Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Magic Is Ironic

He considers himself a selfless person by nature. When asked to lay his life down for the greater good, Harry Potter did not hesitate. When his childhood was ripped from him, he never tried to hide away. His responsibility to keep those he loves safe is tantamount to his own survival. The world isn't worth living in if those that he loves aren't in it.

However, as selfless as Harry is, he's equally selfish.

His arms are wound around a slight frame, chin resting atop her wild, curly hair. And his hands grip Draco's hip just to make sure he knows he's there. Convincing himself that this is true, that this is real, that it happened, and he can finally rest with the near-explosive feeling thrumming through his body and along his nerves.

He's lucky. He has them both. An unlikely match, the three of them, and he brought them all together. An improbable combination of blood and beliefs. Hermione didn't have to forgive him and he'll spend his entire life making up for the way he chose to go about things, but is he sorry? He doesn't think he is.

She stretches against him and he has the decency to blush as her arse brushes against his morning erection. He doesn't mean to hiss, but it streams from between his lips anyways. Draco's eyes pop open and there's a lazy smirk on his face.

"Morning," Draco says as his eyes leave his and fall to Hermione's. The smirk transforms into a smile instantly.

Harry watches her hand reach out to Draco and sweep a lock of blonde off his forehead. Draco closes his eyes under her touch and he feels him melt into her. The feel of them, the love they've found between one another, breathes life into Harry. He's not entirely sure how he'd gotten so lucky, but he's not going to question it. Not after all they've done to get here.

"Good morning," she whispers with a husky voice.

He can't stop himself from touching her, caressing her curves with his hand, kissing the back of her neck, nuzzling his nose against the mass of curls at the back of her head. Is it possible to smell a color? Harry thinks he can smell the gold of their magic, sweet like her, spicy like Draco, and earthy like him. The scent permeates everything around them, their skin, the sheets, the room itself. Like oxygen to a fire, it stokes the desire he feels for the both of them.

"What's this?"

Her voice pulls him from getting lost in his emotions and Harry lifts his head up. He follows her finger where she's pointing at Draco's chest. That's definitely new. A gold symbol that Harry's never seen on Draco's body before. It doesn't glow, but it has a sort of ethereal shine to it that confirms to Harry that it's magical. Three interlocking, golden triangles knotted together over the area his heart resides. It's beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Andromeda never mentioned a mark. Neither did the book, he's sure of it.

"Does it hurt?" He asks carefully and pushes himself to a sitting position behind Hermione.

Draco glances down and lifts his hand to touch the mark. His lips part, silver eyes widen marginally. Harry watches his reaction and something twists in his gut. He knows that look, has watched it flit across Draco's face whenever he makes an observation of something unpleasant. As soon as their eyes meet, Draco's face is impassive, closed off.

Harry takes a breath through his nose and watches as Draco's gaze falls to his chest.

"Potter." Draco points to the same spot on Harry's chest.

Harry places his hand over the triangles. It doesn't hurt. There's a faint warmth to it and it shares the same shine that Draco's casts. Both of them drop their eyes to Hermione, who twists under the covers and sits up against the headboard.