AN: Something of a prequel to the story I've been working on for… wow, the pastyear. Sort of smacked me upside the head and, well, here it is. A rabid plot bunny teamed up with the friendly neighbourhood Wrackspurt Writing Squad and tortured me for two hours until this came out. Can't say I'm unhappy over it. *grins* It's been a while since the writing bug bit me this hard. I've missed it.

Warnings for: fem!Harry, sort-of polyamory, though more pre-poly than anything, and fluffiness. Also, sun referencesad nauseam.

Enjoy!

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It's the sunshine that hits Neville, makes him realise.

Only, it's not, because how can something that's always touched you make a hit? It would need to move away to do that, and, he realises now, Amy never has. Even now, as he tutors her in Herbology in front of Greenhouse Four, her hand it reached out, playing with the cuff of his sleeve. The light shines brilliantly on her hair, bringing out the red highlights that he so rarely sees.

She looks up then, and he realises that he isn't speaking anymore, isn't telling her about the growth cycle and many uses of the Casket Daisy. He swallows, making to begin again, when her eyes, so green and warm, like the plants he so loves, meet his, and crinkle, the way they always do when she smiles - brilliantly, like the sun. Her laughter burbles from her mouth, and suddenly he's laughing too, and she crawls over to lay beside him (when did they both turn on their backs?), their faces tilted, heliotactic, toward the sun.

Neville sighs in contentment, and his eyes drift over to her hair, with its bright red and orange highlights, her warm skin burning against his.

Amaryllis, radiant beauty, shining like the sun.

.

He never realized he loved her until she demanded they go on a picnic. The three of them, thick as thieves; it was important, she said, that every person go on a picnic at least once in their lives. None of them ever had before, and why should they wait?

The two of them slipped down to the kitchen, her warm hand never leaving his grasp, while Neville packed a blanket and met them outside, his round face beaming at the sight of them. Amy lead them through a copse of trees, into the sun, where the grassy slopes began to turn downward. Her hair caught the light when she and Neville pulled out the blanket, but he didn't notice that.

What he noticed was her skin, when her red camisole top slid up her back, and he could just see the beginnings of a doodle she'd inked on while bored. Little black sun rays, reaching out to be touched, across the skin of her right side, her lower back.

So he did. Touch them, that is.

Amy squeaked, and Dean couldn't help but laugh, watching her as she fell back onto the red-and-white chequered cloth, eyes filled with light. He noticed her hair, spread around her like a halo, strands of radiant light reaching as far as they could curl. She grasped his wrist with one hand, the other over her heaving breast as she laughed, and when Dean looked up, he caught Neville's eye, as the other boy, too, had to tear his eyes away from her.

I'm in love with her, Dean's eyes said. Neville's looked back at his sadly, and he nodded, a faint smile turning up one corner of his mouth.

You think I'm not? his eyes returned.

But then Amy has pulled them both down so that their three heads lay together, their bodies going in all different directions, and Dean curled her sunshine strands around his fingers, closing his eyes and basking in the warm sun over all their faces, listening to Amy's breath, deep and easy; her voice, smooth and clear as a melody.

I can't think of a more perfect day - just the three of us, you know?

He knew.

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Summer made her understand it. Summer, the only time of the year she couldn't keep them with her, the only time of the year that she had to hold onto them tight, because she knew that, all too soon, she would have to hold tight instead to these memories to keep the nightmares at bay. When summer truly came, no longer would she be able to crawl into one of their beds, or curl up beside them in the Common Room at night, after the green light flashed, or the high, cold laugh sounded, or she heard, time and time again until it rang in her ears, kill the spare. Summer, the season of the longest sun, was the time that took her two lights away.

Thus, when she looked between them, on one of those last few glorious June days before it all ended and she had to hold on through the night, full of terror, on her own, she couldn't help but wonder - how did I not see that?

Dean's hand, clay-smoothed and warm, holding her close. Neville's warm hyacinth breath, green, fresh and slightly sweet in her hair. The three of them, pressed close together and oh-so-relaxed, under the bright, blue, endless sky, the brilliant pale sun just within reach - she looked between them, sage green eyes flickering from hazel to brown, and gave a relieved smile, still wondering how this had passed her by before.

A sigh of contentment, their warm bodies on either side of her, she made to push down her fears... but there were none. She was too light, too filled with sunshine and grass and oil paints to be afraid and worry. That would come later, when she fully realised what it meant that she cared for both of them like this.

But for now, she snuggled closer to them, arms linked, as the birds called out high in the trees, answering only to the light of the sun.