Neville was always the first to wake.
His eyes fluttered open at the first brush of morning, the sun barely creeping through the shades of their bedroom window.
Peeling off Harry’s arm from his neck, and Draco’s knee from his hip, Neville slowly rolled off the mattress, tucking the sheets back around his partners. He knew when he’d come back in after an hour or so, they would have gravitated towards each other, Draco’s leg arched around Harry’s thigh, Harry’s hand threaded through blond locks.
It was comforting, the predictability of their affection in their sleep.
Neville glanced back one more time before heading to the kitchen, already tasting the hazelnut coffee on his tongue.
After his first cup, Neville ventured into his greenhouse. It was Friday, so he spent the morning watering the plants before pulling out his shears and making deliberate cuts to the Alihotsy Tree and repotting some of the older Mandrakes. He picked at a soft spot in his dragon-hide gloves, and decided to skip over his pruning of the Venomous Tentacula, making a mental note to bring the pair to Draco for mending.
By the time he returned to the house, their kitchen was filled with the distinct aroma of crackling bacon and laughter. Neville settled into a chair as Harry served him some fried eggs on toast, and Draco sat next to him in a huff, orange juice and an egg white on his plate.
“Still protein loading?” Neville nudged his shoulder.
“Mmm, the Arrows are gunning for the Cup. I have to beat Harrison to that damned Snitch if we’ve got any shot.”
Neville hummed in response. “I’ll come by and watch you practice, yeah?”
Draco smiled, and Neville’s heart thumped loud in his chest. He hadn’t thought Draco sodding Malfoy was even capable of a real smile. During their seventh year, however, Neville got to witness the transition from evil to…mostly snarky with very little bite.
Neville had a feeling Draco had always been that way, a cold exterior wrapped protectively around a soul that secretly yearned to cuddle, the latter being pushed into a small space until it barely existed.
He wondered if that’s why Harry and Draco had always seemed to circle one another, as if they could sense the emotions bottled up into a cupboard, begging to escape.
Neville had set them both free, one night during eighth year when they were drowning in self-hatred, and loathing, and regret. He had pulled the doors wide open, letting their true selves escape, and the three had been together ever since.
Moments of doubt sometimes ran through him, however. Always on the outside of the Golden trio, his own trio brought together by the fear of war and destruction. Neville was used to feeling left out, but with Draco and Harry he felt essential. He felt safe and loved and needed and adored.
Besides, without Neville, Draco and Harry would have killed each other at least six times over.
Even now they’re spatting at each other, Draco harping on Harry for making the tea too strong, and Harry yelling back that if he couldn’t still taste Draco’s arse on his tongue the tea wouldn’t have to be so pungent.
By the time the two Flooed to work, Harry to Phoenix Primary, the feeder school for young wixen, and Draco off to the Appleby Arrows, they were kissing each other and Neville goodbye with sweet affection over both of their faces.
Neville settled into his day, packing up fresh herbs and leaves for his many clients. He made sure to pack a couple of hearty pies, held under a stasis spell for later that evening.
Finishing early, Neville decided to drop by the school for a quick visit.
“Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville!” the kids cheered as he entered Harry’s classroom. Harry’s eyes lit up brightly when he saw him, a cheery moment to an otherwise normal day.
“What have you brought us today, Mr. Neville?” Harry asked, a glint in his eye.
“Well,” Neville started, reaching into his robes. He pulled out a tiny spray of leaves. “This is a Leaping Toadstool. Can anyone guess what this is for?”
He smiled as a little girl’s hand shot up. “Yes, Rose?” He chuckled. She was just like her mother.
“The Leaping Toadstool is the prime ingredient in skin remedies, like de-agers.”
“Very good, Rose!” Neville exclaimed, and Rose beamed. He opened his hands and a few of the toadstools hopped around the room. The children laughed as they leapt from desk to desk, and it took Neville and Harry quite a few stunning spells to gather the lot up again after a few minutes.
“Now, let’s all say thank you to Mr. Neville, shall we?”
“Thank you, Mr. Neville!” the classroom shouted, as Harry escorted him into the privacy of the hall.
“Good to see you, Mr. Neville,” Harry joked as he placed a kiss on Neville’s cheek.
“Sorry if I interrupted something.”
“Nonsense, now they’ll all be on their best behaviour, hoping you come back.”
“Mmm, well as long as this school keeps hiring such attractive teachers,” Neville joked, pinching Harry in the side.
“As long as attractive Herbologists keep stopping by,” Harry answered, wrapping his arms around Neville’s neck.
They kissed, soft and brief, but it was enough to make Neville’s cheeks burn in the school corridor.
“Love you,” Neville mumbled into Harry’s lips. He pulled him in for a hug, and Harry murmured the same into his ear.
“Love you too, Nev,” he heard, before departing off the school grounds.
He took the opportunity of a beautiful day to head over to the lake, The moondew would be in bloom, and he could use their seeds to make hot butterbeer toddies later in the year, when the ground was solid ice and the sky was grey.
Some might find his life boring, set on the curve of the earth and the path of the sun, his interests moving with the seasons and the rain. But after the childhood he had, they all had, the simplicity, the predictability was calming.
Besides, their nights were nothing if not interesting.
He thought about the other night, when Draco came home, cursing the wind and the sky and the grass, anything that could have possibly prevented him from seeing the Snitch one second before the other Seeker.
How Harry had baked him his favourite, something French Neville couldn’t pronounce, and how Neville had uncorked a red wine Narcissa had given him last Christmas, and how after dinner he had hogtied the both of them to the headboard, left them dangling until they were practically dripping with want. How Neville had coaxed them to a state of frenzy by littering them with praise.
How Draco’s mouth went instantly to Harry’s pulsing need, how his tongue dragged up and down his apex until he was bucking wildly at the restraints. How Neville had pushed into Draco from behind, snapping his hips in time with Harry’s cries.
The sun was setting, leaving little sparkles across the flat surface of the lake, and Neville pocketed his haul in his satchel before Apparating across London to the pitch.
Practice was dying down, a few bludgers still soaring back and forth in the air. He took a spot on the bleachers, scanning the darkening sky for a glimpse. He grinned when he caught a flash of blond hovering in the air.
Neville didn’t particularly like Quidditch, the sport itself. The scoring never made much sense, the size of the balls and the players and the hoops always seeming disproportionate.
He was an avid fan, though. Neville used to paint his face and make signs and scream louder than any of his housemates when he saw his friends on their brooms. He’d light up when he’d see Harry, such natural talent chasing the golden ball with as much confidence and ferocity as he did that day he caught Neville’s remembrall.
Draco was the opposite in the sky. He was so serious, concentrated, his eyes and mind laser focused on the goal. He put so much pressure on himself to be perfect, and most of the time he truly was. He could spot a fleck of gold even if the sun was blinding his eyes, or if the sky was a dusty grey, or if the rain was so strong Neville couldn’t even see his hands in front of his face.
He saw the second Draco spotted it; the way his body contorted to adjust his stance, the way his broom shifted and pointed, turning him into a dart soaring towards his mark.
Deft fingers caught the golden ball, and Neville grinned at the quick smile that covered Draco’s lips, disappearing as quick as the beating wings of the Snitch.
He waved then, and Draco flew to his spot in the stands.
“Looked great up there,” Neville called when Draco was still a metre away.
“Checking me out, hmm?” Draco smirked, but Neville knew how much his praise meant to him. How much it meant to have someone watching him without critique.
“Your arse looks great from far away,” Neville joked, angling his shoulder away from Draco’s incoming slap. “It looks great up close too, I promise!” he squealed.
“Damn right it does,” Draco nodded succinctly, holding out his hand. Neville filled it with a meat pie, warm, the crust still flaky.
Thank goodness Harry was a good cook. If it was up to Draco and Neville, they’d be eating beans on toast for every meal.
They ate in a comfortable silence, watching the remainder of the team wind down their sprints. When the lot of them headed off to the changing rooms, Draco placed a quick kiss on Neville’s cheek.
“Be home late, we’re headed to strategise some more.” Draco dusted off some non-existent crumbs from his practice uniform before standing.
Neville nodded, giving Draco a quick wave goodbye as he followed the rest of the team off the pitch.
Harry whipped up a bolognese, and Neville portioned it into bowls, placing one for Draco under a stasis. He’d be starved when he came home, sweaty and dirty from late night drills.
They walked out to the garden, settling on a blanket in the grass as they listened to the owls hooting in the distance. After their stomachs were sated, Harry joined Neville in the greenhouse while he organised the various plants and seeds he collected throughout the day.
They showered together, helping the other wash their hair and their backs. Harry leaned in and took one of Neville’s nipples into his mouth, stroking his growing cock with his hands.
There was nothing hurried, nothing crazed or frenzied. Just Harry’s hands on Neville, and Neville’s hands on Harry. He loved to explore Harry’s body, to hear the hitches in his breath and feel the arch of his back.
Growing up, Neville never thought someone would want him. His grandmother, rest her soul, always acted like he was a huge inconvenience, a reminder of her own brilliant, brave son. His parents, well, he and Harry both barely knew what it felt like to be loved, and knew too much about what it was like to lose.
Neville came, shivering into Harry’s hand. The hot ropes of his orgasm dripped down to the basin as Neville dropped to his knees. He licked and sucked, pleasuring Harry as the scalding water pounded onto his back. Harry grasped his shoulders as he raced towards his own climax, and when Neville added the pads of his rough fingers along with his tongue, Harry groaned, his head hitting the tile wall as he came.
They towelled each other off, and Neville yawned sleepily. He flicked a few candles on in the hallway, making sure Draco wouldn’t stumble in the dark when he arrived home.
Harry yanked on an old tee, and Neville pulled on a fresh set of pants as they settled into the cool sheets. Neville lay with his back to the pillows, and Harry nestled into the crook of his arm as they drifted off to sleep.
He felt Draco come in late, a familiar leg pulling over his hips and the scent of broom polish and hair potion filling his nostrils. Neville sighed happily, knowing that his boys were both home and back in his arms.
The next morning, when the sun started cresting the hills, Neville didn’t stir. He didn’t run to the greenhouse and tend to his plants, or change out pots or check on the water pressure.
Instead, he snuggled deeper into the pillows, wrapping his boyfriends closer to his chest.
“Mmm,” Harry moaned, the first signs of sleep rescinding. “Mornin’.”
“Too early, Potter,” Draco mumbled from Neville’s left. It made Neville chuckle, how they could still tease each other, even before their eyes had opened.
Draco shifted, his leg moving higher up Neville’s side, and he pressed his hips into Neville’s thigh. Neville could feel the hardness of his morning erection pressing against his leg, as consistent and dependable as the rising sun.
“Seems like part of you is wide awake, Draco,” Neville chuckled.
“Has a mind of its own,” Draco groaned, canting his hips into Neville again.
“I could take care of that, you know.” Harry sat up with a grin.
“Would you like that, Draco? Harry to take care of you?”
“If you must,” Draco yawned and flung an arm over his forehead.
Neville smiled. Draco could be so grumpy in the morning, especially when he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but he always seemed to rally when sex was on the table. Or the floor. Or in this case, their bed.
He shifted Draco’s lithe frame from his torso and settled him on his back. Neville took a moment to admire the pure nakedness of Draco, pale skin on their white sheets, ruddy pink cock pointed straight in the air.
Neville kissed him softly, and he could still taste the pasta on Draco’s lips. A part of him was comforted by that, the fact that Draco had come home to a meal and a candle lit hallway, that he knew he was wanted even though he had been gone.
Still, he knew Draco would hate that his morning breath was still lingering, so he cast a quick cleansing charm on all of them.
Draco opened his mouth in surprise, and Neville let his tongue slip in. Their kiss was soft, slow and passionate as he let his hands run all over Draco’s shoulders, his chest, his hips.
He felt Draco moan, vibrations running through his chest and his throat, and Neville looked down the bed. Harry had joined them, Draco’s hard length currently filling his mouth.
“You’re so gorgeous like that.”
Harry looked up through thick eyelashes and blushed at Neville’s praise, his lips stretched around Draco’s cock.
Draco whined as Harry took him farther down his throat. “Want something to fill your pretty mouth too?” Neville asked. Draco nodded emphatically, and Neville’s cock twitched in excitement.
Sometimes he liked to lean back, to watch the two grapple at each other. Draco loved to put up a little bit of a fight before Harry could pin him down and fuck into him in long, teasing strokes. This morning, however, Neville wanted to come in Draco’s mouth, or maybe even his hand, rough from so much broom riding and strong from seeking and catching.
He situated himself along the head of the bed, gathering pillows behind his back and kicking off his pants. Harry helped Draco adjust onto all fours, and Neville could hear the clinks of his straps as Harry prepared himself.
Draco fisted the mattress as Neville grasped his forearm, and they kissed. Neville loved the way Draco kissed, as if he always felt just a little bit nervous, a little bit unsure that he deserved to be loved.
They all had that in common, not knowing quite how to be loved but trying just the same.
The bed dipped under Harry's weight as he knelt at the edge of it, and Neville pressed his leg into Harry’s knee as he positioned himself. He felt the moment Harry entered Draco from behind, punctuated by the whine that escaped Draco’s throat and the heavy moan that escaped Harry’s mouth. The strap-on would be pulsing by now, rubbing Harry just right to be teasing but not enough to make him come.
He thrust into Draco, who in turn thrust his tongue into Neville’s mouth, their kiss growing hungrier and hungrier. Neville bucked his hips upward, gliding his needy cock against Draco’s stomach. Draco’s ruddy cock was tucked between his thighs, positioned so the tip bounced on Neville’s knee every time Harry fucked into him. It set the rhythm for the three, joining them in a slow syncopation that was increasing with every movement.
Draco’s mouth was still on Neville’s, but they weren’t kissing as much as sharing the same air, the same heat, the same lust. Neville bucked again, and Draco finally got the hint, wrapping his long fingers around Neville’s desperate length.
He moaned into Draco’s mouth as he started pumping his fist, the same tempo that Harry was fucking into him, and Neville wanted to cry out from the pure ecstasy of them all together like this.
Harry crested over the hill first, his thigh shaking against Neville’s leg as his moans filled the air. He didn’t still, however, just kept plunging into Draco’s arse. He could feel how close Draco was to the edge, his teeth practically biting through Neville’s lip as he forced himself to hold on, his fist moving erratically along Neville’s cock as if he wished it was his own.
Neville ran his fingers through Draco’s locks, tugging a little, and he felt Harry’s hands on his knee. Draco moaned as Harry pulled his cock into his hand, twisting at the wrist the way Draco always liked.
He felt the splash of Draco’s come on his leg, combined with the fine hairs of Harry’s knuckle. Draco’s hand slowed as he chased his orgasm on Harry’s cock and hands, letting out a whimpered “Potter”, his body shaking in release.
When they did this, all together like this, Neville was usually last to come. He liked to watch, to keep control until the last possible moment. He felt the mattress shift again, and suddenly Harry was there, licking and nipping on his jaw while Draco kissed his mouth.
“Come for us, Nev,” Harry mumbled into Neville’s throat, and Draco squeezed the tip of his cock, dragging his thumb across the slit.
Neville let out a grumble as he came, the streaks of his pleasure coating Draco’s hand and his own stomach. Draco delved his tongue in his mouth, chasing his groans as Harry teased his earlobe with his tongue.
He closed his eyes, listening to the heavy breathing of his boys as they adjusted themselves across his body, sated and sleepy once again.
“Breakfast?” Harry asked, his finger tracing designs in the spunk cooling on Neville’s stomach and leg.
“Starving,” Draco answered. Neville ran a hand through his hair as Draco snuggled into Neville’s shoulder.
“Couple more minutes of this, yeah?” Neville said, and he pulled them closer to his sides, wishing the moment could last forever. He thought it just might.