what he would say if he Floo-called him. Then he did nothing. He went to work and wrote his children owls at school, and wanked and slept and dreamed strange dreams.
The Ministry of Magic assigned him to go to a Passover seder. They wanted an Auror to observe whether the ghost of Elijah the prophet was being raised from the dead and drawn to Anthony Goldstein's grandmother's house in Manchester. (No, but Anthony's Nana had cast some delicious charms on the gefilte fish, and she'd fed him quite a lot of it.) The moon was full that night, of course, and Harry went to bed long after midnight and dreamed that he was his patronus, the great horned stag, chasing the characters in the Passover song about the baby goat.
When he returned from Manchester, he was assigned to monitor a Beltane celebration at Silbury Hill. He had a month between Passover and Beltane to read and prepare. Ever since he'd been assigned to the religion detail, he'd been reading strange spells that wizards might use in religious ceremonies.
He didn't know exactly where Malfoy Manor was in relation to the sacred hill, but in his dreams, the Beltane fires were built there. He dreamed again of being a stag under the full moon. He was jumping with his stag legs over flames, flying through the air.
He woke hard as a rock. What did that mean? Harry's dreams were crazy. They always meant something, but he never found anyone to tell him what it was.
He took his assignments seriously, even though none of these ritual practices ever turned out to be magical, no matter who reported their concerns. Pagan, Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Church of England--all of the holidays were excuses for families to get together, to eat and drink and maybe sing. It wasn't a bad duty for Harry, who usually found a warm welcome. He thought it was sad that wizards were so suspicious of anything foreign, since most of the complaints were about minority religions. Floating as he was in a haze of grief for his sundered marriage bond and a cloud of confusion about his sexuality, the easy assignments were good for him.
It wouldn't be easy to see Malfoy again, however. Malfoy's family home was in Wiltshire, not too far from the site. He hoped Malfoy thought such religious rituals were beneath him, or something like that.
Hermione was always ready to help him with finding the right books on the intersection of magic and religion, but he didn't like spending time in their house as much as he had before the divorce. Ron's eyes on him always looked so mournful, even though Ron didn't blame him. He hoped.
The Black family library was full of books on sacred rituals to gain power. He learned that the Avebury Pilgrimage, usually thought of as a way to ensure fertility, could also be a place of darker rituals. For most who practiced the Old Ways in Britain, whether self-consciously Wiccan or just old-fashioned, Beltane was an ordinary family party sort of holiday, with hawthorn trees to decorate and crosses of rowan wood to hang over the door. It was a ritual of bonfires and engagements to be married. Some Muggles had attempted to revive the practice of the sacred marriage between the Horned God and the Moon Goddess.
Harry should have known that Sirius' family would have a record of another ritual to raise the dead. You would think such things only happened at Samhain, when the barrier between the living and the dead was thinned. The Horned God, who accompanied the spirits of the dead to the underworld, could be placated through special rituals and sacrifices to release one of his own.
Harry had so many beloved dead. His parents, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, even Snape--he wished he could call them all back. His job was to stop any Beltane necromancy, though, not to use it for his own ends. In any case, necromancy had a bad name among wizards. If murder split the soul, what necromancy did was considered so much worse that no one would talk about it.
"Just as long as I don't get the burnt bit of the Beltane cake," Harry muttered. "I don't want to pretend to be dead again. Once was more than enough." Though through all his reading those three weeks, he kept dreaming that he was a stag, leaping over the reaching flames.
A day before he was meant to be in Salisbury for the celebration, he learned that Draco Malfoy was his host. What if Malfoy was the one who wanted to do the necromancy? He'd hardly invite the Ministry into his house.
"That won't be awkward, will it?" The witch who made the arrangements for him to stay with Anthony Goldstein's mum for Passover and with Padma and her husband for Diwali knew he'd been to Hogwarts with Malfoy. "You get along with Mr. Malfoy, right?"
"Right," Harry said. Awkward wasn't the word. He'd last been in Malfoy's house when he was a prisoner at age 17. He'd last seen Malfoy in the bathroom at the Ministry--with his trousers down. "It's fine."
Malfoy met him at the door to the Manor. He was acting strangely--he was very polite. There was a wreath of hawthorn blossoms on the front door.
"Thank you for having me," Harry said, and blushed, but Malfoy didn't leer. He was a little subdued, Harry thought.
"Oh, certainly, Auror Potter," Malfoy said, presumably for the benefit of the human staff member who was arranging flowers in his living room. "I'm delighted to be of service to the Ministry. Let me show you your room, and then if you would like to be part of our household ceremony, we are going to put out the hearth fire."
Harry nodded. Malfoy walked him down a corridor. The house had been redecorated since they were teenagers, which was good. It no longer had an air of menace. Somehow it was lighter, perhaps because they had changed the curtains and repainted the walls. It was a little like a museum--the quiet and the institutional quality of the mint green of the carpets on the pale varnished wood of the floors.
"My ex-wife redecorated the house," Malfoy said. "My mother thought it looked like a Swedish spa."
Thought. He hadn't seen an obituary. Malfoy smiled at him.
"Good heavens, Potter, don't look so tragic. She hasn't died, she's only gone to Mexico."
"Not Paris?"
Malfoy smirked. "French family name, right. No, she's always been interested in pre-Columbian art. She's volunteering on an archaeological dig."
"I'm glad she's doing well," Harry said.
Malfoy nodded. "Last of the Blacks," he said. Right. Malfoy was a Black, too. He might know the exact version of the spell that Harry had seen in the Black family library. Perhaps he was being pleasant because he wanted to use Harry in the ritual. Harry didn't sense that in anything Malfoy was doing, though. Confusing.
He stopped at the door of one of the rooms, and opened the door. "Thanks for agreeing to stay here," he said. He stood there awkwardly, as though he and Harry had never touched each other. "Meet me in the kitchen in about 40 minutes for the hearth ritual."
"Thanks," Harry said, and nearly put out his hand to shake Malfoy's, but Malfoy turned too quickly.
The kitchen had a hearth, a real one, like a fireplace. It was some kind of historical reconstruction. Malfoy introduced Harry to his housekeeper, gardener, and a near neighbour. They read a short blessing in transliterated Old English from some kind of pamphlet, and then Malfoy extinguished the fire.
"Thanks for staying late," he told the servants. "I'll see you next week."
The neighbour smiled at Harry shyly. "Draco invited me along, but I'm afraid paganism isn't my cup of tea."
"Church of England?" Harry asked politely.
"No--I don't like religion. Can't see the point of it, really."
Harry smiled. He would have said the same, before the last nine months of festivals. He still didn't believe in any of the religions, but he was rather looking forward to the bonfire and the ritual placating of predatory animals.
"Just you and me then," he said to Malfoy, who coloured. They walked out the back door into the field. Harry could see others converging on the mound in the distance. "Do we have to bring anything?"
"I've brought our share," Malfoy said. They hiked another 25 minutes in silence.
At the top, he and Malfoy were the only wizards, as far as he could tell. So much for Harry's worries about magical rituals. Instead there were some very ordinary English country people, the sort with dogs and boots and rosy cheeks, some goofy hippie types, and a few little children running about underfoot. Just the sort of thing he liked. A lot of women were wearing long dresses to look like the Queen of the May--he thought they must be freezing. Perhaps that was why everyone had bottles of cider. It was not Malfoy's scene, or he wouldn't have thought so. Maybe Malfoy had changed. He was being awfully pleasant to Harry.
He found the people who were setting up the fire and offered to help carry the wood where it was needed. Soon he was ferrying things back and forth, and helping get the fire started.
Malfoy knew a lot of people at the bonfire site and went off to greet them. Harry didn't think Malfoy would have invited someone from the Ministry to stay in his house if he'd intended to violate the Statute of Secrecy or do anything dark. He relaxed his guard a bit. A team of morris dancers arrived and set up a maypole, and some people started playing pipes and drums, and they danced, which could have been embarrassing but Harry was getting used to this sort of thing.
At least he didn't have to dance, or wear ribbons on his knees. One of the dancers did put a wreath of flowers in his hair.
Once the fire was going, someone brought out the Beltane Cake. Harry had thought they would bake it right there, but someone had made it at home in the oven. It didn't look like a rude blob of oatmeal as he'd imagined, but like a birthday cake.
Ah well. First machine-made matzah with perforations, now this. Whoever wrote the books he was using for his research was too romantic. He'd thought they would mix the cake over the fire, like a potion in a cauldron. This cake had icing.
He didn't eat his piece right away, which was smart, because they did have to throw pieces out to appease the fox and the eagle. Finally, though, they ate the cake.
He bit into his piece. It was rich and spicy, chewy with the oats, with a dark treacle or molasses flavour, like sticky toffee pudding. He chewed, and it felt like he'd been chewing for a long time. His head was starting to buzz. The people in the crowd looked further away, and the moon and stars much closer. It felt like they were encroaching on the fire, they were so close.
"Are you all right?" Someone had a hand on his arm.
Harry nodded and smiled. "What's in the cake?" he tried to say, but nothing came out.
Malfoy had the piece for the sacrifice. It wasn't burnt, it was iced black. Everyone started laughing and shoving him. Harry was getting nervous. Malfoy was stepping toward the bonfire, measuring, about to leap through it. He took a running start. Harry thought this was not a good idea. It reminded him of something, Malfoy and the flames, something he didn't like.
"Draco," he said, "hang on, I'll get you out of there." He pulled up on his broom--but he wasn't riding a broom this time--but he was jumping, high above the flames, and then he was in the air. It was like one of his dreams when he was the stag, or like his mother in Snape's memory, leaping from a swing. It was so much easier than he thought, this flying without a broom.
When he came down, they were on the other side of the hill.
"What the hell," Malfoy said.
"I think there were some drugs in that cake," Harry said.
"We're going to have to send someone to do Memory Charms on all of those people," Malfoy said.
"Don't you feel high?" Harry asked.
"I'm a little too shaky right now," Malfoy said. "Maybe. How do you feel?"
Harry looked at him. "Horny," he said, and laughed. "Like the Horned King. Did you do this?"
"What? Make you horny?" Malfoy gave him a mischievous look. Harry nudged him a little with his shoulder.
"This is what I missed, not being friends with you," Harry said. "Being, you know, on the same--on the same side."
"I didn't know you played for my side," Malfoy joked.
They came to a lone hawthorn tree. It looked like it was full of stars.
"Are you going to work a spell?" Harry asked.
"Yes, I'm sure I will, but what do you mean, Potter? You do seem stoned."
"To bring Snape back to life. Isn't that what you want me here to help you do?"
"What?"
"When we fuck," Harry explained. "When we fuck against this tree."
"Are we going to fuck?"
"Don't you want to?" Harry was confused. He pulled Malfoy into his arms, and kissed him. Malfoy turned and began to rub his arse suggestively against the front of Harry's jeans. "Yes, you want to," he said, running his hands over Malfoy's flies. He could feel the erection pressing there.
"Have you done this before?" Malfoy asked breathlessly.
"What, brought someone back from the dead? Only with the Resurrection Stone."
"No," Malfoy said.
"Oh. The fucking part. No, but I thought you'd tell me if I got it wrong," Harry said. He had to concentrate to get the buttons on Malfoy's shirt undone, and then he realized he'd done the rest with magic. "Wizards should not get high," he said. He dropped to his knees behind Malfoy and pushed down his trousers and his pants at one go. "There's something I want to try," he said, and bit Malfoy on the buttock. Malfoy yelped. Then Harry parted his buttocks and started to lick the crack of his arse.
"Oh," Malfoy said. "Oh, Harry." Harry wanted to laugh, but concentrated instead on licking. "Oh God, oh God," Malfoy said.
"I like Harry better," Harry muttered.
"Don't stop," Malfoy begged. Harry started to put his fingers in, and Malfoy made more noises.
"Have you done it before?" Harry asked. But Malfoy turned his head to one side and shut his eyes, and didn't say. Harry Summoned some broomstick wax, because he thought it might fly to him like his broom did. He opened the jar.
"Broomstick wax," Malfoy said. "It smells so good."
"You're high, too." It did, though.
"Grease it up," he said, "grease up that maypole, grease it," but Harry was putting the lubricant all over his arse. "Here, I'll do it, Potter," Malfoy said. "Harry Potter, give me that broomstick wax," he said. Harry snickered, and then groaned. Malfoy was slicking Harry's cock.
"Hold on to the tree and we'll say the spell," Harry said.
"I don't know it," Malfoy said. He bent over, showing his arse. Harry pulled his cheeks apart and started to fit his cock into Malfoy's ripe, pink arsehole.
"But you're a Black," Harry said. "It's your spell, oh guh uh--" His cock slid into the hot tightness of Malfoy's bum. "Oh Draco. Oh I love this."
"Love me," Malfoy said, and Harry said, "Yes," and then they were both quiet except for grunts of exertion.
"Come back, cailleach bealtine," Harry said, "come back to the Horned God who brought you down to death. Come back to the Sun and the Queen of the May."
"Which am I?" Malfoy said. "Harder."
Harry stopped reciting and just fucked for a few strokes, his balls slapping Malfoy's white arse. It was so tight and hot, he was afraid he wouldn't last long enough to complete the Black family spell. "Say it," he said.
"I love you," he said.
Harry stopped. "You didn't bring me here to say the spell?"
"No. Don't stop, Harry, it feels so good."
I love this, Harry thought. I love this, but do I love him? He wished like hell he knew how to bring Snape back, just to ask him a question about true love. He pushed in harder, and Malfoy said, "I'm going to come!" and his arse pulsed around Harry's cock. Harry got in one more thrust before he was overwhelmed and came, too.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking at Severus Snape. He sucked in a breath as Malfoy screamed.
There were a few truly horrible moments with Malfoy crying and hopping up and down in the nude and Snape shouting in a panic. Harry flung his arms wide and grabbed Malfoy, hugging him close, until he calmed down and could pull on his trousers.
"What have you done?" Snape asked. "I was in the Shrieking Shack, and you appeared out of nowhere, and now where are we? Potter, have you used a Time Turner?"
Malfoy was weeping. "Professor, you're alive!" He couldn't look at him, but shaded his eyes with one hand.
"Draco," Snape said, and his voice was almost gentle. "What happened here?"
"Harry thought I wanted to bring you back to life, so--"
"I was dead?"
Harry realized that he, too, was crying. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "It was my fault you died."
"It most certainly was not," Snape said. He came down to sit where they were huddled under the tree, and touched their arms. They each looked at him. "You're middle-aged men," Snape said. "Fully-grown wizards. Stop crying." Malfoy sniffled.
"Someone drugged us at Beltane," Harry said. "Also, I saw you die and--"
"I remember that," Snape said slowly. "What do you mean, someone drugged you?"
"I put hashish in the Beltane Cake," Malfoy admitted.
"Wait, what?" Harry sat back against the tree trunk.
"I also gave the Ministry the anonymous tip about magic at Beltane," Malfoy said. "I didn't know about the Black family spell. I just wanted to have sex with you."
"You didn't know?" Harry was confused. "But wasn't I compelled to help you by the stuff in the cake? Oh God, you didn't mean for me to help with the spell."
"You did it all yourself. You're very powerful," Malfoy said.
"You are buffoons," Snape said. "Buffoons who raised me from the dead." He started to shake. "I'm--I'm terribly cold."
"Let's get him home," Harry said.
"But he's--" Malfoy said. "Isn't he dead?"
"He's cold. Let's get him home," Harry said. He put an arm around Snape, who didn't shake him off. "Can you Apparate us like this?"
"What, high?" Malfoy said, and he did it.
They were all three very hungry when they got into Malfoy's kitchen--Snape because he had presumably been dead until recently, and the two of them because they'd been stoned and then fucking. They were all cold. Malfoy made sandwiches with bread and butter and cucumbers, and they had some cheese.
"I don't feel dead," Snape kept saying. "I feel fine. I should feel ill, shouldn't I?"
"Have another cup of tea," Harry said. He'd put the kettle on as soon as they got in. He poured another cup of the strong tea Snape seemed to like from Malfoy's brown betty teapot.
"You have grey in your hair," Snape said. "You don't look like your father anymore."
Malfoy looked glum. "You aren't angry that he brought you back to life?"
"Not bloody likely," Snape said. "I went through quite a bit to keep you alive and safe, both of you, it's the least you can do for me."
"It wasn't me," Draco said. He hunched down.
"Yes, it was," Harry said. "It's not as though I could perform sex magic all by myself."
"True, and this isn't the sort of spell that works with casual sex. Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy was your one true love?" Snape's tone was neutral, but he was sneering.
"Not me," Harry blurted. Malfoy looked hurt for a split second.
"Just like you to play with others' affections," Snape said. "One might have thought you would have changed since adolescence."
"It wasn't like that--" Harry began. "For one thing, I was married until two months ago. This," he gestured at Malfoy,"is recent."
"How old are you now, Potter?"
"I'm 40," he said.
"And exactly when did you understand that you were gay?"
Harry thought for a moment. "Tonight." The other two men began to laugh. "Wait! I mean, I did know, on some level, that I felt attracted, but... I did have three children with my wife--with my ex-wife. I hadn't thought I was really interested in men."
"You were interested in other boys at school," Malfoy said.
"I noticed it, too," Snape said. "But then I always noticed which boys were queer. Even when I was a queer schoolboy myself. "
"I thought you loved my mum," Harry said. "I thought she was your true love, and you never loved another woman."
"That's right," Snape said. "I did love her, more than anyone." His expression was soft, as though finally, just a little of that love had transferred to Harry. "I would have done anything for her. I did."
"Listen to yourself," Malfoy said to Harry. "Never loved another woman. You're awfully slow."
"Stop gaping at him, Potter," Snape said. "At any rate, I'm not complaining. You figured out your sexuality in time to revive me from the dead, and with sufficient force that my body is in better shape than I have a right to expect. Not that I had any expectations. You must have fucked with quite a lot of enthusiasm."
"You do look good," Harry said. "You're younger than I am, now." He began to play with Snape's hand where it lay on the table.
"Are you flirting with me, Potter?"
"What happens if I am?"
Snape looked into his eyes.
"I could go again," Harry blurted. Now Malfoy looked quite miserable. "You up for it, Draco?"
"I thought you were flirting with Snape," Malfoy said sulkily.
"I was," Harry said. He looked at Malfoy significantly. "Have you ever done a threesome before?"
"It's the hashish talking," Malfoy said. "Makes you think you're the Horned God." He paced the kitchen a bit. "I don't want to be your experiment, Potter, and I don't want to get between the two of your in your epic quest for true love."
Professor Snape got up from his chair, put his arms around Malfoy's shoulders, and kissed him. They were the same height. Malfoy's eyes closed and he hummed. Snape ran his long fingers through Malfoy's light hair with one hand; with the other, he caressed a muscular buttock. Harry stood up so quickly that his chair clattered on the flagstone floor. "There," Snape said. "A bit opportunistic, but you're certainly of age now."
Malfoy looked at him. "So that's how it was." His expression was a little dazed from the kiss.
"No, that's how it is. It was never how it was."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "All right, an experiment, but I'm not doing anything without a shower first."
Harry had thought they would shower together, but Snape said he didn't do that, so they each showered alone. By the time Snape came back to the guest room, toweling his hair, Draco was nearly asleep. He was under the covers, and Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel around his waist.
Snape's bathrobe was tightly wrapped around him.
"Were you really dead?" Harry had to ask it.
Malfoy sat up a little.
Snape shook his head. "I don't remember. Were you?"
"I wasn't," Harry said, "though Voldemort did try. Three times."
"Don't say his name," Snape said automatically.
"He's dead," Harry said. "He's been dead for 22 years. Dumbledore was right."
"Sex, not death," Malfoy said. "Death later. I'm too sleepy."
"Have you ever done it before?" Harry asked Malfoy.
"Which? Died? Been fucked against a tree? Had sex with two people? Eaten hashish?" Malfoy flung himself back down on the pillows. "I've had sex with a man before, but not outside. Not with a Horned God. You fulfilled a fantasy for me."
"Really?" Harry felt terribly flattered. Snape laughed. He had a deep voice and his laugh was dark and seductive. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."
"Did you want to?"
They were sitting side by side on the bed. Snape's eyes, at close range, were quite large, and the darkness of the irises was variegated. "Yes, I think I did."
"What else did you want?" Snape put his hand on Harry's bare thigh, his index finger touching the skin under the towel around Harry's waist.
"You want to hear what I...what I was thinking about?"
"Yes," Snape said. "Tell me what you were thinking would happen." His voice was still the same commanding, low baritone. He moved his hand up beneath the towel, stroking back and forth idly from Harry's thigh to his hip bone.
"I had more than one fantasy," Harry began. "I imagined that I would be spit-roasted," he said. It was hard to get the words out. They were thick in his throat.
"What does that mean?" Snape asked.
"It means he wants a cock in his mouth and one in his arse," Malfoy said. Harry pulled the blankets off of Malfoy's naked body. He was hard. In the light of the lamp, Harry could see the pale colour of Malfoy's body hair, as though his chest and stomach and balls were gilded. His nipples were the most lusciously vulnerable pink. Harry leaned forward to put one in his mouth, and Snape pulled off Harry's towel. Harry crouched, arse up, giving Snape access to touch him.
A long-fingered hand palmed one of Harry's buttocks, and squeezed gently. "I have another fantasy," Harry told Malfoy's neck. Malfoy squirmed under him. "I imagined that I was fucking and being fucked."
Malfoy made a noise like, "Mmm." Snape touched Harry's bollocks, letting them hang in his hand.
"I imagined that you were coming on me, inside me, all over me."
"You wanted to be used that way," Snape said. Harry shivered. Snape said the word "used" as though it had a taste.
"I have lube," Malfoy said, and handed it over Harry's shoulder to Snape. "You'll need it if he's never done this."
Harry bent down and licked Malfoy's balls. He smelled good, still damp from the shower, faintly musky. "I was so turned on when you did this for me," he said. Snape parted his Harry's buttocks and stroked up and down his crack. He slid a lubricated finger over the sensitive skin of Harry's anus, and then inserted it.
"More fingers," Malfoy gasped as Harry swirled the head of his prick into his mouth. "One at a time, or it will hurt."
Harry looked up and tried to look over his shoulder at Snape's body. "Is he very big?" Malfoy could look at Snape's cock and Harry, who was about to get fucked by it, couldn't.
Malfoy pressed his head down. "Suck me. He's going to split you in two." Harry groaned around the penis in his mouth. He tried to bob his head, but he could feel that Snape was using more fingers to spread him open.
"Concentrate on sucking his cock," Snape said behind him. He worked another finger into Harry's body, and fucked two fingers in and out. Harry didn't think he could take any more. Then Snape pulled his fingers out, and began to work his cock in.
Harry nearly bit Malfoy. He definitely clamped his lips down hard as he tried to keep sucking.
"Relax," Malfoy said. "I'll fuck your mouth, just relax." He got up to his knees.
"He's so big," Harry panted. Snape pushed in all the way. Malfoy pushed his prick back into Harry's slack mouth. "Oh," Harry said. Snape was fucking him, slowly, and it felt like his whole body was taken over with it. The pressure on his balls and his cock was intense. Snape reached around to fondle him. "Oh," Harry said around Malfoy's moving prick. He was not going to last. He pushed back to encourage Snape to go faster.
Snape grunted. "Harry," he said. He fucked in and out quickly.
"I'm going to come," Harry said, and Malfoy began wanking in his face as he tried to at least lick the moving head of his cock. "Oh Draco," he said, trying to get the cock back into his mouth, and then his arse was spasming around Snape, and he was screaming from deep in his throat and Snape was fucking him deeper than he thought was possible, and he came anyway.
Dazed, he tried to lick the come from Malfoy's body.
"Stop," Draco said. He got down to Harry's face and kissed him gently.
"I'm going to pull out," Snape said. He did it very slowly.
"Will you stay with me," Harry said. "In the bed, I mean." Malfoy handed him a flannel and he wiped himself off.
"Yes," Malfoy said. Snape stood there, still wearing his bathrobe. "Is it uncomfortable for you to sleep with other people, Professor?" Malfoy asked him.
"Certainly it's the sort of discomfort that I can learn to live with," Snape said. He did look quite uncomfortable. He stretched out on the bed next to Harry. "I'm not your professor."
"Good," Harry said. He could finally put his arms around Snape, who gave a quiet grunt of surprise. "Good," but Harry was too exhausted to say why.
In the morning, Harry woke up alone. He padded down the corridors until he heard low voices in the kitchen.
"Why did he do it?" Snape asked.
"I don't know," Malfoy said.
"You don't seem very happy to see me, Draco," Snape said.
"I would be happier if you hadn't been dead for the last two decades or so," Malfoy said, "If the man I was hoping would be my boyfriend hadn't raised you from the dead."
"You want Harry Potter to be your boyfriend," Snape said.
"So?" Malfoy said. "We're adults now. A lot has happened in the last 22 years."
"Are you worried that I'll steal your boyfriend," Snape said, the sarcasm audible though his voice was almost too soft to hear.
"I did want him, but who knows what it will do to him, raising someone from the dead."
"Oh yes, how terrible, but at least he never murdered anyone for you," Snape said.
"For me! I didn't ask--You didn't murder--" Malfoy said. "Dumbledore told Harry he asked you to do it, so it's not murder."
"Does the entire wizarding world agree with Albus Dumbledore's sophistry?"
Malfoy didn't say anything. They did, of course, because Harry had made sure of it.
"You never liked Potter. Now you want him for your boyfriend and you're jealous of his magical purity," Snape said.
"He saved my life in the war," Malfoy said. "He was kind to my mother and he hugged me when I got divorced. All right? He's got tremendous magical power, pretty eyes and a nice arse, and now he's going to be in love with you instead of me."
"I can live with that," Snape said, and Harry nearly laughed out loud. "Wait. He hugged you?"
"I don't want talk about it."
Harry walked back to the end of the corridor and slipped out the door into Malfoy's garden. It was very beautiful. There was an herb garden in the shape of a Celtic knot and tulips in every colour bloomed everywhere, like parrots in the damp vivid green. Harry walked along the paths, enjoying the pleasant smell of the plants.
Human relationships were always difficult, weren't they? Adding Snape into the midst of them was possibly insane. What would he do with two such jealous and difficult lovers? He couldn't muster much worry about it. Malfoy was handsome, still rather a brat, and in love with him. Snape was brave, brilliant, impossible and had an enormous cock--and at least he wanted Harry for something.
They bickered, but that wasn't any different from Ron and Hermione. It was rather comfortable to Harry than the opposite.
He whistled "Now is the month of Maying," and the birds sang. He found a patch of lawn and lay down in the grass. Spring had come and he was happy.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 04:29 pm (UTC)Also, sandwiches with bread and butter and cucumbers - would be usually just 'cucumber' (because you slice it very thinly, so you wouldn't need more than one!).
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Date: 2009-06-05 11:07 pm (UTC)"I knew you were going to do this!" Draco was in a savage rage.
Harry lifted his head out of Severus' lap. "Do what?"
"I knew you were going to go off with him at every opportunity."
"We aren't having sex," Harry said.
"I don't care about the sex!" Draco was practically dancing with frustration. "You're lying in his lap and he's reading to you!"
"What is the matter, Draco," Severus said.
"You love him better than me!" he shrieked.
"Who does?" Severus said.
"I don't care. Either of you. Both of you. I hate you! You belong to me!"
"He's having a tantrum," Harry said.
"Let's give him a spanking," Severus said. Draco got very quiet.
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Date: 2009-06-05 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 04:32 pm (UTC)