Author's Notes: Okay, this is a little something very different from what I'm used to - inspired by boredom during a cruise vacation :) If you're offended by slash, please go your own way. If you don't like Snarry, Drarry or TR/HP… Well you just might start liking them a little better after reading this.

I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS, JUST THE SMUTTY SEXY TIMES :)

Harry rubbed his tired eyes with his fists, sighing. Why was it always him, the one person to always end up in trouble or some complete and utter mess that somehow the rest of his peers seemed to bypass, living their lives as they liked? Well, of course, his life had been ruined and, essentially, not his per se, since that bint Trelawny prophesied all that garbage about him being the One to vanquish, conquer, whatever… Letting out a groan, he finally made himself look up into the azure blue eyes of his Headmaster, who was gazing at him with mirth etched into his old, weary features.

"What are you saying exactly, Professor?" He hated the way he sounded: a teenage boy's voice shouldn't have that horrible old twang to it. Sometimes the pressure of the war was just a bit too much. Too much responsibility, too much pressure, too much to think of. And now this, this would probably change his life even more - although change was something Harry was always ready for - you get used to change after a while, you see, when your own life is a turmoil of a mess.

"Exactly what you hear me say, my dear boy and I -,"

"Professor, I stopped being a boy when I stepped up into the shoes of the Chosen One or whatever they are calling me this week - it's a nice change from Lunatic and The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Psycopath - and I stopped being dear to you when I became a Horcrux. Now, I have a strategy meeting to attend with the DA, if you don't mind, so please be kind to just cut the crap and tell me what the hell it is you want me to do," Harry stated in a calm voice, leaning over the Headmaster's desk intimidatingly. Now, it would have been ridiculous to dub him intimidating in any way just a few months ago, before the War really bursted into action, but now, many weeks later, after numerous battles, countless training sessions and quite a few Strengthening Solutions, Harry Potter indeed looked quite menacing. He was not tall by any extent, but had filled out nicely, growing some muscle on those previously skinny arms and legs of his, tanning under the scorching sun of the Sahara, where he'd been forced to hide out a month or two ago, and letting his hair lengthen to the middle of his back, now tied back into a neat ponytail, the length contributing to his hair being subjective to taming. The round spectacles now lay long forgotten at the very bottom of his trunk after he had taken the plunge and downed the absolutely horrific Myopia Mixture he had brewed himself under the watchful eye of one Professor Snape (who, of course, being himself, had only raised an eyebrow upon seeing a perfectly done potion from his least favorite student and curled his upper lip in a snarl). Harry had also developed an unhealthy passion for piercings - something he had been reluctant to admit at first to even his closest friends, because of the stereotypes going around about heavy body modifications - and now both his ears had studs in them: two on each lobe and one in the cartilage of his right ear. He had unwillingly taken out the one in his eyebrow after having gotten caught in the crossfire of some nasty hexes that caused the newly studded skin to bleed out, and he was quite alright with it. While Ron had suddenly started giving him cold looks and muttering under his breath, the ladies of Gryffindor Tower were completely unopposed to their hero having 'a few more holes in him than he was supposed to' (end of quote, Susan Bones, Transfiguration class).

"Harry, my b-, I mean, Harry," Dumbledore paused, giving the Golden Boy a withering look and sighing: the boy was becoming slightly more troublesome every day - first the DA, then the piercings, then snapping at professors… God forbid he becomes independent! The scandal! "Your power is growing - don't deny it, you know you cannot hide a thing like that from me - and you need something to reign it in before it collapses onto you. Being the descendant of Gryffindor with Slytherin powers, plus that heritage of yours-,"

"There is nothing wrong with my heritage, Professor Dumbledore, with all due respect," Harry interjected, the look he was giving the Headmaster clearly stating he felt no respect whatsoever towards the old man. "It wasn't a problem, me being part-Serpentus, a month ago, and I didn't think it would become one now."

"Of course not, my dear b-, Of course not," Dumbledore said quietly, putting two folded hands under his chin as if in silent prayer for patience. "It is perfectly acceptable - you know that your friend Miss Granger's recent studies on the matter have shown we were all, in part, descended from magical creatures, otherwise we would already be extinct. But back to the matter at hand, Harry. You are powerful, more so every minute you live, and we need to ensure that -,"

"That I'm not dangerous," Harry said coldly, relaxing back into the chair.

"Only to yourself, Harry, I assure you." Dumbledore's reply was met by a freezing stare confirming the young man's distrust of the words. "Anyway, as a Serpentus, you will have to take a Mate soon, but before you do that, there is a certain ritual only Serpentus-descended magi have to partake in. I am more than confident that Miss Granger told you something about the Ultimate Mating, am I correct?"

Harry nodded stiffly:

"I know of it, but I have no idea what it is. The books Hermione found were awfully vague on the subject and frankly, I had more problems on hand at the time, so I just let it slide."

"You shouldn't have, Harry, but never you mind, I will explain the details to you later. The essential part of the Ultimate Mating process is, well…" Dumbledore trailed off, his ears getting pinker and pinker with every word.

"Sex," Harry said simply, secretly enjoying the uncomfortable look on the old man's face. I wonder how long it's been since he got laid…

"Yes, that. Not only is it… copulation, it has to be with three different people -,"

"Excuse me?"

"…who also carry Serpentus blood."

"Sir, three people? I appreciate your overestimation of my powers in bed but even for someone my age three people is kind of… trashy."

"Harry, there is nothing trashy about the ritual - it is very delicate, very based on magic and emotions and -,"

"Three people."

"Yes, Harry. The main problem we are having is that there are exactly only three known people in the magical world with a dominant Serpentus gene."

"And let me guess, they're all Slytherins."

"Precisely." Dumbledore watched as a tiny smirk snaked its way onto Harry's face. "You don't seem upset."

"I don't mind and I heard," Harry leaned forward, deviousness sparkling in his emerald eyes. "I heard that they are demons in bed."

Dumbledore coughed loudly as he choked on a lemon drop.

"Well, all right," Harry leaned back, perching himself regally in the comfortable chair, barely resisting the temptation to prop his feet up onto the Headmaster's desk. "Lay it on me, who is it?"

"Harry, something you need to know is that this ritual is sacred and thus all participants are to cast aside their differences, no matter how monumental they are so during the ritual they are all equal and -,"

"Names, Professor."

"Draco Malfoy." Harry's eyes lit up:

"I'm up for that. I have to admit he's been slightly more civil to me this year - gah, he probably fancies me or something… plus he has a nice derriere."

"Severus Snape."

"Oh, God." Harry's eyes rolled back into his skull and he bit his lip, pulling a face that made Dumbledore squirm:

"I though you despised each other." Harry's attention snapped back to the Headmaster:

"Professor, do you use your eyes for something other than twinkling at people? The man is delectable, I mean, those robes? Always wondered what he hides underneath them." If Dumbledore's eyes could get any bigger, they would rival Dobby's.

"And Lord Voldemort."

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"I can't believe this, no, this time the old man just outdid himself!" Harry was fuming as he strode down the almost-empty Transfiguration corridor, Ron and Hermione at his side, both wearing a look of complete and utter sympathy. Sometimes Harry wished they wouldn't do that - for Merlin's sake, he wasn't about to fall apart or go on a killing spree.

"I know, I mean, having sex with three blokes? Pfft, mate, I feel you," Ron said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. That brought both Harry and Hermione up short as they stopped walking abruptly and turned to face the red-head:

"That's not what I meant, Ron, and you know it. I have no reservations about, um, dating guys," Harry said, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively, sensing a storm. His best friend had taken quite badly to Harry having been caught with the twins in a slightly compromising position two months before - and before you start, they were brushing up on Harry's kissing skills, nothing more - or, at least, according to them. Harry had first thought it was because they were brothers, and Ron had always had a territorial streak, but in the end it turned out he just considered same-sex ventures unnatural and weird, which resulted in a long lecture from Hermione stating homosexual couples were more than welcome in wizarding society and that Ron was being a judgmental pinhead. "I'm quite horrified at the prospect of doing the dirty with snake-face, to be honest."

Hermione smiled sympathetically as they walked out into the courtyard, making their way towards the lake. It was early springtime, nice and cool according to Harry, who had suffered multiple heatstrokes during his time in the Sahara, and the trio was cozily wrapped in warm woolen coats, a kilt in Harry's hands, waiting to be lain onto the frosty ground next to the black waters and sat on in comfortable indignation over Dumbledore's plan. Deep inside Harry knew the day would come when he would have to choose a mate, but he had never been ready to go through three people to actually survive before his powers went mental. Trust it to his dear dead mother to having been hiding a non-Muggle, non-wizarding ancestor whose gene picked Harry as its victim, making him understand and speak Parseltongue and turn into a snake at will. Why is it always me again?

"Honestly, Harry, haven't you read-,"

"Hogwarts, a History? Nope, Hermione, we've covered that already."

"I was actually going to say Serpentus Viridis, but come to think of it, Hogwarts, a History did have a chapter on-,"

"Off-topic, Hermione."

"Oh, right." Hermione shook her head vigorously as if to get rid of a pesky bug. "Since this is a ritual important for the whole Serpentus kind, none of them can harm you during it, even Voldemort. You see, as you gain control of your power during the…"

"Ritual," Ron supplied, turning a delicate shade of cucumber green.

"Thank you. As you gain control, they gain more power. The special connection between all of you creates a network of sorts. Harry, what I'm saying is by doing the ritual you get a chance of evening out the difference in magical levels all of you have. For example, Draco, as the weakest, will treble what he has now, he will be able to cast spells he had never dreamed of pulling off, and Voldemort, as the strongest, will be able to alleviate some of the stress his excessive powers have been causing him."

"Wait, are you saying he's uncomfortable with being almighty?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes. As much as he would hate to admit it, you and him both, by the way, but power means responsibility."

"True."

"He doesn't want that. You may be enemies in real life, but you're family in Serpentus terms. During the ritual, they will do everything to ensure your safety. They need you."

"Why haven't they done this sooner, then? It works for all of them, doesn't it? Didn't they have to go through this at one point?"

"No, Harry. It all has to do with a prophesy-,"

"Oh, great, another one," Harry groaned.

"Oh don't you cry, little Harry," a voice made the trio spin around. There, leaning against a century-old tree, was the tall form of Draco Malfoy, clad in Slytherin colors with his woolen cloak thrown over an expensive silk shirt and warm silver pants carelessly. For some reason, Harry was suddenly swept away with the desire to tighten the fastenings of the cloak around the blond, so that he wouldn't freeze. Draco gave him a small smile and strode forward with a swagger, rolling his hips slightly. Coming to a halt next to the green-eyed Gryffindor, he put a hand on Harry's cheek, making the other boy inhale sharply. Before, touching with Draco Malfoy had meant a fight, or maybe a couple of insults. Now, though, Harry's Serpentus-fueled body could only lean into the caress with a sigh. Abruptly, the moment was broken when Draco withdrew his hand with a regretful look and stepped back:

"See? You're not the only one in trouble here. This prophesy is screwing me up as well and I'll bet you all of the Malfoy estate that Snape is wanking in that dark dungeon of his to the thoughts of you tied up and spanked and old Voldy's just dismissed a meeting because of a very hard problem," he said sweetly, watching Harry blush.

"Dismissed a meeting? So that explains your sudden appearance here, ferret," Ron said through gritted teeth, eyeing the blond with malice.

"Zip it, Weasley. I may be forced to be civil to Harry here," he watched in satisfaction when the Gryffindor nearly purred upon hearing his name being uttered by himself. "And I'm not completely against the idea as of now but there is nothing stopping me from a Slug-Eating Hex. Remember how that one felt?"

"You-,"

"Ron, please." Harry put up a hand, not turning his eyes away from Malfoy who stood before them smugly.

"Harry, mate, you can't be serious-,"

"He is not your mate. For all I know, he could be mine," Malfoy snarled, a look so un-aristocratically enraged on his face that Ron stepped back, slightly more subdued.

"Draco, it's fine. Don't overdo it, please," Harry said quietly, watching the venomous exchange. He had to admit to himself that Malfoy looked very delectable when angry. "Ron, it's animal instinct. It's more than-,"

"Our friendship?" Ron cut him off sharply. Harry stayed silent as his best friend turned on his heel, grabbed a feebly protesting Hermione and stalked away, fuming. With a tired sigh, Harry shook his head and trained his eyes on Malfoy's:

"Did you have to do that?"

"Sorry, darling," Draco quipped and placed a sound smooch on Harry's cheek, making the latter jump:

"What the hell?"

"Get used to it, baby, soon we'll have to do more than that."

"Malfoy, as much as I would like to do more than that to you right now," Harry couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth. It was as if an invisible floodgate had opened. "But I would like to know why I want to do those things to you after years of being horrible to each other. Tell me about the prophesy. Now." He tried to put as much force into the words as he could, which only made Draco smile as he flopped down onto the abandoned blanket and tugged Harry down with him, who went with an undignified squeal.

"Can I?" After a tentative nod from Harry, Draco put his arms around the shorter boy and laid back against the magically warmed-up blanket. They lay together on the solid ground, wind and feeble snow storming around them quietly. Neither knew what this was supposed to be and neither cared.

"You know, Harry," Draco smiled with satisfaction upon seeing Harry shudder. "I'm probably the luckiest of the three. I have you right here and I have nothing holding me back from you… Except stupid childhood rivalries and your equally moronic suspicions of my alliance to the Dark Lord. Snape is twenty years our senior… And I can't even begin to tick off Voldemort's reasons for being so wrong for you."

"Don't try and chat me to death, Draco. The prophesy." Harry said with a smirk.

"Oh, all right. As far as I know, only Voldemort has the full text and knows the full content, but the point is, you're the chosen one again - sorry for that, by the way - and before you take a mate on your eighteenth birthday, you have to 'come together' with everyone with the Serpentus gene. So consider yourself lucky we're only three. Anyway, this Night of Unity - moronic name, I know, not my fault - is supposed to make us all put aside our differences for without the chosen one they are incomplete," Draco finished in an ominous voice. Tightening his hold on Harry, he breathed into the brunet's ear:

"Plus if we don't do it before your birthday, we'll grow horny to death."