Harry struggled to see through the rain. Icy sheets pelted the field. He could hardly see the stadium, much less the snitch, and barely make out Dean's voice narrating the game from the box. Something that might have been a player flew passed him, almost knocking him off his broom.

This weather was shit. The charm to keep his goggles clear was faltering just from sheer undulation. The water was cold. He had refreshed the warming charms on his hands eleven times since the game started four hours ago, and already they'd gone numb again. This was impossible. He couldn't even see the end of his broom.

He had a split-second warning before a bludger almost careened into his head. He expelled his breath shakily, flying higher. For a moment, he was jealous that Draco had quit the team. They weren't playing Slytherin, but even the idea of not being forced into this weather was enviable.

The snitch suddenly whizzed past his face, followed by the Hufflepuff seeker, a knee almost knocking the side of his head. Harry followed, barely able to make out the smudge of his back. He took a dive, and Harry measured the angle and distance to pull alongside him. He had no idea how far up he was anymore, which meant he had no idea how close the ground was either, but he could see the snitch again. After half a minute, the other seeker chickened out, but Harry was too determined to get out of this foul weather and inside by a fire to heed the alarm going off in his head.

The snitch took a ninety-degree turn, swooping beneath his legs. Harry couldn't flip, struggling even to pull his broom up against the current of the wind. His knees scraped the ground. He lost his balance and toppled in an undignified sprawl. His legs immediately smarted, bruised all the way to the bone. He was amazed they were not broken.

Well, that was incredibly stupid, he thought. He stood, battered, soaked, cold, and snitch-less. He cursed and tried to climb back onto his broom, searching for Madam Hooch.

Lightning flashed and a loud thunder made him jolt. People were going to get killed out in this. He didn't even know what the score was.

Somebody suddenly landed beside him. Colin, the beater.

"You alright, Harry?"

He wondered how he could see him in this, yelling over the storm. Harry clapped his shoulder, finding no words of encouragement. He accioed his broom, waiting the extra minutes for it to make its way from where it had been tossed by the wind.

"Get back up there and try not to hit our players," he screamed before taking off.

It was another hour before he spotted the snitch again, careening through the stands. He wondered briefly where Draco was sitting before he had to focus on not clipping the heads of the bystanders. He was aching all over, so exhausted he wasn't entirely sure he could catch the snitch if he was close enough.

The Hufflepuff seeker suddenly lost control of his broom and smacked into him. They flailed in a pit of limbs, Harry getting clocked across the jaw before they started to spiral towards the ground. The other flyer panicked. Harry grabbed his broom and spun them both, feeling his center of gravity shift so they were no longer plummeting. He thought.

Several bruises the worse, they finally disentangled themselves. Obviously, the snitch was lost. Harry cursed, flinging himself away from the other seeker before he started pummeling him.

It was well into night, all but the diehard fans leaving the stadium, before Harry finally caught the damn snitch.

"That was a fucking nightmare," Ron announced when they collapsed in the tent, removing his keeper's helmet and shaking out his red hair.

"I think I scored on the wrong goal," Ginny said.

Harry wasn't the only one bruised up. The chasers had slammed against each other so many times that two of them were sporting broken arms and one had a dislocated shoulder. Ginny was nursing her arm gingerly, testing the agility of her blue fingers. Everyone looked ready to collapse.

Someone from the Hufflepuff team had fallen off their broom and Pomfrey had to mend to her first, but Hermione came around with her meager training, healing the worst of the bruises and hypothermia. Harry wobbled to a bench. Now that the game was over, he was feeling every ache and pain five times over. His bones felt like tenderloin, his muscles soup. He started the wary strip out of his gear before someone made a catcall and started laughing.

Confused, Harry looked around, not even realizing the calls were directed at him. This was hardly the first time he had disrobed, even in front of Ginny or Hermione or that new chaser that took over for Alicia.

"Someone's been getting some," Roger Mauchery jeered, the other beater beside Colin.

Harry looked down. His chest was littered with bite marks and hickeys. He frowned, irritated with himself for being so stupid.

"So who's the lucky girl?" Mauchery asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry rolled his eyes, unable even to sound probably goaded. "None of your business."

"Oh come on, Harry," he cajoled, joined by the eager eyes of the rest of his team. "You gotta tell us. Someone's wild enough to corrupt Saint Potter."

Even like he was, Harry made an effort not to get pissed. It wasn't a secret among Gryffindor house that Harry didn't participate in the late night revelry of the rest of the male dorm. He did not compare breasts or look at magazines or make treks into the girl's dormitory. The blokes had taken to calling him Saint Potter (rather ironically stolen from Malfoy) and it pissed him off.

"It's me," Ginny said suddenly and Roger quieted. She sent him a superior glare, ruined somewhat by her battered appearance. "Harry didn't want to say it because I asked him not to. I didn't want you guys ragging on about it every time we got into the locker room," she said making even Harry flush.

Mauchery glanced down at his toes. "Sorry, Gin. Didn't mean anything by it, you know."

Ginny gave an affronted sniff and turned away, unlacing her boots with her single good hand. The boys returned to their own gear, quiet and chagrined. Harry pulled on a t-shirt and dared not remove his trousers.

"Thanks, Gin," he said quietly when he went to help with her laces.

She gave a tense smile. "I have to admit," she said, staring at his neck, where a taste of brownish red was escaping his collar. "Those marks are pretty impressive."

Harry blushed. Great. Now he just had to explain to Draco and Snape why the school's going to start whistling at him whenever he walked through the halls with her or sat beside her at dinner. He hated his life.

o.O.o

Harry managed to call Draco down to Snape's quarters after making sure all his teammates were cared for and off to bed. They had been using his study as a meeting place for homework and the small hours where they could spend together alone without rutting on each other. Draco was a creature prone to cuddling even without the affair of sex, something that Harry found both peculiar and endearing.

He explained the situation to both of them, and while neither was pleased, neither had they blown up at him.

"So I take it she knows about us?" Draco said.

Harry nodded. "I told her because Ron would have told her even if I hadn't, and she can be trusted not to tell anyone else."

"And have you told anyone about the other aspect of your relationship?" Snape said from behind his desk.

"No, and I don't plan to until after I graduate. But Hermione will figure it out on her own."

"And she will keep silent?" he said dubiously.

Harry rubbed his eyes, legs quivering. "I don't know," he sighed. "Probably. After she yells at me. But she'll probably find it morally reprehensible, quote a section of the school code, then try to convince me I'm going through a crisis based on some post-war psychological bollucks she'd read from a German textbook three years ago. She'll probably throw in a derivative of an Oedipus complex as well to make it seem like I'm trying to compensate for the fatherly attachment I never had by misconstruing the type of relationship I want with Snape for something sexual."

No one spoke. He was in the strange state of tired where he was nauseous.

"My respect for your intelligence has increased significantly, Potter," Severus said. "There were at least three good points in there and you even used the correct vocabulary."

Harry laughed-groaned. "You spend seven years with Hermione, it kind of rubs off."

"I'll take Mr. Weasley as proof, shall I?" he said with a raised brow.

Harry shrugged. "I need to get back to the dormitory. I doubt they're celebrating, but someone will notice I'm gone."

"Ginny could just say you spend the night with her," Draco said with a suggestive smile.

"Ginny's just as tired as I am. Neither one of us is in the mood for sex."

"Well then it's just as good that neither one of you will be having sex," Snape said, pushing back his seat. "You should soak in a bath. It will do wonders for your sore muscles."

It was tempting. Harry was still in his quidditch trousers, spelled dry but stiff and uncomfortable with grass and sweat. And his legs were screaming at him. In the hubbub of getting his teammates tended to, he had forgotten to tend himself. He could already imagine the difficulties he would have rising in the morning, and a quick shower really just couldn't do the trick.

"If you're sure it's not a bother."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Give it a minute to warm," he said, disappearing into the rooms beyond the desk that Harry had never broached.

He collapsed into the sofa, his head uncommonly heavy. Draco scooted close beside him.

"He likes you," he grinned.

"I thought we'd established this."

"No, I mean he likes you. The way I like you. For more than just your rugged good looks."

Harry gave a grunt that could have passed for a snort in a past life.

"I like him too."

"Really?" Draco asked in that eager way that made Harry want to give him the world.

"I think so," he said with a tired smile. "He's perfect for when you exhaust me."

Draco rolled his eyes fondly, parting the hair to either side of his face. "You make me sound deplorable."

"You are deplorable."

Draco brushed a gentle kiss against his lips. Harry responded with meager pressure, but Draco seemed content to just be at his side tonight, even if he stunk. He rested his head on his shoulder. Perhaps to reward him for being so understanding, Harry placed his hand in his hair, gently kneading the silken tresses. Since Harry had mentioned it once, Draco had stopped slicking it back. He was fascinated by how soft it was and correctly assumed that Draco treated his hair with potions. The boy probably moisturized like a little princess too.

Severus returned, gesturing that the bath was ready. "I really appreciate this, sir," he said standing.

He wobbled slightly on uneasy legs. "Shit, no I'm fine," he said to Draco, who moved to hover. "Sorry," he said contritely to Snape.

"For being tired?" he asked with a queer expression.

Harry shrugged. "Being a bother mostly."

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. "I've invited you in. There is no need for you to remain so penitent."

"It's not a need," he muttered, passing him into the inner quarters.

It was a meager suite. There was a hearth, a blue fire lapping merrily in midair. It was mostly unadorned, lacking tapestries and frames. A single candelabrum, whose red candles were melted in a macabre beauty over the tarnished silver, rested alone on the mantle. There was a single dresser, the mirror polished but corroded. The old oak was treated kindly, brass handles gleaming in the blue light. The bed was large, the only thing in the room not austere. The sheets were black and cotton, folded crisply, and a book laid parted over the nightstand where a lamp burned lowly. The floor hosted nothing more than a sparse rug.

"Curiosity sated?" Snape said snidely.

Harry smirked. "I have the urge to rumple your sheets."

"I know!" Draco crowed behind him.

Snape sent them half-hearted glares, moving to reveal the open bathroom. Harry took the hint. Steam was rising, the mirror misted. He had an old-fashioned loo with a clubfoot tub that wasn't connected to the wall. The toilet even had that pull-chain that ran up the ceiling rather than the handle on the side. Harry felt like he had stepped inside a museum and smiled. It was small for the three of them. Snape stood in the door, Draco pushing against him to peer in.

The water in the tub was an opaque green, filled with the fragrance of salts and herbs. It was filled to the brim, leaves floating on the top. Harry stared at it.

"You did that?"

"Who else would have done it?" he sneered.

Harry sent him a grateful smile and pulled the t-shirt over his head.

"I can see why Mauchery made a comment," Snape said wryly.

"Not my fault," he said, sending a half-irritated glance at Draco, who grinned smugly.

"No, I can hardly imagine you doing that to yourself," Snape replied.

"You guys planning on staying?" he asked, tossing the shirt in the sink.

Snape gave him an assessing stare. "We are in a relationship, are we not?"

Harry figured this might be some odd Slytherin test of valor or whatnot and shrugged. "As long you know I'm dead-set on doing absolutely nothing but soak," he said offhandedly, working the buttons of his quidditch trousers.

"I'm believe you've made yourself abundantly clear."

Harry was too tired to decipher Slytherin intrigue and toed off his cleats. That alone felt wonderful. He stripped out of the clingy pants, sitting on the toilet to peel off the socks.

"Merlin, Harry! What did you do to your legs?" Draco exclaimed, rushing in.

Harry blinked and looked down. His shins and knees were inflamed with bruises, traveling in a range of impossible hues. Hermione had fixed his black eye and swollen jaw so Severus and Draco hadn't really seen much of the damage.

"I couldn't see the ground."

"Why didn't you get it healed?" Draco snapped, working his hands around the scrapes. "Idiot."

Harry leaned back, fighting the limpness in his body. "I forgot. We had two teammates with broken arms and one with a dislocated shoulder. It wasn't really anything."

"Anything?" he repeated, brow furrowed. "Harry, you're bleeding."

"I'm always bleeding."

"I'm serious!" Draco cried.

Snape, who had left, returned and handed Harry a canister of ointment, a grim expression on his face. Harry studied him, trying to decipher that look. Snape's eyes narrowed and Harry frowned. Ignoring the disdain for the moment, he started to apply the ointment, but Draco swiped it from his hands.

Harry sighed and allowed his legs to be prodded and smothered, hissing between his teeth when Draco was too insistent.

When he finally slipped into the tub, it was with a wince and a sigh. He could see only a shadow of his body beneath the water. Salts pricked at the back of his legs and bum. His glasses fogged, and he handed them to Draco, who perched himself on the toilet lid, heels on the rung, elbows on knees, and chin in hand. Severus lowered himself to the floor, arranging himself in a comfortable manner against the doorframe, his feet braced against the base of the toilet.

Harry watched them disconcertedly. "You know you don't have to stay with me."

"As much as I would prefer finishing the load of paperwork you insufferable, idiotic brats force me to have the pleasure of reading," Snape said. "I am suddenly of the mind that you would find some impossible way to injure yourself should you stay alone for any significant measure of time."

"I just like having you both in the same room," Draco mumbled.

Harry was too exhausted to deal with Snape's resentment and rested in the water. As the silence lengthened, no one feeling inclined to speak, Harry could feel his muscles relaxing. Maybe oozing would be a better word, he thought. The heat was wonderful, and the salts were serving to wear the strain from his thighs and back. He submerged himself, holding his breath. Relishing the feeling of his hair splayed around him, he allowed the heat to sting his face. When the burn in his lungs started, he pulled up, brushing the hair from his face. The water sloshed as he rose, thankfully not dumping on Snape.

"You need a haircut," Draco said, pressing his fingers to his temple. "You look like a drowned cat."

Harry flicked water at him half-heartedly. "If I dunked you, you'd probably look like a rat."

"Don't even think about it," Draco said, pulling his hand away.

Harry grunted.

Draco rested his cheek on his arms, watching Harry's eyes drift shut. "Have you heard from the Margaret woman?" he said when he thought he was almost asleep. "I thought I saw her owl at breakfast."

Eyes still closed, he nodded. "Pregnancy's going well, but she's not sure what to do with baby."

"You impregnated someone?" Snape said, startled.

"Someone got a lock of hair and polyjuiced himself to seduce this woman in Sussex." He opened his eyes long enough to focus on his words. "The genes are technically mine so I'm paying the expenses. We're hoping the child will survive."

"You are aware that progeny from polyjuice trysts are usually born damaged."

"I know," he said somberly.

Severus nodded. "What happened to the man?"

"Azkaban," he said casually.

"And the person who gave him your hair?"

Harry made a weary motion that barely raised his shoulders. "I don't even know how much they took. There are so many reports of me running off to…" he shrugged again, "that anyone could probably poise as me. As long as they don't get arrested, we'll never know." He rested his head against the rim of his tub. "The whole debacle was in the Prophet. I'll be lucky if there isn't an army of mes running around England."

Snape was silent a moment, aware of Draco watching him. "And you keep correspondence with this Margaret?" he said eventually.

"Kid's mine."

"The child is most definitely not yours," Severus snapped.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said drowsily. "If it survives, I'll care for it. Children deserve parents."

"Do you want a family, Harry?" Draco asked softly before Severus could respond.

"Yeah," he sighed, slipping into sleep. "If it's safe. Though… don't know how well… you know, I'd do."

"Why's that?"

But Harry was already asleep. He slipped into the water, and Severus jumped to grab him, soaking the sleeve of his robe.

"Merlin," he sighed.

"We can't leave him alone, can we?" Draco said, quietly delighted.

Severus looked at the boy in the water. His head was tilted to the side, exposing the raw line of his neck and Draco's passion marks. He was completely vulnerable, moving slightly as if he was still fighting sleep. Severus picked up a washcloth and continued cleaning him. Draco gave him a gentle smile, which Severus ignored for the sake of his sanity.

Severus was finding Harry to be completely different than anything he imagined. Uncommonly patient and understanding. Even accepting this odd arrangement, he hadn't fully conceded to being in a relationship. Though they spent time in his quarters, they hadn't touched or talked much. He hadn't really expected to be included with the two of them, but leaning awkwardly over the tub to keep Harry Potter afloat, he began to slowly accept the "we" of the three of them.

o.O.o

Harry and Ginny spent no more with each other than they normally did, but they became suddenly hyper-aware that it was actually quite a lot. They ate most of their meals together. They spent the same Tuesday study hall at the same table in the lecture hall. Of course, they spent quidditch practice together, and sometimes they even shared opposite ends of the couch in Gryffindor commons. This had all used to seem so natural. Until of course, every time they occupied the same public space, the random gaggle of girls that frequented Harry's personal space burst into excited giggles and other males started giving him some stupid secret guy-code smirk and hand gestures.

Mauchery made an attempt in the common room to get them to kiss, rebuffed both by Ron, who really could do without watching his sister snog, and Ginny herself who none-too-kindly told him to get his wanking material somewhere else.

By the end of the week, Ginny and Harry were so sick of everyone else that they started avoiding each other, which led the school to think that they had gotten into a tiff. Harry was then accosted by twenty-two people, two of whom were teachers, trying to give him helpful advice about women. ("Just apologize, even if isn't your fault" "You two are so lovely. I'm sure you'll work it out" "Just give her some space. Girls are like that." "Have you tried chocolates?") Ginny received the same sort of advice from fifty different people saying she needed to forgive him.

So Harry and Ginny were currently seated across from each other at the Gryffindor table, glaring into their breakfast, while everyone whispered that they must have gotten into another fight. The mail came, and as usual, about twenty birds wrestled for the space before Harry, nipping at each other impatiently. Harry spread the spell that would identify messages from the Weasleys and other people that he actually knew without a thought, having performed it so often now that it was almost thoughtless. None of the letters glowed, though quite a few whose owners had written with less than savory thoughts in mind turned varying shades of red. Those were either angry letters or passion ones, neither of which he wanted to read.

Ginny it seemed had also gotten a few letters, though they were lost in the chaos of Harry's mail. The red envelopes grew impatient of waiting and burst into flames on the birds' legs. There was an explosion of feathers, several students getting knocked and scratched by the frantic owls. Three different voices, all female, started screeching at once, the details of their message lost in the cacophony. After a few minutes, the letters ended, reduced to ashes amidst the ruined food, bird shit and feathers.

Ginny started down at it, then looked up across the table at Harry, whose mouth was still hanging open.

"I think we should break up," she said into the silence of the Hall.

"I agree," Harry said.

"This just isn't working out."

"I agree."

"I see you more as a friend."

"Me too."

"So we're settled."

They shook hands across the table, then started trying to banish the mess of the table in tandem, eventually aided by Ron and Hermione. Ginny turned to leave and made it to the door until Harry called out to her.

"Don't forget we have quidditch practice tonight!"

"I won't!" she shouted behind her, raising her hand.

Harry sat down, summoning a plate of sausage from further down the table. He speared it and looked up right into the gaze of a Hufflepuff.

"Yes?"

The Hufflepuff paled and turned away, as did the rest of the Hall. Harry snuck a glance at the head table. The teachers were all in varying states of shock, but only Severus Snape looked like he was struggling with amusement. His dark eyes flashed when he caught Harry's. Harry looked down and bit into the sausage to hide his smile. He looked up through his fringe at Draco, whose expression was warring between indignation, worry, and smug glee. Only Draco could wear so many expressions and still make it look graceful, he thought, wondering if he could still get the names of the owners of those owls, if only for animal cruelty if not outright harassment.

He pressed the tines of his fork against the roof of his mouth. A smile darkened his face. Those still watching him paled, shifting away nervously.