Current mood:

hopeful

Fic: An Imitation of Truth
Title: An Imitation of Truth
Author: snarkyscorp
Pairings: Snape/Draco/Harry, Harry/Ginny, passing mention of Lucius/Snape
Word Count: 7,022
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: double-penetration, light submission play, light dubcon
Prompt: #17: "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." –Oscar Wilde
Summary: After the War, Harry can’t let go of his last memory of Snape. When he learns of a rumor that Snape is still alive, he investigates and finds himself in over his head.
Author Notes: Beta’d by the wonderful nolagal! Some liberties taken with HP:DH, including the fact that Snape is 100% dead of course. My first Snape/Draco/Harry fic, so please be gentle!

He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying man: He did not know what he felt as he saw Snape’s white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck. Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and looked down upon the man he hated, whose widening black eyes found Harry as he tried to speak. Harry bent over him, and Snape seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

*****

It was the way Snape had looked at him in his final, dying moments. It was the fact that with his last breath, Snape had begged Harry –begged him when he'd never begged for anything a day in his life. It was the desperation in his final demand out of life—Look at me. And it was that Harry had made the mistake of actually complying with his request, of tipping his gaze down at a withered, frail, sallow old man without a single ounce of hope in the world. And it was when Harry looked at him, really looked, that life became complicated.

There was absolutely no amount of fond, happy memories that could shake Harry of the sensation he felt after looking into Snape's eyes and knowing—truly understanding—it wasn't even Harry he was hoping to see there. The memory of that moment, of Snape's gaze, distracted Harry from almost every single moment thereafter. It clouded his happiest future and gave rise to despair and depression in the face of contentment.

When Harry finally took the initiative and allowed his relationship with Ginny to be his most precious priority, above his training at the Ministry, even those sweet, warm moments were filled with disillusioned desires. Harry didn't want to go slow anymore, and when Ginny kissed his mouth he couldn't help but wish it was someone else's lips pressed hotly against his own. When Ginny took his cock in her hand, Harry felt dissatisfied with how large his own hands felt in comparison. The hand that pulled him to hardness should have been large, pale, cold. The breath at his neck should have been hard, should have smelled of mint leaves and smoldering potions.

The desire wasn't intense, the pulse of his heart didn't veer desperately off the edge, and he didn't swoon. And when he couldn't keep his dick hard for Ginny and she sat patiently with him to console him, offering endless I understands, Harry wanted to die of humiliation.

Surely, Ginny didn't understand that it wasn't Harry's fault he couldn't perform—it was hers. She wasn't him. She wasn't Snape.

*****

"It's rumored to be a fake," Luna hummed happily as she sat down on the small couch between Hermione and Ginny. "I read all about it in The Quibbler."

Harry had been staying out of Ginny's way for the most part. Even though they lived together in a small London flat, that didn't mean Harry was used to sharing his entire life with another person in the way living together did that to a man. Ginny often invited her friends over, friends that were once shared between them. But now more than ever Harry was distant, aloof, and preferred to be alone whenever possible with his darkest thoughts and desires. No one would understand, not even Luna in all her dreamy indifference.

But when he'd left the bedroom to grab a glass of pumpkin juice from the ice box in the kitchen, snippets of their conversation were impossible to ignore. He tried, rooting through the ice box loudly to overwhelm their voices.

"But why would it be a fake?" Ginny asked.

"To hide the fact that he's not dead, of course," Luna said, brushing her hair from her face. "There's also rumors that someone is hiding him away, keeping him safe."

"Well that part at least makes sense," Hermione said, leaning back on the couch in a slump as he peered up at the ceiling. That meant she was seriously considering Luna's words. "If Snape were alive, someone would have to hide him or he'd be tried for murder and conspiracy and loads of other atrocities."

Harry bumped his head against the door of the icebox as he retrieved the jug of pumpkin juice, but it felt heavy and unsteady in his grip. Did they just mention Snape? Cautiously, he moved into the doorway at the kitchen to eavesdrop.

"Well, he never really murdered anyone without their permission, now did he?" Luna asked dreamily.

"So says Harry," Ginny commented with a thoughtless shrug.

"Well I believe him, of course," Luna added.

"As do I," Hermione chimed. "But, Luna, if Snape's alive...how could that portrait be forged? Wouldn't whatever charm is placed upon it fade over time?"

"The article didn't go in-depth about that," Luna said.

"Of course it didn't," mumbled Ginny with a roll of her eyes.

"But it did say fake portraits are not altogether uncommon for fugitives." Luna sat forward and retrieved her cup of tea, inhaling its scent. "It mentioned Lancaster McDoogle's portrait, forged in 1875. He didn't really die until 1900."

Hermione bit back a grimace, clearing knowing a bit more about the story than perhaps Luna was giving away. "That's quite interesting, Luna," she offered.

"I'd like to read that article some time," Harry said, stepping out into the living area, trying to be as calm as possible. "Do you think I could see it today, Luna?"

"Oh, hello, Harry," Luna said, blinking at him. "Well...I suppose I could lend it to you, though it's months old. I could sign you up for a subscription if you like, instead."

Harry shook his head tersely. "Just a copy of that one will do, thanks."

*****

When Luna couldn't find her copy, Harry panicked. Where the bloody hell could he find an old copy of The Quibbler and get access to it immediately?

And then he remembered that the Ministry had an archives section for newspapers. After scouring the unorganized archives for nearly two hours, Harry found the article. It was an opinion column, much to Harry's dismay, and the author was less than credible, as she not only detailed witnessing Snape walking into a hair salon for a grease-removal treatment but also witnessed spotting Dumbledore and other fallen heroes of the War sipping pina coladas on the beach on her vacation in America last year.

But the one thing about the article that struck Harry as too weird to be made up was the part that suggested Snape was hiding in Malfoy Manor, under the care of one Draco Malfoy.

Harry believed the news instantly, despite the rational voice at the back of his head that said it was nearly impossible, that reminded him he had witnessed Snape’s death himself. Still, many people had dismissed The Quibbler’s accounts of Voldemort’s return as false, and he knew there were various stories the rag printed that were undeniably truthful. And while he wasn't excited about seeing Malfoy again, if that meant he had the chance to see Snape just once more, he was willing to go through hell to get there. He couldn't explain the desire to see Snape again even to himself, but worse than that he knew Ginny, Hermione, and Ron wouldn't understand. He had absolutely no one to talk to and no way to come to terms with it until he knew for sure Snape was still alive.

But when Harry found himself standing outside Malfoy Manor on a cold, rainy January evening, he really didn't think he could possibly be doing the right thing. Certainly, he was no longer sane, and the whole dying-by-Voldemort-in-the-forest thing had rendered him mentally unfit for rational thought. Still, he raised a hand to the knocker at the Manor's front door and smiled at one of the house elves that answered.

"Hi there," Harry offered. "I'd like to speak to Draco Malfoy if he's home."

The elf's knees were trembling, but he nodded and showed Harry in. "Young Master Malfoy is upstairs, Harry Potter."

"Great, can you show me the way?"

The elf nearly fell over backwards in his haste. "Oh yessir! Ludsy would be only too pleased to show Harry Potter upstairs! Only too pleased, sir!"

As they ascended the stairs and Harry's stomach dropped one inch lower with each step, the house elf rambled on. Harry tried to swallow his irritation at the elf's words, forcing a smile.

"Ludsy is so happy to see Harry Potter! Ludsy humbly wonders what Harry Potter is doing at Malfoy Manor, but Ludsy don't ask questions! Ludsy is only too happy to help Harry Potter, no matter what Harry Potter asks of him."

Harry froze suddenly, halfway up the stairs, and grabbed Ludsy's small arm gingerly. "You would?" Harry asked and when the elf blinked at him wide-eyed, Harry spelled his request out slowly. "You said you'd be happy to help me in anything I ask, yeah?"

"Oh, of course, Harry Potter! Ludsy is flattered you would let him help! Ludsy is only a lowly house-elf, sir, but too pleased to help!"

"Then answer me one question." Harry crouched in front of Ludsy, his gaze serious as their eyes met. "Is there a man hiding out in Malfoy Manor?"

Ludsy's knees shook again. "Oh no...Oh no, but Ludsy is told not to talk about that, sir. No sir, Ludsy knows nothing about that, Harry Potter."

"I guess I ought to tell your master how you wouldn't help me," Harry said, and though he felt bad, he knew Ludsy could lead him straight to Snape; he wouldn't ever have to bother with Malfoy at all. "I know Mal-err, Draco, would have a sock prepared for you at once if I told him."

"Oh! Oh!" Ludsy danced awkwardly before Harry, wringing his small hands. "No, sir, please don't tell the Young Master Malfoy, sir, please! Ludsy will show you the man if you promise not to have him give Ludsy a sock, Harry Potter!"

"Brilliant," Harry said, grinning. "Let's go. Hurry."

Ludsy rushed out from under Harry's feet so fast Harry was almost afraid the elf was attempting to run away from him. Instead, Ludsy led Harry swiftly down the stairs and into a dark hallway. At the end of it, there was a staircase, which Ludsy gestured to. It was one Harry remembered all-too-well. The cellars below were where he, Hermione, and Ron had been held just years before.

"Tis behind there, sir. But Ludsy cannot go down there, sir. Ludsy is not allowed. Nobody is allowed, Harry Potter."

"I need to ask one more favor of you, Ludsy," Harry said gingerly, watching the elf wring his hands. "I need to ask you not to tell Draco I was ever here, alright? You are to go about your business as if you never saw me."

"I...well...yes, sir, yes Ludsy can do as Harry Potter asks, sir. Yes, of course, sir."

Ludsy bowed his way out, and despite the prickling of anxiety and foreboding, Harry descended into the cellar.

*****

Ludsy turned out to be the best thing to happen to Harry in his quest to find out what happened to Severus Snape. After descending down into the cellars of Malfoy Manor, Harry had found that they had been transformed into something like a second house, decorated in the style that suited a man of Snape’s attitude—dark, cold colors contrasted with heavy, warm fabrics. Harry had seen Snape, had spotted him sleeping not ten feet away, and had rushed out of the Manor so quickly that he didn’t have time for anything else.

The reality of the situation had hit him hard. What was he doing there? What did he hope to find out by trying to talk to Snape? And if Snape was indeed alive and Harry knew about it, he had a moral obligation to tell the Ministry of the man’s deception, his lies. Harry didn’t owe Snape anything; what was there to discuss with him? What would change in knowing he was still alive?

But Harry didn’t stay away from the Manor for long. Not a week later, he turned up a second time and found Ludsy once more. It was easier to ask the house-elf for favors the more he spoke with him, and that made asking for a lock of Malfoy’s hair quite an easy thing to retrieve for his next visit. Ludsy didn’t ask questions; he merely bowed his way around Harry and vowed to bring what he desired. Harry had never been more thankful for a house-elf’s desire to blindly follow instructions as he was when Ludsy gave him a handful of Malfoy’s bleach-blond hair.

Once he had the hair, it was much easier to put his new plan into action. Since obtaining the Polyjuice from the Ministry was so much simpler than when they’d brewed it themselves at Hogwarts, Harry spent the better part of the next several weeks ensuring things would go as planned.

Ludsy informed him that Malfoy would be out of the Manor for three hours the coming Saturday for business in Diagon Alley. Citing this time frame as the perfect opportunity to Polyjuice as Malfoy, Harry rented a set of fine dress wizard’s robes in dark green and hid them in the back of his side of the closet.

When Saturday rolled around, he waited for Ginny to leave for the afternoon with Hermione and promptly tipped half the Polyjuice mixture into a slender flute, which he corked tightly and slid into his pocket. The remainder went into a flask so he could take a second dose if the conversation with Snape lasted more than an hour. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, as he couldn’t imagine inventing a reason that Malfoy needed a flask at his side in the middle of the afternoon at his own home. Still, Harry wanted to be prepared.

Donning his new robes, Harry looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. The robes were far too tight. Perhaps he had underestimated Malfoy’s size—no grown man was that slender. Then again, Ludsy had taken some preliminary measurements for him and though half was guesswork, Harry was a good judge of size. Besides, Malfoy was much smaller than him physically; he always had been that way. Still, Harry had to admit he looked foolish wearing the skinny robes that clung to every burgeoning muscle and curve.

Tossing a traveling cloak over the fine robes, Harry secured the flask at his side and ensured everything was in order before Apparating to the Manor. He had decided, after thinking the plan over, that it would be best to administer the first dose at the Manor in favor of time. If he ran out of the potion, after all, he’d be found out immediately.

Knocking at the door, Harry prepared to be greeted by Ludsy, but when Draco answered the door, Harry floundered for an excuse. Luckily, it seemed Malfoy was just as taken by surprise as Harry was, so he didn’t seem to notice Harry was sweating profusely.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked, his tone iced and somewhat unsteady. His cool eyes swept over Harry’s traveling cloak suspiciously.

“I…had to come see you about official Ministry business,” Harry managed to fabricate.

“On a Saturday?”

“I’m, er, working overtime.”

Malfoy’s brows furrowed, but after a moment’s pondering, he pulled the door open and allowed Harry inside. With every step, Harry could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him. Clearing his throat didn’t seem to make his voice any steadier, so he just tried not to say as much.

“Well?” Malfoy finally asked, and when Harry turned to face him he could see Malfoy’s flawless grin. “If you’ve come to ask me questions on behalf of the Ministry, you’re doing a poor job of it, Potter, I must say.” Malfoy glanced up at a clock on the wall that chimed the hour somberly. “Make it quick, if you please. I don’t have all day to spend toiling at your whims.”

Harry clenched his jaw. Despite his anger, he knew he needed to hold firm to his plan. Malfoy was on his way out, that much was clear, so he just needed to bide his time and get out and then return once Malfoy was out of the way.

“I, uh, saw The Quibbler last month.”

Malfoy stepped back cautiously, clearly shaken. After a moment’s pause, he scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you read in print, Potter. You of all people should know that.”

“But I have to investigate this matter fully.”

“I wasn’t aware the Ministry thought rubbish posted in a second-rate rag was quality investigative material worthy of your time.” Malfoy was gritting his teeth, and Harry noticed the slightest twinge of anxiety at his brow. “What is there to investigate about a foolish woman’s desire to see dead men resurrected on her beach vacation?”

“You know I don’t mean that part,” Harry said sternly. “I mean about Snape. About how you’re—”

“Keeping him? About how I’m hiding one of the most powerful wizards of the age somewhere in my Manor, which has been searched numerous times prior to that article with no evidence of anyone but my family and I, who, I might add, are trying to live quietly out of the face of public scrutiny?” Again, Malfoy scoffed. “Please, Potter. If you’ve come to ask silly questions, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Just tell me you’re not hiding Snape, and I’ll go.”

“Fine. I’m not hiding Snape. If you like, have your Ministry officials search my house. Shall we set up an afternoon visit this coming week? I have nothing to hide.”

Harry appraised him, and then nodded. “I’ll set it up and owl you.”

“Wonderful. I look forward to seeing your smiling face, of course.” Draco cleared his throat. “Now, if you please, I am quite busy.”

“Sorry,” Harry said and clumsily found his own way out.

Once outside the Manor, Harry cast a Disillusionment Charm and pressed himself to the wall. He watched as, moments later, Malfoy exited the Manor, cast a sidelong glance back at the door, and made his way down the long, winding streets. Harry waited until Malfoy had Apparated to show himself again. After he rang the bell, Ludsy showed him in, wringing his small hands so hard Harry was sure he was going to break his wrists.

“Thanks!” Harry said and rushed for the nearest washroom, where he uncorked the vial of Polyjuice and threw off his traveling cloak.

Plugging his nose at the bridge, he toasted to his reflection and downed the Polyjuice potion in one shot. And as soon as the transformation was complete and his hands had stopped shaking, he looked into the mirror again. The reflection grinned coldly at him, the perfect imitation of Draco Malfoy.

*****

When Harry found his way down to the cellars, his hands were shaking. Though the area was nothing like he remembered, it was still dark and foreboding, and the memories conjured in its unspeakable depths were painful at best. Unable to focus, Harry drew himself forward, fingertips itching to grip the unyielding handle of his wand.

“I thought you were attending to business this afternoon.”

The voice came so suddenly from the darkness that it startled Harry, who inhaled sharply. From the darkest shadows, a lean, gaunt figure emerged, bat-like in his profile. While Harry had expected to see Severus Snape again, he had a difficult time reigning in the shock of it. He had watched Snape die, had felt the weight of his lifeless body, had attending his funeral for Merlin’s sake.

And yet there he stood, less forbidding in the aftermath of all they had been through, a figure of tall disdain in the shadows of the cellar.

“Well?” Snape asked, appraising Harry cautiously.

“I…cancelled it,” Harry managed, forcing his voice up a pitch or two to match Malfoy’s timbre, even though the Polyjuice had already done that for him. The effect was something much too high for Draco’s normal voice.

One firm brow rose in question, but Snape said no more on the subject. “I assume you have come to provide me another dose of the antidote, Draco.” At Harry’s fumbling hesitation, Snape sneered. “Ah. I see. You’ve come for that other thing.”

Snape swept close and drew his cold fingertips over Harry’s jawbone, scraping it delicately with his nail. And just as quickly as it happened, Snape pulled away and gestured to the nearby section of the cellar, which had been separated by a makeshift silk screen. Though Harry followed, his legs felt burdened as if with lead, and he stumbled behind the screen, where a large fourposter took up the greater portion of the room. It was canopied with the kind of silk and velvet extravagance Harry would have never known Snape to be capable of appreciating. It was likely Malfoy’s influence that gave the room the touch of defiant grace Draco always seemed to exude.

Once inside the bedroom, Harry hesitated yet again. What was the ‘other’ thing Snape mentioned?

“You are certainly quiet this evening,” Snape whispered as he shrugged out of his dark robes. Harry’s mouth went dry when he noticed Snape was disrobing for him, in front of him, like he expected Harry to assist or imitate. No, he wanted Draco… “Did I misread your intensions, Draco? I am rarely a poor judge of character in such matters. Certainly, I was never out of line in this regard with your father.”

The clearing of Harry’s throat seemed to catch Snape off guard. His fingers stuttered at the belt of his trousers, but he didn’t quite stop taking off his clothes. Shifting to glance at Harry, he swept his cool gaze down the length of Harry’s body. For a moment, Harry thought perhaps the Polyjuice wasn’t quite as strong as it should have been and Snape was seeing bits of Harry showing through, but then he realized Snape was waiting for him to speak, to move, to do something. But all Harry could do was struggle to breathe.

“You look ill,” Snape added quietly, and he turned as he pulled off his shirt and strode towards Harry. When Harry backed up, Snape took full advantage of his weakness and pressed a strong hand to his throat. “You are certainly not yourself this evening, Draco.” Snape leaned in and inhaled him; the exhale that followed tickled Harry’s neck. “You have not even offered to help like a good lad.”

Harry’s face grew hot under the attention. Somehow, he managed to wriggle out from Snape’s grip and he swallowed under Snape’s scrutiny. “I’m just…I’m tired, Sn—Severus. Just tired. And I was hoping we could…talk.”

Snape scoffed behind Harry. “There is nothing to talk about.”

Harry spun to face him and found Snape unnervingly close yet again. This time, Harry didn’t back down when Snape approached, though Snape seemed to take pleasure in his defiance. Long, boney fingers traced down Harry’s cheek.

“I wanted to talk about The Quibbler.”

Snape hesitated, and his eyes narrowed on Harry’s, searching them. Harry casually averted his gaze, knowing full well what Snape might see if he read him too carefully.

“I thought we agreed never to discuss any leak of our little secret,” Snape growled. “I don’t care if a few lunatics think they spotted me going out for a bit of fresh air during the summer months, but I’ll be damned if Potter and the others find that you saved my life.”

“Why wouldn’t you want, uh, Potter to know?”

“You know full well why. It’s the same reason you wouldn’t want Potter to know—he would ruin what we have here, this quiet peace that I call contentment. He would force me to stand trial, you would be held as an accomplice, and both of our reputations would be ruined, assuming we lasted long enough in Azkaban to get out with our sanity intact. I am extremely thankful you saved my life, that you knew the proper antidote for Nagini’s particular venom, but I will not face the world again. I have too much to lose, now more than ever.”

Harry swayed a little bit and blinked in surprise. Snape didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and instead curled his fingers around Harry’s neck, squeezing lightly. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, especially when Snape’s nails brushed over the strong vein at his throat.

“I have never had to be so persuasive with you before, Draco,” Snape purred. “Must we really talk when you have so many more favorable uses for such a pretty mouth?”

Harry gasped, the unexpected flick of Snape’s tongue against his mouth not wholly unwelcome and yet so arousing it caused a physical reaction almost immediately. Closing his eyes, Harry’s lips parted, and Snape seemed to take that as all the invitation he required for plunging his tongue between his lips. When Snape moaned against his mouth, Harry could feel it reverberating down his throat, and he groaned in harmony, fingers slack at his sides.

With practiced ease, Snape tipped Harry’s face so the angle of their mouths met better, and with a sloppy movement, their lips slithered against each other. Shuddering, Harry reached up and gripped Snape’s biceps. Snape was—not surprisingly—all skin and bones, and though it made Harry wonder how much the antidote Draco had infused actually worked on Snape, he shoved all practical thoughts aside and allowed Snape to suck at his tongue greedily.

Snape managed to guide Harry’s hands to the waist of his trousers, where he pressed them to his belt. Harry fumbled there, his hands once again trembling, more so now that he knew what was expected of him.

“On your knees, Draco,” Snape murmured, pressing heated, hard kisses against Harry’s firm jaw and down his throat. “Now.”

One hand tangled in Harry’s hair, and he found himself forced to his knees before Snape, who was unfastening his trousers eagerly. Before he could pull out the erection that Harry was sure was there, Harry pressed both hands to his to still their movements. “Wait,” he exhaled. “I…didn’t…that’s not why I’m here.”

Snape chuckled and tugged roughly at Harry’s hair. “Oh, but I think it is, Potter.”

It was like the natural punctuation of Snape’s sentence, a dark venomous silhouette of truth in the charade. Had Snape been playing him this whole time? Had he known it was Harry all along?

“If you had wanted this for yourself, there was never a need to play Polyjuice with Malfoy’s hair, Potter—you should have known I would give everything to see your eyes one last time.”

Harry growled, his teeth bared. “You mean her eyes, not mine.”

“Let’s not split hairs—I would love nothing more than to see your mouth sucking my dick, and I have no qualms in saying so in front of you with or without your exquisite disguise. Nor do I have any trouble saying so in front of the boy you so poorly play at.”

Stumbling to his feet, Harry’s brow furrowed darkly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

A warm, musical chuckle echoed from within the shadows, and out strolled Draco Malfoy, looking for all the world a mirror image of Harry at the moment, as the Polyjuice had yet to lose its effect.

“Oh come off it, Potter,” Draco drawled. “Who do you think you’re fooling? Telling me you were here on official Ministry business on a weekend? Bribing my house-elf to let you in at all hours and steal hair from my combs?”

“I-no, that’s what I intended when—”

“What did you intend by pretending you were me, Potter? Did you think you would get something out of Severus by bedding him behind my back? Did you think my house-elves would not tell me there was a mysterious man trolling about my house? Well, you are in deep trouble now. I think you know exactly what you want but are too afraid of how you may react.”

“And what is it I want, Malfoy?” Harry spat. “Because you know me so bloody well.”

“I think you are positively stifled,” Draco hummed, advancing on Harry just as Snape had done, and some part of Harry allowed it to happen. “By your fiancé, by your job, by your friends, and by your inexperience.”

“I am not stifled,” Harry retorted, anger pulsing through his body the closer Malfoy got. Part of him wanted to punch Malfoy’s perfect, pale face into bits for saying these things to him and the other half wanted to kiss him in the kind of furious, passionate way he had always wished someone would kiss him. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about my life.”

“I saw the way you kissed Severus, and I know how bad you wanted him then, how bad you wanted to get lost in someone else’s life, use someone else’s feelings. It’s pathetic on the one hand and quite sexy on the other.”

Harry swallowed his anger. “Sexy?”

“Perhaps it is the body he is inhabiting, Draco,” Severus drawled casually, stalking closer. “As I have no doubt in my mind that Harry Potter has never been called anything close to sexy.”

“Get away,” Harry warned, but when he reached for his wand, both Snape and Draco had advanced.

The moment Snape’s mouth covered his own, Harry’s body reacted in the most physical way possible. Teeth, tongue, and lips worked passionately, desperately, until Harry was dizzy from breathing through his nose in heated inhales and exhales. Even though their kiss was sloppy, Harry’s mouth felt somehow dry from each gasp when their lips managed to slip apart.

Malfoy wasted no time in taking advantage of Harry’s vulnerability and sank to his knees, prying Harry’s robes apart and bunching them up at his waist. He chuckled at the sight of Harry’s obvious bulge and placed his palm immediately over it, massaging until Harry gave in with a feral grunt and gripped the back of Snape’s skull as he devoured the other man’s mouth.

Snape tasted like mint tea, just as Harry had always fantasized he might. It didn’t strike Harry as very odd to have been thinking about this moment since the possibility existed that Snape might be alive—he was merely shocked speechless that the fantasy was becoming reality. When Malfoy’s mouth enveloped the head of his cock, every single thought melted in his brain into one intangible strain of breath, grunted impatiently against Snape’s hard mouth.

Nothing about the experience was gentle. Snape’s hands were forceful when they jerked his robes off; Malfoy’s mouth never eased away as he sucked Harry’s cock down his throat. And to his credit, Harry jerked his hips and shoved his tongue so deep in Snape’s mouth he could almost taste the back of the other man’s throat. The idea that Malfoy could see a mirror image of himself, was sucking at his own erection, turned Harry on more than if he were himself at that moment. He thought of how it must look, how Malfoy’s pale lips were tight about the base of his own dick.

His first orgasm was swift, and Malfoy choked unabashedly on it. When Harry broke the kiss to look down at Malfoy, he watched the other boy wince, and saw his own come dribble down out of the corners of his tight mouth, which had gone a bit slack and was swollen a perfect, violent red.

Without thinking, without waiting for instructions, Harry gripped a handful of Malfoy’s hair and yanked him up to his feet. When their mouths met, Harry licked every bit of himself from Draco’s lips and bit possessively at the corners of his mouth. Draco grunted against him and then laughed as he pulled away.

“Down, Potter,” Draco purred, petting through his hair. “You’re hardly in charge here. I want to see you on your hands and knees—submissive, begging.”

Snape gestured to the bed. “But first…” With a wave of his wand, Harry’s clothes began to pull themselves off, and before he knew it, Harry was standing before the two men completely nude.

Harry was nothing if not self-conscious about his body; he was sure Malfoy would have some bitter, snarky comment about his size or his gawky form, but instead of insults, he was greeted with silence. It was hard to tell if that was any better. It was then he realized Malfoy was admiring him, and he remembered he was still in Draco’s body, so there was not much to be ashamed about. On the contrary, he was sure he looked as sexy as he ever would fully nude.

Without knowing what else to do, he crawled onto the bed tentatively. No sooner had his palms touched the bedsheets than Draco was behind him, guiding him forward and shoving his cheek down against the pillow.

“Stay,” was all Draco said as he held him there.

After a few long moments, Harry felt a slick object pressing against his ass. Arching, he attempted to wriggle away from it, but whatever it was pressed deeper inside until he was panting and writhing under its insistent pressure. And then, once it was settled and there was no way Harry could move out of its way, it wiggled deep inside and brushed a part of Harry that made his vision explode.

Shuddering, Harry bucked hard into the sheets and reached for his dick, but Malfoy’s hand swatted it away.

“Not until I say so.”

It was another moment of torturous pleasure before Harry realized the thing that was pressing into his body was one of Malfoy’s fingers. Then, it became two fingers; then three, until Harry was sweating and grinding back against Malfoy’s palm.

And just like that, the pressure released and Malfoy’s warm flesh was gone.

“M-More,” Harry found himself begging, face red and brow furrowed.

“You’ve never been fucked, have you?” Snape asked, the first words he’d spoken since Malfoy had taken over. Harry shuddered in pleasure as Snape’s fingers brushed up the length of his spine, back down again, and dipped back inside his body, replacing the emptiness Malfoy had left.

“No,” Harry gasped, muscles quivering. “Never.”

“Relax,” Snape whispered as he pulled his fingers free.

Harry felt Snape settle more of his weight onto the bed behind Harry, and for a moment he wondered if Snape was joking. How on earth was someone supposed to relax with fingers up their arse? And then, he felt it—slow at first, a slick, heated pressure prodding between his spread cheeks. Without any further warning, Snape’s cock pressed in until the swollen head was fully sheathed in Harry’s tight body. Bucking wildly at the pleasure and pain, Harry writhed but Snape steadied him with a firm grip at his hip. Harry found the touch both dangerous and arousing. Snape wasn’t strong enough physically to hold him still if he wanted to leave, but they both knew he was powerful enough in all other senses of that word. He exuded authority.

“Now, be a good boy and take my dick in your mouth, Potter,” Draco was saying.

Harry hadn’t bothered to notice Draco had been petting through his hair the entire time since he’d moved away, but it was a nice distraction from Snape’s cock pressing deeper and deeper into him. When Snape had finally settled and Harry arched and parted his lips to inhale, Draco took full advantage and guided Harry’s mouth at his jaw until Harry was sucking at Malfoy’s erection.

It didn’t taste altogether bad, nor was it exactly a delicacy, but Harry found he liked the way Malfoy looked with his dick so hard and yearning. Watching Malfoy’s features contort, holding some kind of control over the other boy even in such a submissive position, was arousing in a whole new way. And while Harry wasn’t exactly good at his first blowjob, Draco didn’t seem to notice. In fact, the other boy obviously got off on watching the clumsy way Harry tried to take him in deep and choked or the accidental scrape of teeth against the sensitive underside of his dick.

When Harry thought his jaw might fall off from overexertion, he bowed his head away and let Draco’s dick slip from his lips with a soft pop. Draco pulled at himself in front of Harry, whispering lurid curses under his breath. It was then that Harry noticed Draco was fully nude in front of him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the lean pale muscles that drew his form or the pink scar that stretched across his chest, because Snape had chosen that moment to slam into his body.

Crying out, Harry again reached for his own erection, and again Malfoy slapped his fingers away.

“I need it,” Harry growled, reaching for it again.

This time, it was Snape who slapped his hand away with a possessive snarl and a particularly sharp thrust, his boney hips shoving up against Harry’s arse. “Leave it, Potter. If you touch yourself before we give the command, I will stop at once, and you will be left to your own devices.”

Snape pulled out and thrust in again and again, until Harry forgot he needed anything but Snape’s dick pulsing inside him. And just when he thought he was at his wit’s end and he could come just from getting fucked within an inch of his life, Snape pulled back until the head popped out of his arse.

Harry could feel additional weight behind him, but he was exhausted and his arse was aching, and he didn’t have the energy to turn and see what Snape was up to. After a moment, he didn’t have to wonder, as he felt something much bigger pressing between his cheeks.

At first, Harry thought it was some engorgement charm to make Snape bigger, to fill Harry obscenely, and then he chanced a small glance behind him and spotted a second pair of skinny, pale legs beside Snape’s. Harry nearly came against the sheets when both Draco and Snape shoved inside his arse together, their cocks slipping and sliding against one another and pulsing deep inside him.

Behind him, Draco and Snape kissed, their tongues and mouths hungry, and they both held Harry’s hips firmly, fucking him raw inside and bruising his flesh outside. Setting into a desperate, frantic rhythm, Malfoy was the first to come. Harry felt Draco’s come squish inside him, and he heard Snape’s groan of appreciation, which was dark and delirious against him.

Shuddering, Draco continued to fuck him alongside Snape until Snape had come as well. Snape thrust in to the hilt as he finished, bucking in wild jerks against Harry, forcing his arse to spread wide.

“Turn over,” Snape commanded, “and toss off.”

Harry did as he was told, wincing as he fell back on the bed and rolled over to face the two men. Closing his eyes, he jerked at his rigid dick. Then, warm heat surrounded the swollen, aching head and he looked down to see Snape sucking the head of his cock between his lips. Draco ducked down and licked at Harry’s balls, catlike, until Harry screamed.

When he finally came down from his orgasm, Harry’s exhaustion overwhelmed him and within moments he fell asleep. He wasn’t positive when things had changed, but he was sure he looked like himself now and nothing like Draco. The Polyjuice had completely worn off.

*****

It was the middle of the night when Harry woke. The bed was empty and cold, damp where he had left a mess of sweat that he had fallen asleep in. He was still nude, but his clothes had been laid out for him in a neat pile at the end of the bed. When he sat up and surveyed the empty room, he listened for any sounds or movements nearby but heard nothing save the drip of a faucet somewhere nearby.

Wincing when he tried to stand, he struggled into his clothes sloppily, wishing he’d thought to bring an extra change of clothes. Then again, he hadn’t planned on any of this.

“Did you find what you came for, Potter?”

Snape’s voice caught Harry so off guard he fell back against the bed. Another wince followed as he rubbed at his spine, body aching in strange, new places from the abuse he’d received earlier, though none of it was exactly unwelcome.

“I…don’t think so,” Harry replied quietly, watching as Snape emerged once more from the shadows of the previous room, his long hair pulled back, lean body hidden beneath a slender silk dressing robe. Harry wondered if that’s what Snape meant by ‘sexy’.

“Well? Now is your chance. Draco has left for the evening to attend to the business you so callously distracted him from earlier.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You never do.” Snape swept closer and sat at the edge of the bed with a sneer. “Weren’t there questions you had for me?”

“I…yes,” Harry breathed, nodding slowly. “There are a lot of questions. Too many. I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, as you can see, I have all the time in the world for your wonderfully mundane brand of questioning, Potter.”

Harry could feel the hair at the back of his neck prickling in frustration. He knew Snape and Malfoy had just used him for whatever sick depravity they could have imagined between the three of them, but Harry was just now starting to regret his participation. What would Ginny say if she knew? What did it mean to Snape or Draco or, for that matter, to Harry?

“There are simple answers for most of your questions,” Snape continued, almost conversationally. “And yet, I do not think now is the time to answer them.”

“To hell with what you think,” Harry grumbled, standing to his feet.

Harry had barely wavered to move forward before Snape had intercepted and cupped his chin in a single, strong grip. It left Harry breathless.

“Don’t I deserve more credit than that, Potter? Give me the chance to answer some of your questions but allow me the leniency to do so when I am able.”

The green eyes found the black, and somehow, Harry felt relieved and somewhat hopeful. Whatever this was, whatever questions he could bring himself to ask, there were answers. He almost managed a grin and he swore Snape almost managed one in turn.