Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6705568.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Severus_Snape, Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, POV_First_Person
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-30 Updated: 2016-05-16 Chapters: 3/? Words: 4928
****** Between 3 Enemies ******
by slbunnies
Summary
     You like WHOM? And why does Weasley keep staring at me that way?
     Harry is reading Draco's journal and it's all about him.
     (It's not a threesome and there are reasons for the Harry/Snape that
     Draco doesn't learn about until later - so be patient.)
Notes
     I started writing this story back in 2007. I had the worst writers
     block after about 10K words so I never finished it even though most
     of it was planned out. Plus, I was a teenager so my writing wasn't so
     great back then. Here is the somewhat edited version. It is mainly
     Harry/Draco, just give it some time. Let me know what you think!
     (Yes, Harry kind of seems like a whore at first).
***** Chapter 1 *****
His hair fell around his face; overcrowding the exquisiteness of his features
and allowing only a fragment of his ashen, insipid skin to show through the
curled locks that constantly looked so greasy but were in fact quite silken.
Looking up from his potions volume to make sure all was well with the class,
you first notice the cavernous puddles of ink that were his eyes gazing keenly
into your own. A sneer of repugnance forms as usual and your commonly amiable
face emulates a comparable look.
You went along with your work lackadaisically as he abruptly immerses himself
in his book. Even though he never reads a word of it everyone deduces that he's
caught up in it's pages. I observe though, your subtle glances towards him, and
when those emerald jewels that seem adorned on your face past swiftly beyond
mine, taking no notice in how I perceive everything, an identifying thought
passes through my head as your eyes flicker with some kind of passion for the
man sitting at the front desk.
Your usual battle between each other is a charade, and I know it because I act
the same way when I'm around you and think you are not looking. The mask you
hold so dearly in front of your unaware face is still in position. But, even
though I do not wish it to be so, I can see through it all, through your
façade.
-
Pondering alone in my room I try to look at a few things from your perspective.
I struggle to see Severus Snape in a different way and can only see him in the
usual manner… as my Godfather, nothing more. When I close my eyes all that I
see are yours dancing brightly in the blank darkness. The shimmer of vivacity
radiating from them burns distinctively across my brain. It’s as if I haven’t
even sealed out the daylight in my room with my eyelids.
I shake my head and try to concentrate, but I can only see you, and it is
obvious to me that there is no alternative way to distinguish that man any
differently than before. Sighing out my defeat I go back to daydreaming.
Bronzed olive skin enters my thoughts along with your chaotic raven-black hair.
It seems I cannot escape you no matter where I am, which seems to include my
own mind.
-
Exhausted from Quidditch practice I walk down the hallways through the dungeons
seeking out the comfort of the portrait to the ‘Snake’s Pit’, or so I’ve heard
you and your Gryffindor friends call my only real home. Nearing the glossy,
dark painting of a headless man riding a black horse, I hear sounds leading
down the hallway from the Potion’s classroom.
Curiosity takes over and I turn on my heel and head in that direction. As I
push the door open the sight I see leaves me practically breathless; it is
intolerable for me to stand. I fling a hand over my mouth to muffle my gasp and
allow my hair to block my eyes as much as it would like, for this is a sight I
would have been most pleased to not have bore witness to. Hearing the moans of
your elation my stomach feels queasy as your passion fills the room.
I sink down to the floor, bring my knees up to my chest, and cover my head with
my arms. Knowing you are only a few feet away having sexual relations with him
- the older man I used to be rather fond of - I shudder and start to rock my
body back and forth in what I hope will be a reassuring manner..
Once you are satiated by him, my angelic demon, you fall against his body as I
peer through the cracks of my fingers and the spaces between my bangs. Again, I
feel as if I’m about to be sick. Your sweat-slicked skin is sticking to each
other while your legs are intertwined. And, you’re lying atop him, panting
heavily as you try and catch your breath.
I feel tears begin, threatening to overflow and slither past my eyelashes.
Blinking, still hoping that what I’m seeing is some horrifying nightmare I’ve
been plagued with, the tears do what they were made to do and splash down my
cheeks. There is one thing I haven’t done previously. Never in my life have I
cried. This is what you have done to me.
My whimpers cause you both to look for the derivation of the sound. When you
see me bowed into a ball on the floor I feel mortified and humiliated. Have I
already explained that I’ve never cried? If not, I’d like this to be a reminder
of that fact.
Severus, which is what I usually call him by, or more informally Sev, which I
know I can’t now or ever call him, doesn’t seem very shocked at seeing me here.
On the other hand you appear significantly stunned and self-conscious. You
attempt to cover yourself quickly; an action that I normally would have hoped
you wouldn’t act upon, but under such circumstances as these looked forward to
you completing such a menial task more rapidly.
It is at your efforts and my hopeful face that you succeed in covering yourself
the quickest way possible; amusement flickers in Snape’s face. I only now call
him Snape because it would only seem rude and childish of me to call him
anything nastier. But still, the fact that he has used all my secrets against
me, now taunts me with his demeaning perception of the fact that I so badly
want you as my own, shows I cannot trust a conniving being such as he.
And now, I am trapped, cornered in my own little hell where my breath is
released in short exhausting gasps as I watch concern on your face. I’ve always
felt as if I may pass out every single time I hear your name, your voice, your
screams in my ear at night in my sleep. I can’t help but stop in the midst of
what I’m doing just to see you walk by or move. Or even breathe.
When you’re in my presence I can barely hold back…only just. I was once
hopeful. But, now I feel like a small child, a useless, runty child that can
make no efforts in anything. Like Longbottom. I feel there is no hope for my
heart to stay intact and that it will shatter and break on the next beat’s
impact. Staring into your soul through the windows that are your eyes, I see
only the bright green of them. Everything else is darkness and I cannot stand
it any more.
But, distracting me once more unknowingly, you choose at this point to begin
speaking, letting your influential voice carry through me and direct my
awareness to you once again. Everything fades back to reality and my focus is
centered on your structural physique, my eyes lingering on the curve from your
well-set jaw to your collarbone.
As my longing stare reaches your clothes, images of you lying atop the man
beside you start to go through my mind. I am now pleading helplessly without
words, hoping that this is all part of my over-active imagination, that my mind
is playing a cruel and sadistic hoax on me. As I stand on unsteady feet, I
shake and look at you both, sighing in my defeat - knowing it is a reality even
if I do not want to face that fact.
I have not heard a single word either of you has said, and as I make my way out
of the room, stumbling as my feet shuffle as fast as possible even with my
sluggish movement, you make your demands of silence from me, but I cannot
listen. Can’t and won’t even try to hear it. I don’t look back, my head set
straight ahead at the path in front of me, my soul left behind to remain with
your unheard words.
***** Chapter 2 *****
I blink and see where I am now standing - outside on the Quidditch Pitch. I
can’t really explain why I am here, although I could say that I went where my
feet decided to take me. The night looks so ominous even though the cobalt sky
is clear and sparkling with an abundance of stars. It feels glum. So dim,
murky, and all of those horrible words you use to describe things when your
heart has been torn into pieces. I can’t feel; numbness is threatening to
overcrowd all of my sensations. It’s as if a million tiny legs are pacing up
and down my spine and that soon the only thing that will be left in my mind is
the chant of ‘NO! NO! NO!’ that continuously repeats itself over and over like
a broken record.
It had to happen. I just had to see the proof with my own eyes. I couldn’t have
just avoided the pain and humiliation, could I? Fate is vindictive. And, of
course, curiosity killed the cat, right? Good thing I’m not a cat.
Ripping my own heart out my chest seems like it would be less painful than
this. With nothing left but to stand in the slowly dying wind, I casually slump
down onto the dewy grass and try to make myself comfortable, do nothing, and
wish I could stay in this mind-numbing state forever while I wait for the sands
of this moment in time to pass.
-
I don’t know what time it is, albeit the sun seems to be at a point indicating
that it is essentially noon. Perhaps if I lay here long enough the sun will rot
my body and I will not have to continue going through any of this. And then
again maybe not, because I can already see those coming down to view the game
that is supposed to start at one o’clock, which unfortunately is a match where
Slytherin is against Gryffindor. I have such rotten luck. Or maybe fate is
gaining the upper hand.
Guessing I must move, I pick myself up off of the ground and make my way
towards the changing rooms, grabbing my uniform out of my locker and passing
the Gryffindor changing rooms with my head down.
After dressing in the green and silver of my house I attempt to make my way
past the Slytherin’s rushing in to the room. Blaise pats me on the back as he
walks by and then starts whispering about me, thinking I don’t know that he is
doing it and that he has always done it. But, what am I to do? If I turn away
from them what would I have left? What do I have left? I don’t even want to be
here. I’d rather be in solitary with my pain.
Waiting at the entrance on to the pitch I look to my left and see a swirl of
scarlet, jet-black inky hair, and know that it is you, Harry. I squint my eyes
shut and turn away, not able to handle seeing you. The crowd starts applauding
as our opposition runs out onto the field and takes flight.
As the Slytherin's go out, one stand cheers enthusiastically for us, the others
in complete silence. When I’m finally up in the air I feel slightly better,
free as I feel the tepid breeze ruffle my hair. But then I see a pair of green
eyes straight in front of me, staring long and hard. A shudder passes right
through my body and it’s not from the wind.
Madame Hooch screams and I know that it is the signal to get in position for
the game to start. That means that you will be close to me again, staring me
down with your piercing gaze. I cannot look but I can feel your presence
anyway. I start breathing hard, unable to control the irregularity of it. The
whistle sounds and I am almost dislodged from my broom out of shock. I manage
to keep myself righted and begin to put speed in my flight. My eyes are wide in
search for the snitch but keep glancing around to catch sight of the Adonis
Gryffindor Seeker.
Then, I catch a flash of gold spiralling out of control. Instinctively I reach
out and grab it in my hand. The players go still. I turn to my left, then to my
right, and see you, Harry, with your eyes wide and mouth agape. I realize I’ve
caught the snitch. Finally the scores are shouted and I know that Slytherin has
won 150 to 10. I drop down onto the ground and off of my broom, not too exited
about my final defeat of the ‘wonder boy’ at Quidditch.
My brutish team mates are screaming like lunatics and crowding around me. They
don’t understand that I’m not as ecstatic as they are. I am swarmed by a sea of
green and cannot escape, having no more strength to put effort into trying
anyway. My team and fellow Slytherin’s pushes carry me along to the locker room
and then down to the dungeons thereafter.
I flee to my room as soon as possible after evasion from the clutches of the
many adoring females. Funny, that’s not even my preference. As I reach my bed I
collapse upon it and the tears overwhelm me.
-
I’m roused awake by their partying and turn to find my pocket watch on the end
table. Four o’clock in the morning? Bloody hell! I forcefully roll myself over
onto my back and stare at the high ceiling, eyes sore and puffy. Taking a
shuddering breath I push myself to the floor and sneak quietly out the door.
Unfortunately, I’m not as sneaky as I used to be.
Blaise taps me on the shoulder as I pass by his conversation with a Fifth Year
that I don’t know. I try to avoid his questioning by ignoring him but it
doesn’t work. Instead of my usual patience with his nonsense I stare him in the
eyes and point blank, tell him where to go. Not politely either.
The room goes still, but I have little care in the world for anything any more.
Not even myself. Coldly, I make my way out into the dim halls of the dungeons,
pushing past everyone standing in my way. I keep walking, my feet shuffling
along the dirty corridor floor, echoing back at me with twice the intensity.
Carelessly I wander, not giving any heed to where I might be going or whom I
might run into, whether it be Filch or even Dumbledore. But, lady luck is not
with me tonight; instead I come into contact, literally, with a gliding black
figure. I presume that this person is wearing a cloak, although my awareness at
the moment isn’t very keen. I look up into the hood of the cloak in wonder of
who may be beneath it. I can’t see much except for a shocking flash of green.
It seems I am recognized though because I go on a wild chase as they turn and
flee.
Turning around a corner I see at the next one, the tail end of the cloak, and
follow it. I can hear the pattering of footsteps, which triggers me to move
faster, and out of curiosity, keep going. Apparently the part about the cat
dying hasn’t sunk in yet. I turn round so many corners and pass by so many
paintings that I cannot discern one from another. Past the next one I can see
the figure slowing down, trying to decide on which turn to take next.
This is where I make my move. I dash as quickly as I can and bolt right into
this person, knocking them off of their feet and into the wall with a
resounding thud.
The hood falls down and I start to back away, stunned by whom I see. It is the
person that I had hoped I would not have to see for the rest of my life for
that matter. Images overtake me. Stumbling to the ground, my hands
automatically go to my face to shield it from sight as the tears fall, yet
again. I’m shaking like I’m having some kind of a spasm or seizure. And, when I
see him trying to get up, just by looking at his appearance I can tell what he
has been doing and why he desperately tried to get away from me.
Your dark hair is impossibly tangled, more than normal, and your usual perfect
pink lips are swollen to almost twice their size, which I know is not natural.
The water is still swimming in my eyes but now I feel nauseous. I lean over
onto my side and vomit onto the floor, not caring if any of it reaches me or
not.
Seeing you standing here in front of me is torture, painful torture sending
violent shock waves to my heart. I can feel what has already been sewed up tear
apart once more. I cough sporadically and can still taste in my mouth what is
now on the floor. Disregarding your presence the chase changes as I head back
the way we came and try to get away.
It is hopeless though, as I knew it would be. I could never get away because
deep inside I don’t want to. I want you to know what you’ve done to me, how I
feel like some insane person in an asylum, how I look at you now and can’t
breathe at all where before I could just do so.
I start to slow down unconsciously and you grab at my sleeve, basically causing
a backlash. I hear something snap. My mouth opens out of horror and when I look
into the green that I could just drown in, I see concern once more for my well-
being. You hold my wrist lightly, putting only a slight pressure. I hiss in
pain.
At this point I know my wrist is broken. I suppose you figured it out as well
because you try soothing the pain with a spell. Then, taking a hold of my other
arm you pull me down the corridors. I ask where we are going, my voice cracked
all to hell. I swear, realizing how horrible I must look and sound.
You turn to me giving me another one of those looks I could probably melt from,
if it was physically possible for a person to just randomly melt of course. I
tremble and my knees begin to buckle. I’ve completely forgotten that there is a
perfectly good Infirmary housed in the castle. Feeling an arm around my waist I
am steadied again, relieved, for another crash to the floor would probably
result in more injury on my part, and I’ve had enough for one day.
We keep on moving at my slow and reluctant pace until we reach a portrait. I
really take a good look at the painting, which depicted a woman who was rather
plump, dressed in pink and smiling down on you as if you were her long lost
son. I shoot a questioning glance at the boy with large doe eyes and black silk
hair, but you just ignore me, pulling me through the hole into a rather
revolting red and gold room, with squishy chairs and battered upholstery, the
fireplace burning low as the few people scattered about seem to ignore it.
You laugh at my disgusted face, still dragging me around like a rag doll
wherever you please. I feel used to it though, like you’ve been doing it all
along.
The next thing I realize, certainly because I wasn’t paying attention, is that
I’m in a room, empty of any other inhabitants. I am lying on a bed, and my mind
sluggishly comprehends that it is your bed and room. You lightly grab hold of
my head, pushing me up into a sitting position, and pour a sickening concoction
down my throat. I almost gag but manage to swallow it without doing so. A few
more minutes and unknowingly I pass out with a warm, half-dressed body pressed
against my side.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     It's weird to be editing this story after so long since I originally
     wrote it (which apparently was in 2007 - gosh that was a long time
     ago now). This chapter didn't really need much reworking, I was
     surprised. Writing in this tense feels odd though.
There is a slight buzzing sound annoying me. As if someone is talking to me but
won’t stop because they don’t realize I’m not listening. Harry.
My eyes open so fast that the entire room becomes a massive, jumbled blur. I
blink a few times, allowing myself to adjust to the light and the horrid red I
had witnessed last night, which seems to also be the main color of your room.
It should really be green. It would match so much more delightfully with your
eyes instead of reminding me of the jolly Christmas colors Hogwarts is usually
decorated with during the winter seasons.
When I finally stop thinking to myself, I notice that you are giving me an
unusual smile, one with a slight lopsidedness that almost makes me forget about
the previous happenings with a certain Professor. Almost.
I cannot smile back because the images that seem ingrained in my head keep
making flashy entrances over and over again. You frown slightly, lip up turned
in a semi-pout. I realize that it makes me want to ravish you, and when you see
me shift in my spot you realize it too.
There is only a bit of shock in your face, but the rest of it is curiosity and…
arousal? I pounce, knocking you back, lips attached to lips, that silly pout
erased, your sooty eyelashes fluttering shut. A shudder racks through my body,
but in the most delightful way.
Then I am the one in shock. You don’t pull away. There are short tiny gasps
coming from your exquisite mouth as my tongue darts to and fro within. When I
move away, using the last reserves of my control, you moan, so prettily. Your
eyes snap open. What is left of color is a violent green, the rest swallowed in
black.
You look me straight in the eye, loosely running your hands through my hair.
And then your moving forward and we are kissing again. I am the one to moan
this time and it doesn’t seem to startle you, but makes you even more confident
in your exploration. As you begin to run fingers up and down my sides
underneath my shirt, I start to gasp your name. I don’t want it to stop even
though I know it should. I just want you for a moment, even if I never feel you
again.
Next thing I know we’re laying on the bed, both with only our undergarments on,
skin touching almost everywhere, grinding helplessly. Little beads of sweat are
forming over top your eyebrow as you thrust vigorously, out of control,
allowing your body to lose itself in the moment. My hips push upward to meet
with yours. I curse a dozen profanities, my body losing restraint, reaching my
limit.
Stars of gold and silver flash in front of me; a shudder goes through my entire
body causing me to convulse in ecstasy. When I open my eyes there is a blinding
white then a clear picture of your face scrunched up in frustration. You move
faster and I start to feel the uncomfortable wetness between my legs. And, just
as it seems your relief has finally come, you jump off of me, landing with your
back on the floor.
I look up, mortification plainly visible on my face as I see Ron Weasley
standing at the doorway, his expression showing a cross between disbelief and
anger. I just lay motionless, not able to move out of fear of the fiery
tempered redhead.
“Harry, we NEED to talk.”
“Yeah... yeah, okay Ron. This isn't--it's not what you think.”
Weasley turns on his heel and walks out of the room. I shake my head, not
believing that he had not thrown a tantrum. I mean… Ron Weasley, catching Harry
Potter and Draco Malfoy in bed together? Those are definite grounds for a
patent Weasley explosion.
A few minutes pass by in silence as I wait for something... any thing to
happen. I'm stilled completely from shock. Finally you stir from your stupor,
picking your clothes up from off of the floor, then yourself, with a shake of
your head. When you look at me I think that I see regret in your face. I'm
unsure if it is because of what we were doing, or that we didn’t get to finish
and that we were interrupted... or it could even be something else, but I
cannot tell what.
You manage to mumble a few words. Something like, now is not a good time, that
maybe I should go. What did I expect, really? We are enemies. I can't believe
how naive I am. You scrunch up your face as you realize how brutal your words
sound, like you are just using me only to brush me off, especially after what
we had just done.
I feel like I’ve been hit across the face with my own broomstick.
Looking away for a minute as my eyes begin to blur, I try to blink the salty
water back as I grab at the clothes on the bed that are mine. I search the
floor as well, looking for the last item that I can’t seem to find. I always
manage to lose something.
As I bend over to pick up my sock I hear a giggle. I turn around and see you
staring at my arse, your hand covering your mouth. I raise one eyebrow and
grin. This causes you to stride over, grab me and give me a big sloppy kiss. I
feel much better that you have done this though I am still in a confused state.
Fully clothed I make my way out of Gryffindor territory. Weasley is waiting in
your common room impatiently, tapping his foot and glaring at the cherry-wood
door.
As I am walking through the halls, I notice that the few people I pass by are
giving me strange looks. I stop inside one of the bathrooms, just in case there
is any possible way that I could look ridiculous - for instance, my hair
standing up on end, but, when I peer into the dusty mirror I see nothing,
except a silly grin plastered on my face.
That must be the problem, obviously. No one in the school has ever seen me grin
in such a carefree manner. Such a look was just preposterous for me to have.
Under no circumstances was there ever a reason to grin so idiotically. In that
moment the facial expression is gone and the usual cold, calculating glare is
back. That seems more like what is expected of me.
On my way once more, I finally arrive at the place where I had started off last
night. Taking a deep breath I enter the common room.
Ignoring the poorly executed imitations of a Malfoy sneer shot in my direction,
I walk quickly into my rooms, but not too quickly if you get my meaning.
Sighing deeply, tipping my head to the right and left to crack my aching neck,
I walk to my bathroom, removing my clothing while getting closer, finally
standing fully naked. There should really be a spell for that.
I close the door and lock it shut, as I always do with my room, then step into
my shower and adjust the taps to a soothing lukewarm temperature. Reaching for
the lime-green soap causes me to remember the injury to my wrist. Dropping my
head and wincing slightly, I grab it with my other hand and manage to not
forget to use that hand during the rest of my shower.
I head out the door after changing into one of my less exotic outfits, one with
less detail and plainer colors. Instead of going to the Great Hall I decide to
go and see Madame Pomfrey to get my wrist fixed, seeing as I’m sure I won’t be
able to manage any wand work with it the way it is.
There is very little questioning about it from Poppy. I call some of the staff
by their first names because I got to know a few of them very well during my
stay at Hogwarts, and 7 years of getting to know them all really paid off. The
reason why there are never any questions with her in particular is because I
usually manage to end up in the hospital wing at least twice a week. Never mind
why, it has nothing to do with anything important.
She fixes the problem fairly quick, muttering a few spells and waving her wand,
giving me a potion that I know she could make taste better if it wasn’t for the
fact that she dearly enjoys the faces that everyone always makes because of
them.
Thanking her, I leave and start on my way toward the kitchens. I’m definitely
not eating with a bunch of morons bleating and moaning about every little
thing. Why, when I can enjoy a nice meal by myself with dozens of friendly
house-elves standing by to give me whatever I want in two measly seconds? Who
would pass that up? After tickling the pear the door swings open and twenty or
so odd little house-elves rush to my service.
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