Severus did not look at Draco. He did not look at Harry. He'd remember those heated dreams, and he'd remember how much he hated himself for being attracted not only to his godson but James' son. Lily's boy. What was wrong with him?

He wasn't like this. He didn't spy on teenagers having sex, and he certainly didn't toss off to it like some randy pedophile. The generation beneath him was idiotic, feckless prodigy. He could look at any of them and only find them worthy of potion ingredients. Nothing had changed.

But Potter…

The image blazed across his eyes whenever he tried to rest them. With spy-like precision, he'd picked out the chords of his tendons, the map of veins on his sunless upper thighs. Something as futile and worthless as his stupid tan lines was still fastened to his mind.

He'd always despised the use of that boy as a weapon, the same way he had despised almost everything about Dumbledore (a road he could not take). But the arch of his body had been reminiscent of a bow, stretching himself outside his bounds. Draco astride, riding the bucks with pearly thighs, taming the beast in some harlequin romance. In all the dark endeavors he'd witnessed of his godchild, he didn't think he'd ever seen him like that. He was always beautiful, always confident and brilliant in his wiles, but he'd never been like that.

Made powerful by the shadow of his partner. And Severus never knew. Never knew that he wanted such a thing, beyond the shackles of attraction and into fascination.

Not that he wanted it. It was just a moment. Even a persistent iniquity lasted no longer than a week. Like anything, it could be controlled. It could be ignored.

But his eyes still would not light on his godson and Mr. Potter, skimming over them in the Great Hall, passed in the corridors, avoided in the classroom. Day one turned into three, and the fever endured his best attempts all the way into Old Ogden's.

The bell rang for third period, and the students hastened to wipe their tables and gather their books before departing for lunch. It was an impressive day outside, bright with the last of November, possibly the last of the warm days before winter. The sky was a gorgeous egg-blue, and Severus was sure that the grounds would be littered with picnics.

Wearing last night's cologne of stale ale and bruised eyes, he collapsed into the seat behind his desk, preparing to start on the massive pile of grading he had put off during the weekend. He had grabbed the first sheet and dipped in his quill when he noticed that he wasn't alone.

Potter and Draco both had hung back, their stations clear but their attention on him. He suppressed a groan and continued grading, hoping rather vainly that ignoring them would make it go away. They spent a long moment in silence, the unease growing in him until he was going to explode.

"Did you see us?"

Severus' quill scratched across the parchment, drawing a long stretch of red over Susan Bones' assignment. He didn't speak to control his breathing, staring at the scratch. Draco leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms like a smug little heel.

"You left the door open," he said.

Severus continued the pretense of grading, reminding himself of all the reasons he'd ignored his godson for three long years. "What you chose to do in your spare time is hardly at my discretion though you will refrain from using the classrooms as your personal harem."

That should have been the end of it. Draco could huff and puff all he wanted, scream out all the horrible things Severus was thinking about himself (but wasn't true). Potter would show his disgust and he'd be lucky to keep his job. (Well, he was going to leave anyway once he set up a pseudonym for his potion articles. What was a few months planning?)

He really should have known Draco better. The boy sauntered to his desk, forcing up Severus' eye purely on defensive instinct. He leaned over the wood, propping up his bum, and leered.

"You liked it."

Severus snarled. He refused to have this conversation with Draco and certainly not with Potter in the room, judging him. Draco paled at his vehemence, all bark no bite like usual. Severus said nothing, returning to the papers.

Draco stepped uncertainly away from the desk.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what he thought of this. Surprisingly, the fact that Severus Snape had seen them shagging didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. It was impossible to think of Draco as some chaste schoolgirl, indignant of appearing like a possession. Hell, the boy loved being perceived that way sometimes. He failed to work up indignation of his own as well.

Draco talked about Snape in ways that Harry had never imagined possible. He knew the sacrifices the man had made for the war, with almost no appeal for himself, not expectations of salvation. He'd spent the entire summer (amidst funerals and media that would not let him forget) trying to accept his own reservations about what had happened, faults and failures and hope that withered and flailed in the dust.

He was not the same person. The boy that would have condemned Malfoy for being spoiled, that would have forgiven anything in the world if someone would have accepted him.

This wasn't the Snape that he knew. The anger was there, the bitter- and sourness. But he was not overwhelmed by it like he'd been as a child. Like the thing between them had finally died, leaving space that neither of them understood. Connected of course by Draco.

He looked over Snape's face. It still was not beautiful, sallow instead of porcelain pale like Draco, beaked, eyes worn thin like a favorite, abused blanket. But Harry was not fond of beauty like Draco, who was sometimes like wearing a string of heavy pearls. Strangely, he could imagine touching Severus' face with all the pleasure of touching weathered stone. And he knew, with the curiosity and the delight of finding that he held Draco Malfoy's affections, that he could also enjoy the depth of Severus' well-like eyes.

Draco looked up at him. Harry turned to intercept it and found such simple yearning, hesitant and nervous like a young snake's tongue testing tastes. Harry wondered if what they were doing was stupid, but he wondered the same thing with Draco. Maybe it was magic. Like immersing yourself in fire over and over again to enjoy the tickle of the flames.

Draco must have seen it because the doubt fell from him like an invisibility cloak. He made a broad smile, making Harry blink with confusion. He strode around Severus' desk with all the possessive grace of feline. Snape tensed and started a mordant comment. Draco looped his arms around his neck and met his mouth at the same time that his legs crawled up into Snape's chair.

Draco really wasn't a chaste kind of person. Harry watched with impartial fascination as he started stroking the inside of his mouth with his tongue, crawling all the way into his lap. He wore the violent, smug grin of a conquistador. Such a greedy bastard. Having captured Harry but lost Severus, he hadn't felt satisfied, but this… This was perfect.

Severus blinked himself out of despondency. This was the moment he was supposed to throw him off. Harry waited for it, not sure if he should be angry or… God knew what. He startled them both by springing to his feet. He grabbed the boy by the back of his thighs and pushed him atop his desk, scattering papers. They fluttered with the movements of lost birds, reeling. He towered between Draco's legs, bruising Draco's mouth and capturing his hands so the conqueror turned powerless. Draco lost all resolve but to move against his will, tightening his thighs, clenching his fingers around the man's palm, opening and tilting his mouth wherever Severus wanted.

But just as quickly as it came, Severus left. Draco whined and panted, clawing back for him like an abandoned whore, sprawled indecently across the desktop.

Harry's satchel hit the floor. This kind of thing was far (far, far, far) outside his comfort zone. Or that's what he thought before he watched Snape devour his boyfriend and instead of being insanely jealous and angry was unbelievably turned on.

He collapsed onto a stool. His first thought besides "Damn" was "Why Snape?" Was this was just because the sight of Draco being so thoroughly ravaged was fucking hot? Could have been anyone? Was he sick?

But he thought about Severus, how Snape's voice could cut through steel and wondered what it would feel like in a caress. He thought about how artful his hands were, terrible, stained weapons, and a chill went down his spine. Because really no one besides Severus Snape could personify pleasure like an art of war. Elegant in a brutal, devastating way, like a carrion bird.

Snape stalked the length of the room to him, and Harry wondered at how he had never realized how dangerously graceful the way he walked was. It couldn't have been but a meter but he managed the distance like a long hall.

He waited in nervous anticipation (mouth dry, stomach hollow and tight) for the seconds in the distance to pass, prick straining his pants. Snape grabbed him by the back of his neck, and something distant in Harry's mind told him that it wasn't something he could escape. He gasped, all his muscles jumping and pulling in strange, unfounded dimensions. Frightful sensations that he felt once when a basilisk bore down on him. Harry didn't know how to move, submitting to the mouth with terrible abandon.

This wasn't like Draco. He felt breathless, petrified, and it took long moments to realize that he was scared, far longer than it took him to realize that he liked it.

The stool skid out from under him as he suddenly flung his arms around Snape's neck, pressing for more of the heat of his mouth. His knees struck the desk, working to climb over when he realized he couldn't simply move through it. His groin thrust, hitting linoleum. He made an aggravated groan, half-crazed and willing to punish Severus for the unyielding properties of matter.

They separated with a pop. Harry kept his grip around the front of Snape's robes, animal madness still crossing his vision before succumbing to shock.

Draco lay across the desk, watching them upside down with his mouth agape.

"Bloody hell," he breathed out, smiling. "I think I love you."

o.O.o

Harry stumbled into his dorm with his lips still sore and the taste of Severus' tongue still in his mouth. Ron was reading a magazine on the bed, waiting for Hermione to finish class. He looked up when Harry entered.

"Malfoy?"

Harry opened his mouth and nothing came out. He pulled a hand over his face.

"Kind of."

"Kind of?" he repeated, pulling a face.

"I… Well, he… and the… but it wasn't… Fuck."

Ron stared at him as if he wasn't sure if he should laugh or drag him to Pomfrey.

"Shower," Harry decided. Cold, cold shower, he thought, leaving.

Ron gaped after him and decided he didn't want to know, not when it kind of included Malfoy, even if it did look like Harry had just had the best shag of his life.

o.O.o

"I could be either of your fathers," Severus said.

Harry refrained from snorting, that idea as ludicrous as Aunt Petunia acting like his mother. Draco answered with a smirk, flicking his fingers in superior sort of way that Harry thought all purebloods learned.

"You're not," he said crassly, as if Snape were stupid.

"If you have not forgotten," Snape said hotly, "I am your professor!"

"And we're eighteen," Draco combated easily. "You'll have to do better than that."

Snape clenched his jaw. "As bloody furious as your father," he mumbled, shutting his eyes a moment. "Potter," he snapped with familiar disdain, "you cannot possibly be considering this folly."

Harry gave him a clear look. "I can when you bloody well kiss me like that."

Severus snapped something foul in a foreign tongue, nearly spitting.

The three of them had convened in the office behind the potion's classroom, Severus to make clear in no uncertain terms that what had happened could not be talked about and would never happen again while Potter and Draco with the precise purpose of talking about what had happened with determination to make sure it happened on a daily basis.

Severus did not date. The most regularity he had in partners was buying the same prostitute for more than one night in a row. Even the idea of having… boyfriends was repulsive and ridiculous. Now, he had two teenagers (who he was admittedly, horribly attracted to) trying to convince him to enter a three-way relationship, who with both he had incompatible history with, one he helped father and the other he had spent the better part of two decades hating, and he was still their bloody teacher.

Severus had realized when Draco was fifteen that he held an improper attraction for the boy and eased a bit of his ego by saying he was sure anybody with an ounce of repressed sexual tension would feel attracted to him. He had vowed never to let anything come of it, thinking incorrectly that the want would go away. For Merlin's sake, he had changed the lad's nappies.

This never would have happened if Draco hadn't goaded him. What the hell was he thinking kissing them?

"And I don't suppose either of you care that this could end my career and ruin my name."

Draco crawled into his lap. "We can keep a secret," he said with a sultry smile.

"God damn it, Draco! Get off my lap!"

"This isn't a game. We know that," Harry said, giving a disproving look to his partner. Draco didn't even have the grace to acknowledge it.

"Severus, you know I always get everything I want."

Severus' eyes darted to Potter, and he couldn't disagree. Harry Potter pretty much covered 'everything.' The Gryffindor watched him a seriousness completely absent in Draco. Severus realized a moment too late that he hadn't pushed Draco off like he should have, had instead opened his legs to accommodate him.

Harry observed him before speaking quietly, "If you want, you can just date Draco until you get to know me better."

Severus gaped at him before he exploded, "I don't want to date either of you!"

"It's not like we're asking you to bond with us, Severus," Draco said, leaning back on the man's thighs with his hands in his lap. His voice seemed to suggest he thought Severus was being irrationally silly. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. Maybe it will turn out that you don't like either of us for anything but sex. You can still part ways satisfied."

Potter frowned at that but didn't speak.

Severus wasn't sure how he felt about Potter, but he knew he valued Draco more than just physically. He cared for his feelings far beyond the superficial level and found even his ability to be a royal pain in the arse refreshing from the pleasantries that people excreted to hide their arrogance. The boy was a sin but a childish one, as far as having a raging sexual appetite could be considered childish.

He sighed. Ever since Draco was a small child, he'd had Severus wrapped around his little finger. Draco recognized that sigh and grinned. Severus stood, causing the boy to fall in his arse.

"Get out."

"But, Sev," he pouted.

Potter started to laugh but covered it with his hand, instead looking like he was convulsing.

"Out!" Severus yelled.

Draco turned to Harry after the door had shut in their faces. An excited grin decorated his face. He grabbed Harry's hand and ran from the room, eager to find a deserted room so he could get Harry's cock in him.

This had to be one of the best days of his life.