Archive of Our Own ^beta

1:

The early morning light filtered softly through the windows of the cottage, casting long, pale shadows across the dining room. Harry sat at the table, his glasses perched low on his nose as he sifted through a stack of leaflets and letters sprawled haphazardly in front of him. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air—rich and earthy—mingling with the faint crispness of morning frost from the slightly cracked window. Outside, the world was wrapped in a quiet, wintry peace, the first snowflakes beginning to fall. Inside, the warmth of the room cocooned Harry in comfort.

Harry took a sip of his coffee, savouring the bitter warmth as it slid down his throat, while his eyes skimmed over a flyer advertising ‘ exotic dragon handler tools ’ that he’d already dismissed as too obvious. A sigh escaped him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through more options—none of them quite right for Charlie’s upcoming 40th birthday. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the wooden table, the rhythmic sound lost in the quiet hum of the morning.

As Harry skimmed the leaflets, the soft creak of the floorboards told him he was no longer the only one awake in the house. Harry’s gaze flicked up just in time to see Charlie stumble in, still bleary-eyed from sleep, his hair a wild tangle of red, a faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. He was shirtless, wearing only loose, worn pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips, and his bare feet padded softly across the floor. He rubbed his eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to him, but that familiar mischievous glint sparked to life as soon as his gaze landed on Harry.

“What’s this, then?” Charlie mumbled, his voice rough with sleep but already laced with playful accusation. He yawned and stretched, the muscles in his broad shoulders shifting, and Harry felt his heartbeat quicken as Charlie approached, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Up early and plotting, Potter?”

Harry stiffened, his hand twitching as he tried to casually shuffle the leaflets out of sight. “W-what? Me? No, just… doing some reading. Nothing special,” he stammered, his words tumbling out too fast as Charlie came closer, towering over him now, with that damnable smirk starting to curl at the corner of his lips.

“Uh-huh.” Charlie leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “I know that look. You’re definitely up to something.” His fingers brushed lightly over the edge of one of the papers Harry was trying to discreetly tuck away, and Harry swallowed, his face flushing hot despite the cold seeping in from the window.

“Nope. Definitely not,” Harry squeaked, his eyes flicking nervously between the letters and Charlie’s face. But then Charlie tilted his head, giving him that look—half sleepy, half predatory—that sent a bolt of heat straight through Harry. His lips twitched in response, struggling to hold back a nervous laugh.

Charlie grinned wider, clearly enjoying Harry’s flustered state. “You’re a terrible liar, Potter,” he teased, leaning down further, his breath warm against Harry’s ear. “C’mon, tell me what you’re up to.”

Just as Harry’s mouth opened—and promptly failed to produce any coherent defence—another presence entered the room, saving him from Charlie’s relentless teasing. Draco, sleek and composed despite the early hour, appeared in the doorway, dressed in loose silk pyjamas that shimmered faintly in the soft morning light. His silver-blond hair was perfectly tousled, the firelight catching in the strands as he sauntered over, a knowing smile already forming on his lips.

“Charlie, love,” Draco drawled, his voice smooth as velvet. “You’re torturing poor Harry again.” He crossed the room with the same graceful ease that always made Harry marvel, slipping behind Charlie and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, his arms wrapping loosely around Charlie’s waist. “Let our gorgeous man have his secrets if he so desires.”

Charlie huffed, his attention shifting momentarily as Draco’s lips moved to his collarbone, kissing a slow, deliberate path along the freckled skin. “I’m not torturing him,” Charlie grumbled, though his teasing tone softened. “Just... making sure I’m not missing out on anything fun.”

Draco’s chuckle was low, warm as he moved to stand behind Harry, his arms sliding around Harry’s chest from behind, fingers trailing gently over Harry’s sternum. “You’re missing nothing, Charlie, darling,” Draco murmured against Harry’s ear, his breath warm as his lips brushed the skin just below Harry’s jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down Harry’s spine, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “In fact, Harry’s just doing a bit of research for me,” Draco said smoothly, his tone laced with mock seriousness, though the amusement was clear in his eyes as he glanced at Charlie. “It’s dreadfully boring—he’s far better at it than I am. But you know Harry, always eager to dive into something like this.”

Harry’s pulse quickened as Draco kissed the side of his neck, a quiet hum of pleasure escaping him despite the fact that Charlie was still watching them both. When Draco finally pulled back, he met Charlie’s gaze with a daring smirk, his arms tightening around Harry as though issuing a silent challenge.

Charlie, standing there half-clad and still deliciously rumpled, barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he took in Draco’s smug look and Harry’s reddening face. “You two... always ganging up on me.”

Draco gave a soft, nonchalant shrug. “Of course. Someone has to keep you on your toes, Weasley.”

Charlie’s grin widened, his playful resolve crumbling as he finally relented, stepping back from Harry with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it go.”

Harry exhaled in relief, though his cheeks still burned from the lingering warmth of Draco’s lips against his neck. Charlie glanced between the two of them, his suspicion melting into a knowing smile. “Research, huh?” he chuckled, clearly convinced by Draco's smooth explanation. He gave a small shake of his head, as if letting the matter go, before turning toward the kitchen. “Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As Charlie reached the kitchen, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a playful grin. “How about I make pancakes for breakfast?” he offered, already rummaging through the cupboard for ingredients. “Consider it a bribe for not ganging up on me again later.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head as the tension in the room dissolved. “Deal,” he said, watching as Charlie busied himself with mixing batter, his movements relaxed and easy.

Draco kissed Harry’s temple, his arms still wrapped snugly around him. “Pancakes sound divine,” he purred, his voice soft and intimate as he leaned closer.

Harry nodded, the warmth of their shared moment seeping into his bones. “Yeah,” he murmured, “they really do.”

As the smell of sizzling butter and fresh pancakes filled the air, Harry leaned into Draco’s tender embrace, content to let the morning unfold in the comfortable rhythm of their quiet, playful intimacy. A short while later, the kitchen was alive with the comforting aromas of freshly made breakfast—the salty tang of sizzling bacon, the rich warmth of hot coffee.

The table, now scattered with plates and mugs, was a cosy mess of indulgence. Harry sat at one end, cradling his coffee, the steam curling into the soft morning light as he poured himself another cup. The bitter warmth of the brew grounded him, settling deep in his chest as he spread a generous spoonful of tart berry compote over his stack of pancakes. The sharp sweetness of the berries made his mouth water, cutting through the richness of the food in front of him.

To his left, Draco lounged with practised ease, his silk pyjamas glinting faintly in the sunlight filtering through the window. His plate was an extravagant mess of maple syrup, butter, and powdered sugar, the sweet stickiness smeared decadently over the pancakes. Harry glanced at him, eyes narrowing with amusement as he watched Draco take an indulgent bite, syrup clinging to his lips.

“You’re going to be bouncing off the walls with that much sugar,” Harry teased, his lips twitching in a fond smile.

Draco only shrugged, his movements elegant even in the simplicity of breakfast. He took another luxurious bite, savouring the sweetness as if it were a rare delicacy. “It’s called balance, Potter,” he replied, voice smooth as silk. “You drown everything in tart berries, and I prefer my pancakes properly sweetened.”

Across from them, Charlie chuckled, his laughter a deep rumble that reverberated warmly through the room. His own plate was a far cry from the sweetness Draco indulged in—his pancakes were wrapped around crispy strips of bacon, melted cheese oozing between the folds. The salty, savoury aroma mixed with the sweetness of Draco’s syrup and Harry’s berries, creating a perfect harmony of breakfast scents.

Charlie took a large bite of his creation, his grin widening as he chewed. “Not everyone has your sweet tooth, love,” he said to Draco, raising an eyebrow as he waved his fork for emphasis. “Some of us need real food with our breakfast.”

Draco rolled his eyes in mock disdain, leaning back into his chair with a casual grace that belied the playful edge in his voice. “Oh, please, Weasley. Your idea of real food is putting bacon on everything. Bacon isn’t the solution to all life’s problems, despite what you might think.”

Charlie pointed his fork at Draco with a grin that was pure challenge. “Says the man who eats more dessert than actual meals.”

Harry watched the exchange with a soft chuckle, a warm sense of contentment settling in his chest as he swirled the last of his compote around his plate. Moments like this, where the teasing was effortless and the laughter genuine, felt like everything he’d ever needed. He reached over to sneak a piece of bacon from Charlie’s plate, the crispy warmth lingering in his hand before he popped it into his mouth.

“Oi, get your own,” Charlie protested, though the sparkle in his eyes gave away his amusement.

Harry shrugged, grinning cheekily as he chewed. “Yours always tastes better,” he replied, his voice light and teasing.

Draco’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he swiped some of Harry’s berry compote, dragging a syrup-drenched pancake through the vibrant red smear. “Honestly, the two of you are insufferable sometimes,” he quipped, though the smile tugging at his lips revealed the affection beneath his words.

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re the one who eats like a child left alone in a sweets shop, and we’re insufferable?”

Draco’s lips curled into a smug smirk as he took a sip of his coffee, the rich bitterness mixing with the syrup lingering on his tongue. “At least I have the taste buds to enjoy life’s finer things.”

Charlie, still grinning, finished off the last bite of his pancake-bacon-cheese concoction with obvious satisfaction. “Well, one of those finer things is definitely these pancakes, even if you both have ridiculous ways of eating them.” He gestured at his now-empty plate, pride evident in his voice. “This, though, is perfection.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but the warmth of their back-and-forth settled like a balm in his chest. “Perfection? Bacon and cheese on a pancake? You might as well call that a sandwich.”

“Exactly,” Charlie replied with a grin, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Best of both worlds.”

Draco snorted, the sound both indulgent and amused, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh along. The easy rhythm of their morning—filled with lighthearted teasing, familiar banter, and the quiet love threaded through each interaction—was as comfortable as the warm air that enveloped them. It was the kind of comfort that only came from years of knowing each other’s quirks, of finding joy in the small moments shared between them.

As they continued to eat, the conversation flowed naturally, jumping from topic to topic—everything from Charlie’s latest project at the dragon reserve to the upcoming Healer conference Draco had been invited to. The sound of their laughter filled the kitchen, weaving between the crackle of the fire and the hiss of the coffee machine, a melody of their shared life together.

At one point, Draco reached for the coffee pot to refill his mug, but Charlie beat him to it, snatching it away with a grin. “Careful now, love. Too much caffeine and sugar might cause a meltdown.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed playfully, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Just wait. I’ll remember this.”

Charlie, still grinning, leaned over and pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple, the touch brief but filled with affection. “I’m counting on it,” he murmured as he poured the coffee into Draco’s mug, the rich, dark liquid swirling into the cup.

Harry watched the exchange, feeling his heart swell with warmth. The comfort of their love, of their shared space, wrapped around him like a thick, woollen blanket, soft and secure. He glanced down at his now-empty plate, still smiling as he leaned back in his chair, the familiar rhythm of their morning filling him with contentment.

“I’d say that breakfast was a complete success,” Harry said, patting his stomach with a sigh of satisfaction. “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a nap.”

Charlie stretched lazily in his chair, his grin widening. “Or,” he suggested, “we could go for a walk in the snow. It’s probably starting to stick by now.”

Draco’s response was immediate, his eyes flat and unimpressed. “Or,” he countered, his voice drawling with exaggerated disdain, “we could stay inside where it’s warm and enjoy another round of coffee.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed back his chair. “You two figure that out. I’ll be here finishing the last of the pancakes.”

Draco’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked between them, a playful grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I’ll make a deal,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an air of triumph. “Charlie can brave the snow, and I’ll stay inside with Harry. I’m sure we can think of something sexy to occupy ourselves with.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in Draco’s eyes before turning his gaze to Harry. “So… Pancakes, coffee, or braving the snow? Your call, Potter.”

Harry laughed, leaning back in his chair and feeling utterly at ease. “How about this,” he offered with a grin, “I’ll make us all another pot of coffee, and we’ll think about it.”

Draco shot Charlie a smug, victorious look, and Charlie just shook his head, grinning as he leaned over to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Fair enough, Potter. You’ve got a deal.”

And so the morning lingered on, filled with the sounds of shared laughter, the crackle of the fire, and the comforting scent of fresh coffee. It was mornings like these, wrapped in the warmth of their love, with nothing pressing them for time, that made everything feel perfect.

2:

Draco stepped through the front door, shaking off the weariness of the day as the familiar warmth of their home wrapped around him. The faint scent of pine and a distant hint of the dinner Harry had likely forgotten to eat greeted him.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickers of gold across the wooden floors, yet there was an odd stillness in the air. Draco’s sharp gaze quickly found Harry in the living room, pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

It wasn’t often that Harry looked so dejected, but tonight, it was clear in the droop of his shoulders, the way his glasses sat slightly askew on his nose, and the telltale tension in his jaw. Draco felt a tug in his chest—an instinct to protect, to soothe. He set his things down quietly, slipping into the room without a word, watching Harry for a moment longer before speaking.

“What’s got you so worked up, love?” Draco asked softly, his voice cutting through the quiet like silk. He moved towards Harry, slipping out of his coat and tossing it over a chair, though his eyes never left the figure before him.

Harry stopped pacing, glancing up with that slightly guilty look he always wore when caught brooding. He let out a sigh, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “I just... I’ve been thinking,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “I’m never going to manage to surprise Charlie with anything special, am I? He always knows when something’s up. It’s like he has some sixth sense about it.”

Draco’s brow arched, and despite the heaviness in the air, the corner of his lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.” He closed the distance between them, reaching up to straighten Harry’s glasses gently, his fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed Harry’s cheek. “You’re worried about his birthday.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip as his shoulders slumped further. “I don’t know, Draco. It’s stupid. But it’s his 40th, and I wanted to do something really special, you know? Maybe even throw him a surprise party... but I can’t even figure out a decent gift that he won’t somehow guess.”

Draco could see the frustration etched in every line of Harry’s face, and beneath it, that tender vulnerability that always stirred something protective in him. He slid his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him close in a way that said, I’ve got you . His chin rested gently against Harry’s messy hair as he breathed in the familiar scent of him—clean, like the outdoors after rain, mingled with the faintest trace of soap and firewood.

“Harry,” Draco murmured softly against his temple, “You’re not going to fail. We’re not going to fail.”

Harry leaned into Draco’s embrace, his tension slowly easing as their bodies pressed together. Draco’s confidence, his steady resolve, began to seep into Harry. He pulled back slightly to meet those vivid green eyes, softened now with that quiet vulnerability that always tugged at Draco’s heart.

“You’ve got something in mind, don’t you?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against Draco’s collar.

Draco’s lips quirked, amusement dancing in his silver eyes. “Of course I do. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s keeping secrets.” His voice held that subtle edge of teasing, but beneath it was a promise, one that Harry knew he could trust.

With a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead, Draco disentangled himself, though not without sliding his hand down Harry’s arm and giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “But first,” he said, walking towards the kitchen, “we’re going to need some proper comfort. Hot chocolate, I think. Oat milk, of course.”

He caught the small smile tugging at Harry’s lips, and that was enough for Draco to know he was on the right track. As he moved about the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clinking mugs and the soft whoosh of the stove turning on filled the space. The rich scent of cocoa soon mingled with the warmth of the room, filling the air with a comforting sweetness. Draco added just the right amount of cinnamon, a touch of vanilla, stirring the milk with practised care as the chocolate melted into a smooth, velvety richness.

Harry padded over, watching with that quietly thoughtful expression, his fingers now idly drumming on the counter. “You really think we can pull this off?” he asked, though his voice was softer now, his doubt melting as the comforting scent of hot chocolate filled the room.

Draco poured the steaming liquid into two mugs, sliding one over to Harry with a smirk. “Oh, we’ll pull it off. Charlie won’t have a clue until it’s time. I’ve already thought it all through, love. Trust me.”

Harry wrapped his hands around the warm mug, inhaling the fragrant steam as it curled around his face, filling him with warmth and the familiar sense of being home. He sipped, the silky sweetness coating his tongue, calming the last frayed edges of his nerves. Draco, meanwhile, leaned against the counter, watching him with that signature self-assuredness that Harry both loved and envied.

“I’ve got a plan,” Draco continued, his voice low, almost conspiratorial now. “Charlie may be perceptive, but even he won’t see this coming. We’ll throw him the surprise of a lifetime. He’ll be absolutely floored.”

Harry gave a small chuckle, though he was clearly still sceptical. “I don’t know... He’s always one step ahead.”

Draco’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his fingers tracing lightly over Harry’s forearm. “I know it’s important to you,” he murmured, his voice gentle now, “and I know it’s hard to believe we can surprise him... but I’m not letting you give up on this. We’ll do it together.”

Harry looked down into his mug, the tension slowly ebbing from his frame as Draco’s resolve washed over him. And finally, as if Draco’s confidence had sparked something in him, he gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Let’s do it. I trust you.”

Draco’s lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile as he placed his mug down and stepped forward, wrapping Harry in his arms once more. This time, the kiss he pressed to Harry’s lips lingered a little longer, filled with reassurance and something unspoken—something solid that told Harry everything would be alright.

They moved to the sofa, Draco settling into the plush cushions and stretching his legs out onto the soft ottoman in front of him. Harry lay beside him, curling up with his head resting comfortably in Draco’s lap, a sigh of contentment escaping him as Draco’s fingers began to gently thread through his unruly hair. The familiar motion worked to ease the tension in Harry’s body; Draco could feel him relax with every soft stroke. A quiet satisfaction bloomed in his chest as their closeness anchored them both.

A moment later, Draco reached for the folded blanket draped over the armrest, pulling it over them both with a quiet chuckle as Harry’s socked feet immediately slid beneath the layers, curling into the warmth like a cat settling by the fire. 

“Cold feet again?” Draco teased lightly, his voice affectionate as he pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple.

Harry huffed, though a smile tugged at his lips. “It’s winter, you know.”

Draco snorted softly, wrapping an arm more securely around him. “Always the same, Potter. Next time, I’ll knit you the thickest wool socks in existence.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, his eyes half-closed as he murmured, “You don’t know how to knit.”

Draco smirked, his fingers still combing through Harry’s hair. “Then it’s time I learned. You’ll have no excuses for cold feet.”

Beneath the teasing was the gentle, tender affection that filled their quiet moments like this. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm, golden glow over them both. The hot chocolate, rich and sweet, filled the air with its comforting scent, and for a long while, they simply sat in silence, wrapped in warmth, love, and the quiet determination that whatever came next, they would do it together.

3:

Outside their shared cottage, lacy flakes drifted from the sky, layering the world in soft, white silence. The snow wove through the trees, frosting branches and bushes, while thicker patches blanketed rooftops, making the landscape shimmer under the faint light of dusk. Cold winds stirred the flakes into swirling patterns, pushing them into drifts that hugged the stone paths. Footprints marked trails where people had walked, the snow crunching under boots as it clung to the air with a crisp, metallic tang. Inside the cottage, the warmth of the hearth crackled, sending flickers of gold across the wooden floors, a comforting contrast to the wintry world beyond.

Harry stood by the window, watching the snow, his breath fogging the glass with each exhale. His heart raced with a steady, insistent thrum. Planning anything behind Charlie’s back was a near-impossible feat; years of taming dragons had sharpened Charlie’s instincts to a razor’s edge, allowing him to sense the faintest trace of mischief. But this time... this time was different. Harry had a secret weapon—a partner in crime who excelled in deception as easily as he drew breath.

Draco, ever composed and unruffled, lounged on the plush couch, one ankle elegantly crossed over his knee, a glass of rich red wine cradled in his hand. The firelight played across his silver-blond hair, casting it in a warm, flickering glow, while a self-assured smirk tugged at his lips. If anyone could keep a secret from Charlie, it was Draco Malfoy. Deception, when wielded with his effortless grace, became an art form—one he mastered with the same ease as sipping his wine. He was, Harry was certain, the perfect accomplice in their carefully woven scheme.

Harry exhaled slowly, glancing at the clock. Charlie would be home any minute.

“Are you sure he hasn’t figured it out?” Harry asked, his voice low, laced with a thread of doubt.

Draco glanced over, the firelight catching the mischief in his eyes. “Please. If I wanted, I could fool an entire Wizengamot. One unsuspecting Weasley is a piece of cake. Relax, Harry. This time, we’ve got him.”

Harry’s nerves fluttered like the snowflakes outside, light but insistent. For weeks, they had meticulously orchestrated this moment, weaving careful layers of deception and distraction. Harry had handled the practical details, each step precise and deliberate, while Draco spun intricate webs of misdirection with effortless grace, ensuring Charlie’s keen instincts wouldn’t catch even the faintest whiff of their scheme.

Before Harry could say another word, the door creaked open, and Charlie stepped inside, shaking snow from his shaggy red hair, his broad shoulders wrapped in his worn, beloved dragon-hide coat. The crisp scent of cold air and pine clung to him, mingling with the deeper, earthy musk of strength that Harry and Draco both knew so well, a presence they loved fiercely.

“You two look suspiciously cosy,” Charlie said, his eyes narrowing in playful accusation. He bent down to pull off his boots, glancing between them. “You’re up to something.”

Harry laughed nervously, stepping forward, feigning a yawn. “Cosy? We’re always cosy,” he said, his fingers brushing against Charlie’s forearm. The familiar heat of Charlie’s skin sent a wave of comfort through him. “Long day?”

“Not as long as whatever you’ve been planning,” Charlie grinned, his suspicion mixing with affection. “Spill, Potter. I know you’ve been scheming.”

Before Harry could say anything that gave them away, Draco rose from the couch in a fluid motion, placing his glass on the side table. “Scheming, darling? Us?” Draco’s voice was smooth, dripping with charm, as he sauntered over to Charlie and kissed him, slow and deep, letting their shared warmth melt away the bite of winter. Harry watched as Charlie’s brow furrowed in brief confusion, but soon, Charlie relaxed, his hands naturally finding Draco’s waist.

When Draco pulled back, Harry stepped in, unable to resist the magnetic pull of their shared intimacy. His lips pressed against Charlie’s, soft yet insistent, his hand sliding into the familiar comfort of Charlie’s hair. As their kiss deepened, Harry felt the pulse of love in the space between them, and the calm certainty of what they shared.

“I’ve been trying to surprise you,” Harry murmured against Charlie’s lips, a grin breaking across his face. “And it worked. For once.”

Charlie blinked, looking between Harry and Draco. “Surprise me?” His voice was tinged with genuine astonishment. “Wait… What did you—”

Draco chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he reached behind the couch, pulling out a long, elegantly wrapped box. The paper gleamed a deep, dragon-scale green, tied with a silver ribbon.

“For your fortieth,” Draco said, handing the box to Charlie with a flourish. “A little something… special.”

Charlie took the box, still clearly trying to piece together how they’d managed to pull this off. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing an intricately crafted leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with an image of a dragon in flight—his favourite species, the Hebridean Black. But as he opened it, his breath caught in his throat.

Inside, nestled against the soft leather, was a dragon’s tooth—a relic Draco had procured through careful negotiations—and an intricately detailed map leading to a dragon sanctuary Harry had arranged for Charlie to visit.

But it wasn’t just any sanctuary. This was a private reserve, untouched by any other tamers, where Charlie would have the rare opportunity to study a newly discovered species.

Harry watched the shock ripple across Charlie’s face, followed by a wave of pure, unfiltered joy. For the first time, they had managed to hoodwink him. And it felt good. It felt right.

Charlie’s gaze flicked between the two of them, his eyes wide. “You two... you really—”

“Surprised you?” Draco finished, stepping closer and sliding an arm around Charlie’s waist. “Darling, it was a group effort.”

Harry grinned, stepping into the embrace, pressing a kiss to Charlie’s temple. “Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered, their bodies now a tangle of warmth and connection.

Charlie laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room with happiness. He pulled both Harry and Draco closer, kissing each of them in turn, his lips soft and lingering, full of love and gratitude.

“You’ve outdone yourselves,” Charlie murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I… I can’t believe you actually pulled it off.”

“We do make a good team, Draco and I,” Harry said softly, feeling the warmth of Charlie’s breath against his cheek as they stood together, wrapped in each other’s presence.

Charlie chuckled in response and wrapped his arms tighter around Harry and Draco. The warmth of the room, the crackling fire, and the gentle glow from the hearth wrapped the three of them in a cocoon of quiet intimacy, shielding them from the wintry world outside. For a moment, none of them moved—simply content to stand together, feeling the press of skin, the rhythm of shared breath.

Draco was the first to break the stillness, his hand gliding across Charlie’s back in a slow, languid motion, his lips curving into a smile that was more affection than mischief now. “Well,” he murmured, his voice low, “I think this calls for a proper celebration, don’t you?”

He shifted closer, his body pressing against Charlie’s side, and leaned in to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every second of the connection. The kiss was soft at first, Draco’s lips barely brushing against Charlie’s, but soon deepened with familiarity, a slow-burning heat building between them. Draco’s hand slid up to cradle the back of Charlie’s neck, fingers curling into the strands of red hair still damp from the snow. The firelight caught the silver in Draco’s hair, turning it molten gold as he pulled Charlie impossibly closer, as if they could never be close enough.

Harry watched them for a moment, his heart swelling with warmth and love for the two most important people in his life. The flicker of firelight danced across their faces, casting Charlie and Draco in shades of amber and shadow. He felt the magnetic pull of their connection drawing him in and gently traced the line of Draco’s jaw before settling on Charlie’s shoulder.

Harry pressed a kiss to the space where Draco’s and Charlie’s temples met, feeling the heat of their bodies against his. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of their embrace wash over him, the scent of pine and smoke and something uniquely them filling his senses. Then, in one fluid motion, Harry turned Charlie towards him, capturing his lips in a kiss that was as deep as it was tender.

Charlie’s mouth tasted faintly of the cold from outside, but beneath that was the familiar warmth Harry had always craved. The kiss was slow, their lips moving in perfect synchrony, the world outside fading into nothingness as the connection between them grew more profound. Harry’s hand tangled in the front of Charlie’s shirt, pulling him closer, the soft texture of cotton gentle against his fingertips. He could feel Charlie’s heartbeat thudding against his chest, steady and strong, a rhythm that grounded him in this moment.

Draco, not to be outdone, slipped his arms around both of them, pressing close, his lips brushing Harry’s neck, then his jaw. The light touch sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. There was no hurry, no urgency—just the gentle, unhurried pace of their affection, a slow burn that pulsed between them like the warmth from the fire.

They shifted as one, their bodies fitting together in a familiar dance, until they found themselves sinking into the plush couch. The firelight flickered around them, casting long shadows across the room as they settled into a tangle of limbs. Charlie leaned back, pulling Draco into his lap, while Harry nestled against Charlie’s side, his head resting against the warmth of Charlie’s shoulder. The scent of Draco’s cologne—something dark and woodsy—lingered in the air as he curled into both of them, one hand lazily tracing patterns over Charlie’s chest while his other arm reached out to thread his fingers through Harry’s.

For a while, they simply sat there, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fire and the quiet breaths they shared. Draco rested his head on Charlie’s shoulder, his eyes half-lidded, his lips brushing the curve of Charlie’s throat as he murmured, “You really had no idea, did you?”

Charlie huffed a laugh, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through both Harry and Draco. “Not a clue,” he admitted, his voice thick with affection. He kissed the top of Draco’s head, then turned to press a kiss to Harry’s temple. “But I really should have known the two of you were up to something.”

Harry grinned, his hand resting on Charlie’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “We’re just getting better at fooling you,” he said softly, his voice full of teasing warmth.

Draco shifted slightly, his fingers still intertwined with Harry’s, and lifted his head to kiss Charlie again, a slow, languid brush of lips that sent warmth spiralling through all three of them. When he pulled back, his gaze met Harry’s, and without a word, he leaned over to kiss him as well, just as tenderly. Harry melted into the kiss, his heart swelling with the quiet certainty that this—this love, this moment—was everything he needed.

They stayed like that, nestled together in the soft glow of the fire, exchanging quiet kisses and murmured words of love and affection. The snow continued to fall outside, but inside, they were wrapped in the warmth of each other, a tangle of limbs and hearts, complete in every way.

4:

The kitchen was alive with the comforting hum of simmering sauces and the low crackle of something roasting in the oven. The warm glow of candlelight flickered across the dining table, where three plates were set, ready to welcome the decadent feast that Harry and Draco had spent the evening preparing. The air was rich with the mingling scents of roasted garlic, thyme, and buttery pastry, promising a meal as indulgent as it was heartfelt.

Charlie sat at the table, watching the two of them work with quiet admiration. Harry was at the stove, stirring something that smelled like a rich sauce, his brow furrowed in concentration while Draco, all graceful movements and quiet efficiency, pulled a tray from the oven, the golden crust of the beef Wellington gleaming in the soft light. There was something soothing about watching them like this—moving seamlessly around each other, a wordless dance of familiarity and affection.

“You two have outdone yourselves,” Charlie said, his voice filled with playful appreciation as the tantalising aromas swirled through the air, making his stomach rumble. “This is the kind of meal you could get in a fancy London restaurant.”

Draco smirked, setting the tray down with a flourish. “Please, Weasley. Any restaurant in London would kill to have me in their kitchen,” he said, a glint of mischief in his silver eyes.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, catching Charlie’s amused grin. “Draco didn’t do as much as he’s making it seem,” he teased, his tone light as he poured the thick sauce into a dish, its deep burgundy colour adding a rich elegance to the table. “But he does know how to pick out a good wine, I’ll give him that.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation. “You wound me, Potter. Without my expert pastry work, this Wellington would be a disaster.” He turned to Charlie, lips curling into a playful smirk. “But I suppose Harry’s right. I do excel at selecting wine.”

He poured a generous glass of ruby-red wine for each of them, the scent of dark berries and oak filling the space. As Harry brought the sauce to the table, Draco moved behind him, arms slipping around his waist in a brief, affectionate gesture. “I’ll let you take the credit for the sauce, love,” Draco murmured in his ear, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek before taking his seat.

Charlie shook his head with a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair and watching the two of them with a fondness that bloomed warm and steady in his chest. This was what he loved most—the easy, playful banter, the quiet intimacy of these moments when it was just the three of them, with nothing but good food and each other to focus on.

As Harry took his seat between them, he gave Charlie a small, slightly nervous smile. “We wanted to make tonight special,” he said, reaching for Charlie’s hand beneath the table. The familiar warmth of Harry’s touch sent a ripple of contentment through Charlie, grounding him in the moment.

“I’m sure it will be,” Charlie replied, his thumb brushing over Harry’s knuckles. “This looks incredible.”

Draco, ever the picture of confidence, picked up the carving knife and began slicing into the Wellington, the crust crackling beneath the blade as the tender beef inside revealed itself, perfectly pink in the centre. The smell alone was enough to make Charlie’s mouth water, but the sight of the dish, paired with the creamy mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables glistening with olive oil and herbs, made his stomach growl audibly.

Harry laughed softly, his green eyes sparkling as he began serving. “Hungry, are we?”

“You have no idea,” Charlie said, his voice filled with playful exaggeration as he took the first bite of the beef Wellington. The moment the rich, buttery crust and tender beef hit his tongue, he let out a quiet groan of appreciation. “Bloody hell, that’s good.”

Draco gave him a smug smile, lifting his glass of wine. “I told you. Perfection, as always.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though the fondness in his gaze softened the gesture. “You act like you made the whole thing yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” Draco replied, taking a sip of his wine with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, “this is a masterpiece.”

Charlie laughed, the sound warm and deep as he cut into his Wellington again, this time dragging it through the rich sauce Harry had made. The flavour was a symphony of textures—the crispy pastry giving way to the tender, melt-in-your-mouth beef, all tied together with the tangy bite of the wine sauce. Each bite felt indulgent, decadent, a perfect reflection of the care and love his lovers had put into the meal.

Between bites, the conversation flowed easily, the soft clink of cutlery against plates punctuating their banter. Draco, in his usual sarcastic style, regaled them with stories from the hospital, throwing in just enough embellishment to make Harry roll his eyes and laugh. Charlie listened with rapt attention, enjoying the easy back-and-forth between his two lovers, adding his own quips when necessary.

“You should’ve seen this Healer—completely useless,” Draco said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Couldn’t tell a Draught of Peace from a love potion. Honestly, how do these people get hired?”

Charlie snorted, taking another sip of his wine. “I’m sure you put them in their place.”

Draco’s smirk was positively wicked. “Oh, you know me. Always happy to educate the masses.”

Harry snickered into his glass, leaning into Draco’s side as he looked at Charlie, his voice filled with teasing affection. “He’s modest, really.”

The warmth of the wine and the fullness of the meal settled over them like a cosy blanket. As they moved through the dinner—picking at roasted carrots and helping themselves to seconds of the velvety potatoes—it felt as though time slowed down. Each moment stretched into the next, punctuated by soft laughter and the occasional clink of glasses.

As the plates emptied, Harry leaned back in his chair, letting out a contented sigh. “I think that’s it for me. I’m completely stuffed.”

Draco, still looking far too elegant for someone who had just eaten his way through a second serving of Wellington, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and raised an eyebrow. “Admit it, Potter. You’re just saving room for dessert.”

Harry shot him a look, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Maybe I am. But you’re the one with the real sweet tooth.”

Charlie chuckled, his eyes flicking between them, marvelling at how easily they fell into this rhythm—like the three of them were pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. And though he was full from the rich meal, Charlie couldn’t deny the contentment that bloomed within him at that moment. His chest swelled with love for them, for the life they had built together, and for the simple, profound joy of being here with them.

Draco stood, gathering the plates with a practised grace that never failed to impress Charlie. “I’ll fetch dessert. It’s a chocolate torte, by the way, so brace yourselves for greatness.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly as Draco sauntered off to the kitchen, his hand slipping into Charlie’s beneath the table, squeezing gently. “Think we’ve done a good job so far?” he asked, his voice soft, as if the weight of Charlie’s approval still mattered to him despite the countless times he’d already shown it.

Charlie turned to Harry, his heart swelling. “You’ve done better than good. You’ve made this perfect.”

Harry’s face softened, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes as he leaned in and kissed Charlie—a simple, tender press of lips that felt like home.

Draco returned from the kitchen, carrying a dessert plate with a decadent chocolate torte, its glossy surface shimmering under the soft candlelight. The rich scent of chocolate buttercream and a hint of espresso wafted through the air, immediately making Charlie’s mouth water again, despite having just claimed he was full.

Harry’s eyes lit up when he saw it. “I knew it,” he said with a grin, sitting up straighter. “I knew you couldn’t resist making something obnoxiously posh.”

Draco smirked, setting the torte in the middle of the table with a flourish. “Obnoxiously posh?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Please, Potter, this is a masterpiece. After all our hard work, I’d say we deserve nothing less.”

“Hard work?” Harry shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You mean supervising and choosing the wine?”

Draco’s expression was all mock offence. “Supervising is a form of artistry, Potter. You should be thanking me for ensuring this meal was executed perfectly.”

Charlie chuckled, shaking his head as he eyed the torte. The deep chocolate layers looked almost too perfect to cut into, but the smell was impossible to resist. “I’d say it’s more teamwork,” he teased, leaning over to grab the knife. “But whatever keeps you happy, Draco.”

Harry, with a gleam in his eye, leaned closer as Charlie sliced into the torte, thick chocolate oozing slightly as the knife slid through the layers. “Careful with that,” Harry murmured, mischief dancing in his voice. “You might end up with more than just a slice.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the playful tone in Harry’s voice, but before he could ask, he felt something cool and sticky on the tip of his nose. His eyes widened in surprise as Harry smirked triumphantly, holding his finger up, still smeared with a bit of chocolate buttercream.

“Harry Potter,” Charlie said in mock sternness, “did you just—”

But before he could finish, Draco let out a bark of laughter, thoroughly entertained by the sight of Charlie sitting there, a grown man with a smear of chocolate on his nose.

Harry’s grin only widened. “I did, yeah,” he admitted, entirely unrepentant. “Couldn’t resist. You looked like you needed a little extra something.”

Charlie, shaking his head in amusement, dipped his finger into the nearby bowl of buttercream with the intention of returning the favour, but Harry, ever quick, leaned back just in time. “Oh, no, no, no,” Harry said, laughing as he dodged Charlie’s outstretched hand. “You don’t get me that easily!”

Draco, his eyes sparkling with amusement, watched the back-and-forth between them with a lazy, indulgent grin. “Honestly, the two of you are children,” he drawled, though the laughter in his voice betrayed his fondness. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at Draco before turning back to Charlie, who was still poised with the chocolate-covered finger. “Come on, Charlie, admit it—you liked it.”

“Oh, did I?” Charlie teased, leaning forward dangerously close. “How about I show you how much I liked it?”

Before Harry could react, Charlie lunged forward, smearing the chocolate across Harry’s cheek in one swift motion. Harry let out a startled laugh, immediately reaching for a napkin to wipe it off. “Alright, alright!” he protested, though the grin on his face showed he was thoroughly enjoying the playful battle. “You win!”

Draco, watching the chaos unfold, shook his head with mock disdain before standing up. “If the two of you are going to get sticky,” he said smoothly, “at least let me have a go.” He dipped his finger into the buttercream and swiped a bit onto Harry’s other cheek with an elegant, quick movement.

Harry gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal, though the laughter bubbling up in his chest was undeniable. “You’re supposed to be on my side!” he accused, wiping his face as he turned toward Draco.

“I am,” Draco said innocently, leaning back in his chair and sipping his wine. “I’m just encouraging a fair fight.”

Charlie couldn’t help the booming laugh that followed. His chest shook with it, his love for both of them swelling as he took in the scene—Harry, red-faced and grinning like a child who had been caught sneaking sweets, and Draco, poised and smug but with mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“Well, I don’t know about either of you,” Charlie said, reaching for his slice of torte with exaggerated calm, “but I’m going to enjoy this dessert the way it was intended.”

“Right,” Harry said, finally wiping the last of the buttercream off his face and grinning as he reached for his fork. “Truce, then?”

Draco leaned in, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Charlie before raising his glass. “Truce,” he agreed, though the playful glint in his eyes suggested that it was only temporary.

As they finally tucked into the torte, the rich, dark chocolate and the silky buttercream melted on their tongues, filling the space with a contented silence. The warmth of their laughter lingered in the air like the sweetness of the dessert, and in that moment, Charlie felt it—deep and steady—that quiet, profound love for his two lovers who had come into his life and filled it with light.

He glanced between them, watching as Harry took another bite, his expression one of pure bliss. Meanwhile, Draco leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine in that languid, elegant way of his. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the table, and in that quiet moment, with the scent of chocolate and wine filling the air, Charlie couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be.

After dessert, the three of them lingered at the table, sipping the last of their wine and basking in the warmth of the meal and each other’s company. Charlie, his belly full and heart content, leaned back in his chair, glancing between Draco and Harry with a lazy smile.

“It’s worth repeating,” he said, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction as he swirled the remnants of his wine in the glass. “You two really outdid yourselves.”

Draco, who had finished his slice of torte with typical elegance, raised an eyebrow. “Naturally. When have we ever done anything less than spectacular?”

Harry snorted, reaching for the bottle to top off Draco’s glass. “Modest as ever, Malfoy.”

Charlie chuckled, watching as Harry refilled his own glass with the same easy confidence he always had when they were together. There was something about these quiet, shared moments that made everything feel... settled. Perfect, even. He felt the warmth of it—of the home they had created together, of the easy affection that always threaded between them.

Just as Charlie was about to suggest they move to the living room, Harry stood abruptly, setting his glass down with a clink. His eyes, bright with a spark of mischief, darted between Draco and Charlie. “Right, that’s it. I’m officially too full to sit still.”

Draco’s lips curved into a slow smile, his silver eyes glinting with a playful challenge. “Too full to sit, but not too full to move?”

Harry shrugged, already heading toward the living room with a grin. “Depends on what we’re moving to. I was thinking... dancing.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he followed Harry into the living room, glancing over his shoulder at Draco, who remained in his chair for a moment, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

“Dancing?” Draco drawled, standing and stretching with a languid grace. “You really are a romantic at heart, Potter.”

Harry turned, walking backwards as he spoke, his grin widening. “Always.”

Draco sighed, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Alright, fine. But if you step on my toes, I’m calling it quits.”

Charlie laughed, moving toward the record player in the corner. He thumbed through the selection of vinyls they kept there—mostly Harry’s taste, but with a few contributions from himself and Draco—before settling on one of their favourites. The soft scratch of the needle finding its groove filled the room, followed by the slow, sultry notes of a jazz tune.

Charlie poured three whiskey sours from the bar cart nearby, the tart scent of lemon and the warm bite of bourbon mixing with the sweetness of the sugar syrup. He handed one to Harry, who had already started to sway gently to the music, his eyes sparkling with mischief, before passing the other to Draco.

Draco took a sip, his expression turning pleasantly surprised. “Not bad,” he murmured, glancing at Charlie with approval.

“Not bad?” Harry scoffed, taking a sip of his own. “That’s the best whiskey sour you’ll find in all of Britain.”

Charlie grinned, shrugging modestly. “I do what I can.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Draco set his glass down on the nearby coffee table and stepped toward Harry, his movements languid but purposeful. “Come on then, Potter. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Harry laughed, setting his own glass aside before holding out a hand to Draco. The two of them moved together easily, falling into step as if they had done this a thousand times before—which, of course, they had. Draco’s hands found Harry’s waist, pulling him closer as the music swirled around them, a gentle rhythm that made it impossible not to sway.

Charlie watched them for a moment, his heart swelling with warmth at the sight of them—his two lovers, moving together so easily, so comfortably. There was something deeply satisfying in watching the two people he loved most in the world fall into this easy, intimate dance.

Then, with a grin, he stepped forward and slid his arms around Harry from behind, trapping him between himself and Draco. “Thought you could dance without me, did you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing in Harry’s ear.

Harry laughed, his breath hitching slightly as he leaned back into Charlie’s broad chest. “I’d never dream of it.”

Draco, never one to be left out, leaned in as well, his lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear. “You’re outnumbered now, Potter.”

And just like that, the teasing began in earnest. Charlie’s hands slid up Harry’s sides, fingers finding that sensitive spot just below his ribs, while Draco’s hands moved to Harry’s waist, his grip firm but playful.

“Hey—what are you—” Harry started, but the question dissolved into laughter as both Draco and Charlie began to tickle him, thus ending their truce from earlier.

Harry helplessly squirmed between them, his laughter filling the room as he tried to escape their teasing hands. “No—stop—you two—!”

Draco smirked, his fingers relentless as he tickled Harry’s sides. “You started this, Potter.”

Charlie grinned, his heart soaring at the sound of Harry’s laughter. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck as he murmured, “Give in, love. You’re outnumbered.”

Eventually, when Harry was breathless from laughter and half-collapse, Charlie relented, pulling him close instead, his arms wrapping securely around Harry’s waist. Draco followed suit, moving to Harry’s other side and pressing a kiss to his cheek, the mischief in his eyes fading into something softer, more intimate.

“I suppose we could show mercy,” Draco murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear again. “For now.”

Harry, still breathless but grinning, leaned his head back against Charlie’s chest, his green eyes shining with affection as he looked between them. “You two are ridiculous,” he said, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his voice.

“Maybe,” Charlie agreed, his voice a low rumble as he pressed another kiss to Harry’s temple. “But you love us for it.”

Harry sighed, feigning exasperation even as he melted into their embrace. “I suppose I do.”

For a moment, they simply swayed together, the three of them wrapped in each other’s arms as the music played on, the soft, sultry notes filling the room like a warm embrace.

Then, with a shared look and a nod, Draco and Charlie leaned in at the same time, pressing their lips to Harry’s in unison. The kiss was slow, languid, filled with affection and the kind of quiet intimacy that only came after years of knowing and loving each other. Harry, caught between them, let out a soft sound of contentment, his hands finding purchase on their arms as he surrendered to the kiss.

When they finally pulled away, Harry blinked up at them, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright with affection. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and breathless. “Maybe I don’t mind being outnumbered after all.”

Charlie chuckled, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because we’re not done with you yet.”

Draco smirked, his silver eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Not by a long shot.”

And with that, they continued their dance, the three of them moving together in a perfect rhythm, the world outside forgotten as they lost themselves in each other’s company.

The whiskey sours remained untouched on the coffee table, forgotten in favour of the warmth and closeness they shared, the sound of their laughter and soft murmurs filling the room as they danced and kissed, the firelight casting flickering shadows across the walls.

By the time they finally settled down to get some rest, the music had long since faded, and the fire had burned low in the hearth. But the warmth between them remained, a steady, comforting presence as they curled up together on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms. Charlie, with Harry nestled against his chest and Draco curled up beside them, felt the deep, unshakeable certainty that this—this quiet, perfect moment—was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he would ever need.

5:

The soft hum of the bedside lamp cast a warm, golden glow over their bed, the light low but just bright enough for Charlie to see the contours of his lovers’ faces. It was late, but the contentment of the evening still lingered—Harry and Draco had outdone themselves. Dinner, drinks, laughter by the fire. His heart felt full in a way that only they could make it feel.

Charlie lay on his side, the familiar feel of the duvet cool against his bare skin, his arm draped over Harry’s waist. Harry, as always, was nestled between them, his hand intertwined with Draco’s. It had always been like this—the three of them in this order, the bed an expansive space that still felt small because of how closely they always slept, their bodies naturally finding each other in the quiet hours of the night.

The room was still, the air carrying the faint scent of vanilla from the candles that had long since burned out, mixed with the lingering sweetness of whiskey from their celebratory drinks. Charlie’s lips curved into a soft smile as he glanced down at Harry, whose face still glowed with quiet triumph. Even in the dim light, Charlie could see the joy dancing in his eyes—Harry had managed to surprise him. With Draco’s help, no doubt.

“Thank you, both of you,” Charlie murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. He gave Harry’s waist a gentle squeeze, the warmth of his skin beneath Charlie’s hand grounding him in the present. “For everything. I still can’t believe you managed to pull it off.”

Harry turned his head slightly, the softest smile playing on his lips. “We couldn’t let your fortieth pass without doing something special,” he whispered, his voice tinged with that familiar mixture of pride and shyness. The look in his eyes, though, told Charlie everything—Harry had wanted this to be perfect, had put so much of himself into it.

And that look, the one that spoke of love and pride and happiness, was all Charlie needed. He leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss to Harry’s lips, feeling the way Harry’s breath caught for just a moment before he melted into it. Their mouths moved in that familiar rhythm—tender but with an undercurrent of passion that always lingered between them. Harry tasted faintly of whiskey and the lingering sweetness of dessert, and the warmth of his body pressed against Charlie’s chest felt like home.

From his side of the bed, Draco let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, I see how it is,” he drawled, his voice playful but laced with mock indignation. “No kiss for me then?”

Charlie chuckled, pulling back from Harry, his lips brushing Harry’s cheek as he turned to Draco. “You don’t have to ask twice,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, more teasing. Shifting slightly, he reached across Harry, catching Draco’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Draco’s hand slid up to rest on Charlie’s shoulder, his fingers curling against his skin as their mouths moved together. Draco tasted of the same whiskey and dark chocolate from earlier, the flavour rich and decadent, just like Draco himself.

When they pulled apart, Charlie caught the way Harry was watching them, his green eyes wide and filled with that quiet appreciation he always wore when he watched them together. The love, the admiration, the hunger—it was all there in the way his gaze shifted between them, and it made Charlie’s heart swell.

Charlie smirked, glancing at Draco, who gave him a knowing look. Without speaking, they both leaned in again, this time meeting Harry’s lips together in a kiss that was soft and warm, each of them pressing close until Harry was completely surrounded. Harry let out a soft hum of pleasure as their lips brushed over his, a hand slipping into Charlie’s hair while his other stayed linked with Draco’s. The kiss deepened for a moment, all three of them moving in harmony, before they finally pulled back, settling into the comfortable closeness that always felt so right.

Charlie rested his forehead against Harry’s for a brief second, feeling the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest beneath his arm, the warmth of their shared breaths in the space between them. Then, with a contented sigh, they all shifted back into place, Harry’s head tucked against Charlie’s shoulder, Draco’s hand still tangled with Harry’s.

It was Harry who spoke first, his voice a little breathless, a little giddy. “We, uh... we also planned a party.” His tone was almost sheepish, and Charlie could feel the grin pulling at his lips before Harry had even finished speaking. “It’s at the Burrow. This weekend. Everyone’s invited.”

Charlie blinked, then rolled his eyes with a groan. “I knew you two wouldn’t be content with just a quiet dinner, drinks, and a romantic evening by the fire,” he said, though his tone was light, the amusement clear in his voice. “Of course there’s more.”

Harry chuckled, his laugh a quiet rumble against Charlie’s chest. “It’s your fortieth,” he tried to justify, his words a little rushed as though he could sense the teasing that was about to come.

Before Charlie could respond, Draco cut in, his tone far too innocent to be genuine. “The party was my idea, actually,” he said, a hint of smugness in his voice. “It was supposed to be a distraction in case you started getting suspicious. But then we decided... why not?”

Charlie shook his head, laughing softly. “Why am I not surprised?” he muttered, though there was no irritation in his tone. Only affection. Pure, overwhelming affection. “You two...” He let the sentence hang, not needing to finish it. His heart was too full for words to properly express what he felt in that moment.

Instead, he shifted, pulling both of them closer, his arm draping more securely over Harry’s waist, his foot nudging against Draco’s beneath the sheets. The familiar scents of their bodies—Harry’s clean, earthy smell mixed with Draco’s subtle cologne—wrapped around him, grounding him in the moment. The bed was warm, the feel of their skin against his own bringing him that sense of belonging he always cherished in moments like these.

“I love you both,” Charlie murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He felt the weight of those words settle between them, felt the warmth in his chest swell as he said it. It wasn’t just the surprise, the gift, or the party—it was everything. It was them. The three of them. Together.

Harry was the first to respond, his hand squeezing Charlie’s gently. “We love you too,” he whispered, his voice steady, sure. Draco didn’t say anything, but Charlie didn’t need him to. The way Draco’s fingers brushed over his wrist, the way he tucked his body a little closer to Harry’s, told Charlie all he needed to know.

The warmth of Harry and Draco pressed against him was a comfort Charlie never tired of. The way their bodies fit so naturally against his own—Harry’s lean frame curled against his chest, his back warm and solid, while Draco rested on the other side, long and elegant, his breath a soft whisper in the stillness. Their bodies radiated heat, the soft rustle of the duvet as they shifted making the space feel even more intimate.

Charlie’s fingers absently traced along the curve of Harry’s waist, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath his palm. There was something grounding about that simple touch, the solid presence of Harry between them.

As he glanced over at Draco, their eyes met in the dim light, and Charlie couldn’t help the lazy smile that spread across his face. The glint in Draco’s silver eyes was unmistakable—there was always that subtle edge of playfulness, of teasing temptation, that made Charlie’s heart skip just a little faster. It was something that was uniquely Draco, something Charlie had fallen in love with a long time ago, and continued to fall in love with over and over again.

“Well,” Charlie said softly, his voice low and teasing as he tilted his head slightly. “It’s my birthday, isn’t it? And a special one too. Doesn’t that mean I get to make a wish?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Oh, I suppose so,” he replied, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of challenge. “What exactly do you wish for, Weasley?”

Charlie’s hand tightened ever so slightly around Harry’s waist, feeling the subtle shift of Harry’s body as he pressed into the touch. He let his gaze drift over them both—Harry’s messy hair, still a bit damp from the shower he’d taken before bed, his lips slightly parted, and Draco, looking effortlessly composed as always, his sharp features softened in the dim light.

“I think…” Charlie began, his voice huskier now, drawing the words out as he let his hand slide down Harry’s side, “I want to watch you kiss him.” He let the suggestion hang in the air for a moment, watching as Draco’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. “And maybe,” Charlie added, his voice a little more playful now, “I’ll tell you exactly how I want you to touch him.”

Harry shifted slightly, a soft hum escaping him, and Charlie could feel the subtle tension building in the space between them. The idea lingered, thickening the air, and when Harry turned his head to meet Charlie’s eyes, there was that familiar mix of anticipation and vulnerability. It was a look Charlie had come to know well—the quiet surrender that always ignited something deep inside him.

Draco moved first, his movements languid and deliberate as he leaned in, his fingers ghosting along Harry’s jaw, tipping his chin up slightly. Charlie’s breath caught as he watched the way Draco’s lips met Harry’s—soft at first, just a brush of skin, before deepening. There was something mesmerising about the way they kissed, the way Draco’s hand slipped into Harry’s hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as their mouths moved together, slow and sensuous.

Charlie’s grip on Harry’s waist tightened, the warmth of their bodies now a steady pulse against him. His heart raced with quiet enjoyment, his gaze fixed on the way Harry’s breath hitched, the soft sound escaping his throat as Draco’s thumb traced along his cheekbone.

“Draco,” Charlie murmured, his voice low and commanding now, “caress his chest, his nipples. I want to hear him react.”

Without missing a beat, Draco’s hand slid down Harry’s bare chest, fingers trailing over the coarse chest hair growing there, grazing warm skin. The sound Harry made—half sigh, half gasp—was enough to send a surge of heat through Charlie. He could feel Harry shift against him, the subtle tension in his muscles, the quiet vulnerability of being held between them like this.

The rustle of the duvet was the only sound in the room besides their breathing, the faint scent of Draco’s cologne now mingling with the warm musk of their bodies. Charlie’s eyes followed every movement—Draco kissing along Harry’s jawline, nibbling at Harry’s ear, then peppering his sensitive neck with a thousand tiny kisses, all while fingers toyed with Harry’s nipples, drawing soft, almost desperate sounds from the depths of Harry’s throat as Draco’s touch grew more insistent.

“Good,” Charlie whispered, his voice rough with arousal. He leaned in, his lips brushing Harry’s ear as he whispered, “Tell me what it feels like, love. I want to hear you tell me.”

Harry’s breath hitched again, his body arching slightly against Charlie’s as Draco’s hand pressed lower, teasing along the skin just below his navel. “It feels… so good,” Harry breathed, his voice trembling with quiet need. “Draco…”

Charlie’s heart raced, the heat of the moment wrapping around him like a second skin. He could feel the tension building between them, could hear the way Harry’s breathing quickened as Draco’s hand quite purposefully dipped just that little bit lower, as their bodies shifted together in the dim light.

“Don’t stop,” Charlie murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now, his own body thrumming with desire as he watched. He could feel every subtle movement, every breath Harry took, every quiet sound of pleasure that escaped him as Draco followed Charlie’s unspoken commands.

The room was filled with warmth—the soft rustle of sheets, the steady hum of their bodies moving together, and the quiet, shared intimacy that flowed between them. Charlie let his eyes close for a moment, letting himself get lost in the sensation of it all—the way Harry’s body felt pressed against his own, the way Draco’s touch brought Harry to the edge of need, the way their love for each other spilled over in every whispered word, every kiss, every touch.

When Charlie opened his eyes again, he found Draco watching him, a silent question in his gaze. Charlie’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as he nodded, silently giving Draco permission to continue.

“Kiss him again,” Charlie instructed, his voice rough and low. “And this time… make him beg.”

Draco’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief as he leaned in once more, capturing Harry’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Charlie could feel the way Harry’s body tensed, the soft gasp that escaped him as Draco’s fingers continued to offer him glimpses of what was still to come.

Draco’s lips moved against Harry’s with a kind of hungry precision, drawing out those soft, breathless sounds that Charlie had come to crave. Harry’s fingers twitched, clutching the sheets, his body strung tight between the pull of Draco’s hands and the steady, grounding presence of Charlie behind him. The room was alive with the warmth of their bodies and the quiet symphony of pleasure that filled the air—Harry’s stuttering breaths, the low, rough hum of approval from Draco, and Charlie’s whispered commands that carried through the stillness.

Charlie could feel the weight of it all—the heavy, intoxicating closeness of their love. Harry’s chest rose and fell beneath Draco’s touch, his skin warm and soft, the heat from his body radiating back against Charlie’s. Every one of Harry’s pleasure tremors sent a rush of arousal through him, but it wasn’t just that. It was the love that burned beneath it—the unspoken understanding, the way they had all come to know each other so well that their movements, their touches, were like second nature.

Draco shifted slightly and Charlie watched how Harry melted into the kiss—how he clung to Draco, his body pressing into each deliberate caress. It was beautiful, watching them like this, knowing every sound, every tremble of Harry’s body was something they were creating together.

“Draco, sweetheart,” Charlie whispered, his voice thick with arousal, “take your time. I want to see our boy come apart.”

And Draco, with that practised elegance, took the instruction to heart. He deepened the kiss, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns across Harry’s chest and stomach. His movements were unhurried, each touch, each press of his lips designed to build Harry up, to leave him gasping and aching for more.

Charlie could feel the tension coiling tighter in Harry’s body with every second that passed, and it made his own pulse race, the heat curling low in his stomach. His hand slid up from Harry’s waist to rest just above his heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath his palm. There was something grounding about that simple touch, the solid, real presence of Harry between them, caught up in the haze of their shared intimacy.

“Harry, my love,” Charlie murmured softly against his ear, his breath warm against the side of Harry’s neck. “I want to hear you. I want to hear how good it feels.”

Harry’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp, his body arching slightly as Draco’s lips left another trail of fluttering kisses down his jaw and neck. “It feels... so good,” Harry whispered, his voice strained and breathless, filled with that beautiful mix of vulnerability and desire that always made Charlie’s chest tighten. “Draco... oh, fuck…”

Charlie pressed a kiss to the side of Harry’s neck, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath his lips. He could see Draco’s hands moving lower now, his touch slow, teasing, the anticipation building with each passing second. And Harry... Harry was completely at their mercy, caught up in the sensations they were weaving around him, his body responding to every touch, every kiss.

Draco’s hand slid lower still, his fingers brushing sensitive skin. Harry’s reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his body jerking slightly in response to the touch.

“Shh…” Charlie whispered soothingly, his lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear. “Relax, love. Let Draco take care of you.”

Draco’s lips quirked into a smirk against Harry’s skin, and Charlie could see the way his silver eyes gleamed with mischief. He moved his hand lower still, his fingers grazing along Harry’s thigh, and Harry’s breath hitched again, his body pressing into the touch, silently begging for more.

Charlie’s hand tightened on Harry’s chest, holding him steady, his lips trailing over the curve of Harry’s shoulder as he watched, enraptured by the way Draco knew exactly how to repeatedly push Harry to the edge without ever giving him quite enough. It was a beautiful kind of torture, watching the way Harry’s body writhed, caught between the need for more and the exquisite pleasure of being teased, loved, and cherished.

“Draco,” Charlie whispered, his voice thick with want. “Touch him properly. He’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Draco’s smirk widened, and with a deliberate slowness that only heightened the anticipation, he slid his hand lower, brushing over the growing hardness between Harry’s legs. Harry let out a soft, broken moan, his head falling back against the pillows as his body trembled with the weight of it all.

Charlie could feel every tremor, every shaky breath, and it only made his own desire burn hotter. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the side of Harry’s neck, the taste of his skin mingling with the faint scent of soap and sweat. He could feel the way Harry’s body responded—how every touch, every kiss sent ripples of pleasure coursing through him, leaving him gasping, trembling, lost in the overwhelming intimacy of the moment.

Draco, ever the master of control, continued his slow, exquisite torture, his hand moving in a way that left Harry shuddering, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. And all the while, Charlie watched, his own body thrumming with desire, his heart swelling with love for the two people who had come to mean everything to him.

“Look at him,” Charlie murmured, his voice low and rough as he watched the way Draco kissed along Harry’s jaw, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin there. “Look how beautiful he is when he’s like this.”

Draco’s eyes met Charlie’s over Harry’s shoulder, and there was something in his gaze—something dark and playful, filled with love and desire—that sent a rush of heat through Charlie. They didn’t need words to communicate the shared understanding, the silent agreement that in this moment, they were both here to make Harry feel everything, to show him just how deeply he was loved, cherished, and needed.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Draco’s hand wrapped around Harry’s cock, eliciting a soft, desperate sound from Harry’s lips—a sound that sent a shiver of pleasure down Charlie’s spine.

“More,” Harry whispered, his voice a broken plea, his body arching into the touch. “Please... I need…”

Draco smiled against his skin, and with a quiet hum of approval, he gave Harry exactly what he needed, his touch firm but tender, his kisses soft but unrelenting. And Charlie, watching the way Harry’s body writhed, the way his breath came in ragged gasps, felt his own body respond, his own desire building with every sound Harry made, every tremor of pleasure that ran through him.

They moved together in perfect harmony—Charlie holding Harry close while Draco spoiled Harry with his slow and deliberate touches, his kisses filled with love and passion.

Harry’s breaths became shorter, his chest rising and falling rapidly under Charlie’s hand as Draco’s movements grew more deliberate, more focused. The room felt heavy with heat, the warmth of their bodies pressing close, the scent of sweat and the lingering sweetness of the candles still hanging in the air. Every sound Harry made—every quiet moan, every whispered plea—only pulled Charlie deeper into the moment, his own arousal building in response to the sight of his lovers so beautifully intertwined.

Draco’s hand moved with precision, his touch a perfect blend of teasing and tender, pushing Harry to the very edge without ever tipping him over. Charlie could feel the tension in Harry’s body, the way his muscles tightened with each stroke, the way his breath hitched when Draco’s lips brushed over a sensitive spot along his throat. It was intoxicating, watching Harry come undone between them, his body pliant and eager, his mind lost in the overwhelming pleasure they were giving him.

“You’re doing so well,” Charlie murmured against Harry’s ear, his voice low and rough, laced with pride and affection. His hand slid lower, resting just above Harry’s heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath his palm. “So beautiful, love. Just let go. We’ve got you.”

Harry whimpered softly, his fingers tightening in the sheets as Draco’s hand continued its slow, deliberate rhythm. Harry’s body arched into the touch, his hips lifting slightly in a silent plea for more, but Draco was in control, guiding him with a steady, practised hand.

Charlie watched, his heart racing with quiet enjoyment, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. There was something so vulnerable, so beautiful about seeing his lover like this—caught between pleasure and need, his body trembling with the intensity of it all. And Draco, always so composed, was a picture of calm control, his eyes gleaming with love and mischief as he coaxed every sound, every shudder from Harry’s body.

“Draco,” Charlie whispered, his voice thick with arousal. “I want to see him fall apart.”

Draco’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, his eyes meeting Charlie’s for a brief moment before he leaned in, capturing Harry’s lips in a deep, demanding kiss. His hand moved faster now, the tension in the room thickening as Harry’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

“Please…” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips, his voice a broken plea, his body arching into the touch with desperate need. “I can’t… please…”

Charlie’s grip on Harry’s chest tightened, his fingers digging into the warm skin as he watched the way Draco pushed him closer and closer to the edge. There was something primal, something electric about seeing Harry like this—so open, so vulnerable, so completely lost in the pleasure they were giving him.

“You can let go,” Charlie whispered, his voice soft but commanding, his breath warm against the side of Harry’s neck. “We’ve got you, love. You’re safe.”

Draco’s hand moved even faster, his fingers curling around Harry with expert precision, his lips pressing hot kisses along Harry’s jawline, down to his throat. The sound of their breathing filled the room, the soft rustle of the sheets, the quiet moans escaping from Harry’s lips, the warmth of their bodies pressing together in a perfect, intimate rhythm.

Charlie could feel the moment building, the tension reaching its peak as Harry’s body trembled between them. His breath hitched, his hands clutching at the sheets, and Charlie leaned in, pressing his lips to Harry’s ear, his voice a soft, loving whisper. “Let go, love. We’re right here.”

And with a shuddering gasp, Harry did just that. His body tensed, his back arching as a wave of pleasure crashed over him, his breath catching in his throat. Charlie could feel every tremor, every quiver of Harry’s body as he fell apart between them, his hands tightening in the sheets, his voice a soft, desperate moan that filled the room.

Draco didn’t stop, his hand moving with a steady, deliberate rhythm, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from Harry’s shuddering body. And Charlie, holding him close, felt the weight of it all—the love, the intimacy, the quiet power of their connection—settling over them like a warm blanket, wrapping them in a cocoon of shared pleasure and trust.

When Harry’s breathing finally began to slow, his body going limp between them, Charlie pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips. Draco pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on Harry’s chest, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched the way Harry lay there, utterly spent, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You did so well,” Charlie whispered, his voice filled with love and pride as he nuzzled against Harry’s temple. “So beautiful, love.”

Harry let out a soft, contented sigh, his head resting against Charlie’s shoulder, his body completely relaxed between them. His eyes fluttered open, green and hazy with satisfaction, and when he looked up at Charlie, there was nothing but love in his gaze.

“I… I love you,” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible, but the weight of the words hung heavy in the air, filling the room with a quiet, shared intimacy that made Charlie’s heart swell.

Charlie smiled, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple, his hand still resting over his heart. “I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice soft, full of affection. Then he glanced over at Draco, who was watching them both with a tender, knowing smile.

Without a word, Charlie leaned over Harry’s body, capturing Draco’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. The taste of Harry still lingered there, sweet and warm, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile against Draco’s mouth, his hand sliding into the soft strands of Draco’s hair as they kissed. It was a kiss filled with love, with passion, with the quiet understanding that this—this moment—was everything they had ever needed.

When they finally pulled back, the room felt quieter, calmer, the intensity of the moment fading into a soft, lingering warmth. The three of them lay there, tangled together in the sheets, their bodies still pressed close, their breathing steady and slow.

Charlie’s hand found Harry’s, their fingers intertwining beneath the duvet, and he felt Draco shift closer, his arm draping over both of them. The warmth of their bodies, the quiet rustle of the sheets, the lingering scent of their shared intimacy—it was all perfect, all exactly as it should be.

For a long moment, they simply lay there in the stillness, the quiet weight of their love settling over them like a warm blanket. And in that moment, Charlie knew—knew with every fibre of his being—that this was everything. This was home.

“We should do this more often,” Draco murmured, his voice soft but teasing as he pressed a kiss to Harry’s shoulder, his hand sliding across Charlie’s chest, teasing, exploring.

Harry gasped, shaking his head in silent protest. “You two will be the death of me.”

Charlie chuckled and Draco huffed a soft laugh.

“Oh but what a way to go,” Draco grinned, mischief playing in his silver eyes.

Charlie’s chuckle deepened as he felt Draco’s fingers slide further across his chest, the soft touch warm and teasing. He turned his head slightly, catching Draco’s gaze. There was something electric about the way Draco’s silver eyes sparkled with mischief, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that made Charlie’s pulse quicken.

“You’re right, Potter,” Charlie teased, his voice low as he pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck. “We might just be your undoing.” He felt Harry’s soft laugh, the sound vibrating against his skin, but Charlie’s attention was already shifting.

Draco’s hand was still resting on Charlie’s chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin, each touch sending a ripple of heat through him. Charlie turned towards Draco, their faces just inches apart, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged—heavy with anticipation.

“Draco,” Charlie murmured, his voice husky as he reached up, cupping the back of Draco’s neck. His fingers threaded through Draco’s soft hair, pulling him closer until their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating—rich and lingering, still flavoured with the whiskey they had enjoyed earlier that night. Charlie’s heart raced as the kiss deepened, Draco’s body pressing closer, the heat between them building with every touch.

Harry shifted slightly between them, his breath coming in soft, steady sighs as he watched, much to Charlie’s delight. The tension in the room thickened once more, the air heavy with the scent of their shared intimacy, and Charlie couldn’t help but lose himself in the moment, in the feel of Draco’s lips, in the warmth of his body.

“Think you’ve been left out too long?” Draco murmured between kisses, his voice teasing as his hand drifted lower, his fingers grazing the soft skin of Charlie’s hip.

Charlie’s smile widened, his breath coming a little faster as Draco’s touch grew more insistent. “Maybe,” he replied, his voice rough with arousal. “But you seem to be making up for it now so I’m not complaining.”

Draco’s chuckle was soft, dark, as he pulled back just enough to meet Charlie’s gaze, his eyes gleaming with playful intent. “I do believe it’s your turn, Weasley.”

Harry, still lying between them, let out a quiet laugh. “You two are impossible,” he murmured, though his voice was filled with affection. He shifted slightly, giving Draco and Charlie more space without withdrawing completely, his green eyes half-lidded as he watched them with that same quiet appreciation he always had.

Charlie’s hand slid down Draco’s back, feeling the smooth lines of his body, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin. There was something electrifying about being this close, about sharing these moments with Draco while Harry watched, his body a warm presence between them. The connection they shared—the three of them—felt stronger in these moments, bound together by love, trust, and the quiet intimacy they built around each other.

Draco’s fingers danced lower, brushing over Charlie’s stomach, his touch light but deliberate. Charlie’s breath hitched, the sensation sending a pulse of heat through him, his body reacting to the careful, teasing pressure. Draco leaned in again, his lips grazing the curve of Charlie’s jaw, his breath warm against his skin.

“Tell me what you want,” Draco whispered, his voice barely audible, but the command clear in its softness.

Charlie’s pulse quickened, his heart racing as Draco’s breath brushed against his skin. His lips tilted closer to Draco’s, the tension between them simmering just below the surface. “I want you,” Charlie murmured, his voice rough, thick with desire. His lips barely grazed Draco’s, the words a promise. “But you already know that.”

Draco’s answering smile was wicked, the mischievous spark in his silver eyes unmistakable. He leaned in, capturing Charlie’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss that stole the air from his lungs. Charlie’s hand gripped Draco’s shoulder, holding him closer, relishing in the warmth and pressure of his body. But just as the kiss deepened, Draco pulled back, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

“I always know what you want,” Draco murmured against his ear, his breath warm, teasing. “But tonight…” His voice trailed off as he shifted his position, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path down Charlie’s neck, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

Charlie’s breath hitched, his body responding to each touch as Draco’s mouth moved lower still, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His senses heightened as Draco’s kisses grew firmer, more insistent, the deliberate pressure sending shivers through his body.

“Draco,” Charlie whispered, his voice filled with a need he could barely contain.

Harry, who had been watching them with his signature quiet admiration, slid his hand up Charlie’s chest, his thumb brushing over his collarbone in gentle strokes. The sensation grounded Charlie, reminding him of their shared connection, of the way they were all woven together in this intimate, sensual dance. The air felt charged between them, every movement deliberate, every touch filled with affection and desire.

Draco’s lips ghosted over Charlie’s chest, his kisses trailing lower, soft and lingering, before his mouth hovered just above Charlie’s skin. His breath was warm, teasing, as he let the moment stretch out, heightening the anticipation. Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, his body thrumming with need as he waited, every nerve alive with the expectation of Draco’s next move.

And then, Draco’s mouth descended. Slow, deliberate, his lips pressed against Charlie’s skin, leaving hot, wet kisses that made Charlie’s breath falter. The feel of Draco’s mouth—his tongue flicking over sensitive spots, his teeth grazing lightly, expertly—sent jolts of pleasure through Charlie’s body, making his muscles tense, his breath come faster.

Harry, watching the effect Draco had on Charlie, leaned in, his voice a quiet murmur in Charlie’s ear. “You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, his breath warm against Charlie’s skin. “Both of you.”

Charlie groaned softly, his hand tightening in the sheets beneath him as Draco continued, his mouth moving with purpose, teasing Charlie closer and closer to the edge. The sensations were overwhelming—the soft heat of Draco’s mouth, the firm pressure of his lips, the way his breath fanned across Charlie’s skin in between kisses.

Draco’s movements grew more focused, his mouth working with a sensual precision that left Charlie gasping for breath. Every kiss, every flick of Draco’s tongue, every soft scrape of his teeth sent waves of pleasure coursing through Charlie’s body, making it impossible to hold back the quiet sounds that escaped his throat.

“Relax,” Harry murmured, his voice vibrating against Charlie’s skin, the warmth of his breath adding another layer of sensation. “Just enjoy.”

Charlie’s body tensed, his breath catching as Draco’s mouth slowly engulfed him, his lips trailing over sensitive skin, igniting every nerve in its path. Harry’s hand remained on his chest, a steady, grounding presence as Draco took his time, exploring every inch of Charlie’s cock with the slow, deliberate focus that always drove Charlie wild.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, the rustle of the duvet as their bodies shifted together. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around them like a second skin, the air thick with shared desire. Charlie’s heart raced, his body responding eagerly to the sensations Draco was creating, the heat between them building steadily, a slow burn that spread through his veins.

“Draco…” Charlie whispered, his voice rough with need, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. “Please…”

Draco’s smile was pure mischief as he pressed a final kiss to Charlie’s skin, his mouth still warm, still teasing.

“That’s it,” Harry murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, supporting Draco seamlessly. “Cum for us.”

And with a shuddering gasp, Charlie did just that. His body tensed, his breath catching in his throat as the wave of pleasure crashed over him, sending him spiralling into the intensity of the moment. He felt Harry’s hand tighten in his, felt Draco’s throat work as he greedily swallowed every last drop, felt the warmth of his lovers’ bodies surrounding him, grounding him, holding him together as the pleasure coursed through him.

When the wave finally passed, Charlie let out a long, slow breath, his body going limp, his mind floating in a haze of contentment. He could feel the gentle touch of Harry’s hand on his chest, the soft press of Draco’s lips against his thigh, and the warmth of their love wrapping around him like a cocoon.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, tangled together in the soft, dim light of the room, their bodies pressed close, their breathing slow and steady. The intimacy of the moment, the quiet love that flowed between them, felt like something sacred—something that belonged only to them.

Charlie let out a soft sigh, his lips curling into a lazy smile as he glanced between them. “I love you both so much,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, a soft, sleepy smile playing on his lips as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Charlie’s cheek. “We love you too,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth.

Draco, still poised and elegant even in the afterglow, leaned over, his lips brushing lightly against Charlie’s. “Always,” he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate.

Charlie’s hand moved slowly up Draco’s back, the warmth of his touch spreading through his fingertips. He could feel Draco’s body relaxing against him, but there was something unspoken in the way Draco’s breath caught, the way his lips lingered just a little longer than usual against Charlie’s skin. And then, in that quiet intimacy, a thought passed between Harry and Charlie—a silent understanding, a shared intention.

Without a word, Harry shifted slightly, his hand sliding over Charlie’s chest, reaching out for Draco. He pressed his fingers gently into Draco’s back, tracing a line along the elegant curve of his spine. Draco inhaled, a soft, involuntary sound escaping his lips as he felt both of them turn their focus on him.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” Harry murmured, his voice playful yet filled with affection. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his green eyes soft with tenderness as he looked at Draco. “It’s your turn.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief still in his expression, but there was a flicker of something vulnerable beneath the surface. “My turn?” he echoed, though the playful edge in his voice was fading, replaced by a quiet anticipation.

Charlie’s hand moved to cradle Draco’s face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of his cheek. “You always take care of us,” he whispered, his voice a little rough, still thick with emotion from moments before. “Let us take care of you.”

Draco’s silver eyes flickered between them, something unspoken passing through him, and though he didn’t say a word, the way his body softened against them—how he let out a quiet sigh—was all the permission they needed.

Harry leaned in first, his lips brushing softly over Draco’s, slow and deliberate, drawing out every second of the kiss. There was no rush, no urgency—just a slow, gentle exploration, Harry’s hand slipping up to tangle in Draco’s hair, holding him close, his fingers working through the soft strands. Draco melted into the kiss, his body yielding to the tenderness of Harry’s touch, and a soft sound escaped him, muffled against Harry’s lips.

Charlie watched for a moment, his heart swelling with love for both of them. He let his fingers trace the line of Draco’s jaw, down his neck, across his chest, feeling the way Draco’s body responded to the touch—the subtle shift, the quickened breath, the way Draco’s muscles tensed, then relaxed beneath his hand. Slowly, Charlie moved in, pressing soft kisses along Draco’s throat, down to the curve of his shoulder, each touch filled with affection, with the intention of bringing him pleasure.

The warmth between them grew steadily, a slow, sensual rhythm that was more about connection than urgency. Harry’s kisses deepened, his tongue brushing lightly against Draco’s lips before trailing down his neck, while Charlie’s hands continued their gentle exploration, tracing the lines of Draco’s body, caressing him with deliberate slowness.

Draco let out a quiet moan, his head tipping back slightly as their combined attention enveloped him, cocooning him in the warmth of their love. “You two,” he whispered, his voice catching, thick with pleasure. “You’re impossible.”

Charlie chuckled softly against his skin, pressing a lingering kiss to his collarbone. “We’re making up for all the times you’ve spoiled us,” he murmured, his hand sliding down Draco’s side, feeling the way his body shivered beneath his touch.

Harry smiled against Draco’s neck, his lips warm as they pressed gentle kisses along his jaw. “It’s only fair,” he teased, his voice soft but full of affection.

As they worked together, their touches growing more intimate, more insistent, Draco’s body responded in kind—his breath quickening, his chest rising and falling with every whispered word, every kiss. The connection between the three of them deepened, a shared rhythm that was both tender and electric, their bodies moving in harmony, each touch bringing Draco closer to the edge of pleasure.

And when Draco finally let go, his body trembling between them, it was with a soft, shuddering sigh—his voice thick with emotion, his body soft and pliant as the pleasure washed over him. Charlie held him close, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way Draco’s body melted into his own, while Harry pressed a final kiss to Draco’s temple, his hand resting gently on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart slowly beginning to settle.

For a long moment, they lay there, tangled together in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, their breathing slow and steady, their bodies pressed close in the shared intimacy of the moment. The air was filled with the soft scent of vanilla, the lingering musk of their bodies, and the quiet sounds of their breaths mingling in the stillness.

Harry effortlessly cast a wandless cleaning charm that swept across their bodies, momentarily leaving behind the faint shimmer of magic that floated through the room. The subtle traces of their earlier passion melted away, leaving nothing but warmth and contentment in their wake. Charlie smiled against Harry’s neck, feeling the soft hum of the magic settle in the air, then dissipate slowly.

“Always impressive, Potter,” Draco murmured, his voice low, teasing, as he shifted beside them, his hand gently trailing along Harry’s side before reaching out to rest on Charlie’s chest.

Charlie let out a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing over Draco’s knuckles as they all settled deeper into the duvet, their bodies fitting together with the ease of long familiarity. Charlie lazily reached out to turn the bedside light off. In the stillness of the night, their shared love wrapping around them like the soft folds of the blanket, every touch grounding them in the here and now. 

For a while, Charlie fought against the pull of sleep, but the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing—already deep and even, signalling he’d drifted off—made it impossible to resist the growing weight of tiredness. The warmth of Harry’s body, and Draco’s hand resting on his chest, slowly lulled Charlie into surrender. As sleep began to claim him, a soft, contented smile played on his lips, the last lingering thought of just how perfect this moment was. His heart and body, wrapped in the love of his two companions, finally gave in, settling into the quiet peace of restful sleep.