Title: The Third Pillow
Author:![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
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Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Hermione/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, ~830 words
Warnings: None of which I'm aware
Summary: Draco suspected this day would come from the moment their little arrangement had begun.
Notes: A long time agoinell gave me the prompt "Harry/Hermione/Draco: Pillow, happy". A year and 1/2 later, I actually wrote the damn thing. No one looked over this before posting so please forgive, and point out, any typos or errors. :D
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters that I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world that I didn't create. No copyright infringement intended, no money's being made.
The Third Pillow
The whole night is absurd. At dinner, Harry either gulps down wine or refills their glasses while Hermione prattles on about plans to add a library to their home and other renovations Draco doesn't care a whit about. They're both acting as if this is the first time, though that night was filled with much less chatter. And if Draco remembers correctly, firewhisky instead of wine.
Still, the nervous looks are the same, shared between Hermione and Harry when they think Draco won't notice. Foolish Gryffindors. Draco suspected this day would come from the moment their little arrangement had begun. The only question now is whether they'll wait until after—one last hurrah while they keep him in the dark—or be honorable and tell him it's over before they retire to bed.
Draco guesses the latter and so is quite surprised when Hermione takes his hand and leads him down the hall to the bedroom. He debates the benefits of feigning a headache against initiating a rather un-Slytherin-like confrontation when he notices it.
The pillow. The new pillow. The third pillow on their bed.
There are never more than two pillows, but tonight there is a third, jauntily squished between the others, clearly happy with its own arrangement. The bed itself is magically expanded each time he visits, but there is something stronger about the spell this time, as if it's designed to last more than just one night.
Hermione walks around the bed and smooths out the pale green bedspread, another new edition to the room. Draco doesn't realise he's frozen in the doorway until Harry edges around him and joins his wife.
“What do you think?” Harry pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It's a nervous habit, Draco knows. One that wouldn't present itself if Harry would just get rid of those ridiculous frames, but no matter how many times Draco suggests it, Harry always shoots him down.
“It's the colour they use in hospital, Potter.” His statement earns him an eyeroll from Hermione and Harry nervously chuckles.
“You can spell it any colour you'd like.” Hermione sounds as if she's gearing up for a lecture on fabric charms, but Harry nudges her and she falls silent. Under the pretense of inspecting the new bedspread, Draco takes a few steps inside the room, but his eyes are drawn to the third pillow instead. Surrounded, but not crowded, still it's clear the new pillow is more than just friendly with the others.
Draco wants to snort—he must be going mental to assign romantic intentions to inanimate objects—but instead he says, “Is this a hint you want me to redecorate your bedroom?”
Hermione frowns. It's not one of her “I'm-highly-disappointed-in-you-Draco-Ma
Suddenly there is a mouth on his. It's Harry, and Draco's instincts kick in. By the time his brain realises what's going on, he's already snatched Harry's glasses off and is responding with a fever he's never been able to contain. Harry's mouth is sweet with wine but there's a fire beneath, and whenever Draco kisses him, he can't help but want to devour him, own that fire—not to tame, but just to have for his very own. His hands are on Harry's hips, but Harry slips out of his grasp, following with hot wet kisses along his neck. Draco can see Hermione now, sliding off her robes, slow and meticulous, her gaze locked on them with her own heat simmering behind brown eyes.
“We don't want you to redecorate.” She shimmies over and unbuttons his shirt with a swift smoothness as Harry's teeth scrape just below the soft hair at his nape. “We want you to sleep here.”
Draco opens his mouth, but Hermione holds a finger to his lips, no doubt guessing his glib reply. Or it at least he would have attempted one, but suspects it would sound more like an embarrassing moan considering the wicked way Harry's tongue is currently snaking along his earlobe.
“Not just tonight,” Hermione murmurs. “Every night.”
His shirt is gone, spelled over to lay with Hermione's robes. Harry must have divested himself of his clothing as well, because now Draco can feel the heat of his skin against his bared back. Hermione's breasts press against his chest and her lips fall to the line of his jaw.
The bed catches Draco's eye again.
The third pillow sits between the two that they've lain on and fought over every night he's spent here. They're nestled together, not stiflingly close, but with room enough for comfort.
Harry nuzzled his neck; Hermione's lips brush against his throat; Draco stares at the pillow, realising it's not such a bad place to be after all.
And he whispers, “Yes.”
-Fin-
Fic Index
Author:
sdkFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Hermione/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, ~830 words
Warnings: None of which I'm aware
Summary: Draco suspected this day would come from the moment their little arrangement had begun.
Notes: A long time ago
inell gave me the prompt "Harry/Hermione/Draco: Pillow, happy". A year and 1/2 later, I actually wrote the damn thing. No one looked over this before posting so please forgive, and point out, any typos or errors. :DDisclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters that I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world that I didn't create. No copyright infringement intended, no money's being made.
The Third Pillow
The whole night is absurd. At dinner, Harry either gulps down wine or refills their glasses while Hermione prattles on about plans to add a library to their home and other renovations Draco doesn't care a whit about. They're both acting as if this is the first time, though that night was filled with much less chatter. And if Draco remembers correctly, firewhisky instead of wine.
Still, the nervous looks are the same, shared between Hermione and Harry when they think Draco won't notice. Foolish Gryffindors. Draco suspected this day would come from the moment their little arrangement had begun. The only question now is whether they'll wait until after—one last hurrah while they keep him in the dark—or be honorable and tell him it's over before they retire to bed.
Draco guesses the latter and so is quite surprised when Hermione takes his hand and leads him down the hall to the bedroom. He debates the benefits of feigning a headache against initiating a rather un-Slytherin-like confrontation when he notices it.
The pillow. The new pillow. The third pillow on their bed.
There are never more than two pillows, but tonight there is a third, jauntily squished between the others, clearly happy with its own arrangement. The bed itself is magically expanded each time he visits, but there is something stronger about the spell this time, as if it's designed to last more than just one night.
Hermione walks around the bed and smooths out the pale green bedspread, another new edition to the room. Draco doesn't realise he's frozen in the doorway until Harry edges around him and joins his wife.
“What do you think?” Harry pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It's a nervous habit, Draco knows. One that wouldn't present itself if Harry would just get rid of those ridiculous frames, but no matter how many times Draco suggests it, Harry always shoots him down.
“It's the colour they use in hospital, Potter.” His statement earns him an eyeroll from Hermione and Harry nervously chuckles.
“You can spell it any colour you'd like.” Hermione sounds as if she's gearing up for a lecture on fabric charms, but Harry nudges her and she falls silent. Under the pretense of inspecting the new bedspread, Draco takes a few steps inside the room, but his eyes are drawn to the third pillow instead. Surrounded, but not crowded, still it's clear the new pillow is more than just friendly with the others.
Draco wants to snort—he must be going mental to assign romantic intentions to inanimate objects—but instead he says, “Is this a hint you want me to redecorate your bedroom?”
Hermione frowns. It's not one of her “I'm-highly-disappointed-in-you-Draco-Ma
Suddenly there is a mouth on his. It's Harry, and Draco's instincts kick in. By the time his brain realises what's going on, he's already snatched Harry's glasses off and is responding with a fever he's never been able to contain. Harry's mouth is sweet with wine but there's a fire beneath, and whenever Draco kisses him, he can't help but want to devour him, own that fire—not to tame, but just to have for his very own. His hands are on Harry's hips, but Harry slips out of his grasp, following with hot wet kisses along his neck. Draco can see Hermione now, sliding off her robes, slow and meticulous, her gaze locked on them with her own heat simmering behind brown eyes.
“We don't want you to redecorate.” She shimmies over and unbuttons his shirt with a swift smoothness as Harry's teeth scrape just below the soft hair at his nape. “We want you to sleep here.”
Draco opens his mouth, but Hermione holds a finger to his lips, no doubt guessing his glib reply. Or it at least he would have attempted one, but suspects it would sound more like an embarrassing moan considering the wicked way Harry's tongue is currently snaking along his earlobe.
“Not just tonight,” Hermione murmurs. “Every night.”
His shirt is gone, spelled over to lay with Hermione's robes. Harry must have divested himself of his clothing as well, because now Draco can feel the heat of his skin against his bared back. Hermione's breasts press against his chest and her lips fall to the line of his jaw.
The bed catches Draco's eye again.
The third pillow sits between the two that they've lain on and fought over every night he's spent here. They're nestled together, not stiflingly close, but with room enough for comfort.
Harry nuzzled his neck; Hermione's lips brush against his throat; Draco stares at the pillow, realising it's not such a bad place to be after all.
And he whispers, “Yes.”
-Fin-
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