Note: This one shot is an outtake from my triad/poly WIP – Fourteen Thousand Galleons. It's not necessary to read FTG in order to appreciate the one shot, however it does provide far more detail into the lives of Harry, Draco, and Hermione. Whenever a new drabble or one shot is written for FTG, it will be posted here so that they are all kept together in one tidy place. I hope you enjoy! ~ Jessi

Potter talks in his sleep.

All. Fucking. Night.

At first, Draco would force him out of the bed, through the floo, and enjoy his nights without having the blankets twisted off his frame and the bedroom filled with frantic murmuring. Potter would laze about the room, collect his clothes, and hop through the floo with one shoe on while Draco sent him home. It was a good arrangement. A preferred arrangement.

But that doesn't work now.

He's attached. Painfully so.

And the first time he heard Granger's given name fall from his – partner, boyfriend, fuck buddy? – from Potter's lips in a state of fitful sleep, Draco almost cursed him to Salazar's chamber itself.

But, it's happened more often than not in the past few months. They fuck, they sleep, and then the wild-haired, goodie-two-shoes, house elf champion's name finds its way to their bed. He's used to it now, used to her being there, fitting herself between them. Potter turns red at the ears whenever Draco brings it up. He stumbles over his words and then shuts Draco's mouth with firm and distracting kisses.

It's maddening and Draco can't take it anymore.

"Good morning." His sleepy voice wrestles Draco from his internal struggles. Potter's arm wraps around him and pulls him firmly against his chest. "You're wearing your 'Come and have a go' face."

Draco shifts uneasily against him and raises an eyebrow. Habit. Habits of which, apparently, Potter has memorized. Unsettling.

"I have a 'Come and have a go' face?" The words sneak past his barely parted lips. Harry's chest rumbles against his shoulder blades. "Do I also have a 'You're a fucking wanker' face?"

"Literally all I said was good morning, Draco." Potter's lips press against the top of his shoulder and the smirk on his face is practically imprinted into Draco's skin. Fucking Boy Wonder. "Is this where I'm supposed to have a go, then?"

"Ideally." Draco shoves his tongue into the side of his cheek and ignores Potter's wandering hands.

"And if I have other plans for the morning?" Long fingers dip along the v-curve of Draco's abdomen. Lower and lower. He sucks in a breath and Potter chuckles again because he fucking knows exactly what he's doing. "I don't have much time before I have to be a responsible auror."

Fingers wrap around him and his reaction is immediate. Draco allows a low growl to leave him and carefully turns round and pins Potter beneath him. His dark hair is everywhere, a physical representation of Draco's nerves. There's a chunk over the lightning bolt shaped scar, falling into the brightest, greenest eyes Draco's ever looked into. Draco's gaze trail from his eyes to his lips, wet as a tongue slips over them slowly from one side to the other.

"You're saying her name in your sleep again."

Potter takes a deep breath, his chest rises and falls in quick succession. Draco's eyes snap back to meet his and instead he finds Potter's eyes closed, brows tugging toward one another in consternation. Draco wants to smooth out the wrinkle there, kiss away the obvious dismay he finds, but he pushes the desire down as far as it can go and continues to stare down.

"Potter." Draco's fingers climb a lazy path from his hip to his collarbone and he draws little circles against Potter's skin as if he's trying to draw him out of his thoughts. "I'm not cross."

"Aren't you?" Potter whispers. His eyes finally open as if he's afraid of what he'll find looking back at him. Draco shakes his head, just a little movement that barely moves his hair from its tightly controlled style. "You're always cross when it happens."

"I'm cross because you won't talk to me about it." Draco's fingers rise from his collarbone and wrap gently around the side of Potter's neck. His thumb strokes up and traces the sharp, barely stubbly, line of his jaw. "I know what Granger is to you."

"Do you?" Potter's eyebrows are high on his forehead, scrunching the silvery scar into a mere jagged line.

"I feel it," Draco confesses on a breath. He lifts his hand from Potter's jaw and places it over his heart. "Here."

There's a steady thrum behind his sternum that clenches and releases almost constantly. Has done for months since he and Potter began their tryst. Sometimes – nearly every time Potter dreamt of Granger – he'd feel the desperation there. A lamenting sort of tightness that felt more like suffocating than its usual burst of energy.

Potter's hand takes his and he twists their fingers together over his heart.

"I've loved her for a very long time, Draco."

Fucking Boy Wonder and his brilliant earnest eyes. If he wasn't trying to hold himself over him in an effort not to crush him, Draco would wrap him in a tight embrace and tell him what a wanker he is. The admission isn't a surprise. He can feel it, after all. It mimics the desperate way his magic seeks out Potter, warms him when he's losing himself to the despair that's always lurking around his dark edges.

"I'm aware," is all that Draco can say.

"She was at The Burrow last night."

This, however, does surprise Draco. Granger's appearances outside of her job at the Ministry and her carefully planned nights out with her husband are few and far between. Even visiting Weasley's family is something of a rare occurrence. He can't understand how Granger of all people managed to allow herself to be overrun by such a colossal arse as Ron Weasley. He'd only just learned of her situation and it makes no sense to him. Hell, he had once been on the receiving end of precisely how much shite she doesn't put up with.

Draco rolls off of Potter and positions his back against the headboard of his bed. Potter follows suit. He hugs a pillow to his bare torso and pushes his glasses onto his face. He's nervous, fingers fidgeting with one another over the silk of the pillow case. Draco grabs one of his hands and drags it over to his lap. He encourages Potter to talk with gentle caresses against the palm of his hand.

I'm here, I'm listening, I'd do anything for you.

His magic thrums. It reaches out to the man next to him and wraps him in its warmth. It's something Draco will never get used to – having his magic react to another person in such a positive way. During the war, when he'd been around his Aunt Bellatrix, Draco was constantly sick, his magic manifested in much the same way, like a disease. Now, though, he can't imagine not feeling the warmth of happiness as it envelopes him when Potter's nearby.

"She was happy." Potter sounds fucking livid about it. His lips curl around the words when they slither from his lips from between ground teeth. "At least, she appeared that way. Ron never left her side, never allowed her a moment with anyone else where he wasn't present. I tried to get her to look at me and the one time she did –"

Draco's stomach flipped. Potter hung his head onto his chest and rolled his shoulders before lifting his head and taking a steadying breath.

"She used to do this thing." Potter's lips rose just a the corners and his eyes focused somewhere far away. A memory, perhaps. "She'd bite her lip and her eyes would just… sparkle."

Draco's chest rumbles. What a love-sick mutt. But, hadn't he thought the same thing about Potter's eyes often – when they'd banter and then fuck? Fuck. A sinking feeling settled in Draco's gut. It hits him suddenly, without any preamble, and drives itself further into the deep crevices of his thoughts. He loves Potter. Somehow, someway, over the course of the past few months, he'd come to love Boy Wonder.

It makes the idea of losing him that much worse.

It makes Draco detest that Granger affects him so.

It makes him desperate. His hand clutches at Potter's without a word more.

Fuck, he's so fucked.

As if he can't sense anything wrong with the man at his side, Potter continues. "It used to happen when she'd research an obscure branch of magic or when she'd watch me play Quidditch. But it's been gone for so long now, I don't know that it'll ever come back."

"Did you –" Draco swallows around a dry patch in his throat and closes his eyes because he can't bear to see Potter's face as he asks the question. Vulnerability courses through him. "Did you confront Weasley?"

Potter's hair whips in disarray as he shakes his head. "No. I don't know the situation, do I? If I make it worse for her, I'll never forgive myself."

"The alternative is to allow her to remain trapped with him," Draco reminds him carefully. It's a touchy subject, but he refuses to avoid it any longer. He can't take it anymore. He's so unbelievably deep into this now and part of him needs to know if he should jump out before Potter leaves him. "You've said there's no sign of abuse, but when you look at her, Potter, you know something has happened."

Potter's fingers twitch in his hand and Draco's holds him tighter.

"I can't prove it." He sighs. "I told her once that she wasn't herself and she had a go at me for interfering."

"Weasel King was there with her, though," Draco supplies to him carefully. "She's hardly going to say 'oh, right, thanks for pointing it out, Harry darling, and would you please rescue me from this gigantic git.'"

Potter snorts despite the hard look on his face. "She'll barely even look at me, much less find herself alone with me."

"And you'll what, just accept your circumstances?" Draco presses his lips together, drops Potter's hand, and stands from the bed. He thinks maybe it means something that he can be stark naked in front of Potter without the conversation devolving into frenzied buggering.

"I can't force her to listen to me." Potter's eyes follow his pacing and despite the severity of their conversation, Draco can feel his gaze raking over his naked body. He likes it, but he forces it away and tries to focus. "Even in the Ministry, she's constantly surveilled. He's around every fucking corner and I just can't –"

"He can't be around her twenty four hours a day." Draco's lips pinch and his shoulders stiffen. "You can create the circumstances to get him away from her for a couple of hours. Create a window of opportunity."

"That sounds awfully Slytherin," Potter grumbles and scoots himself to the edge of the bed. Draco stands in front of him. It takes all his willpower not to grab Potter by the hair and –

"If the shoe fits," Draco mumbles. He reaches forward and traces a delicate path from temple to chin along Potter's jaw. "Never confuse me for one of your Gryffindor mates, Potter. I'm far more devious and infinitely more cunning."

Potter's eyes roll but his gaze rests on the taut muscles of Draco's torso. His hand rests against the skin below his belly button and his fingers dance along Draco's skin. He breaks out into goose pimples along his arms, his spine tingles from such a simple touch.

"What do you suggest, Draco?" His eyes are soft as they meet Draco's. Lips open just the barest amount. Warm breath against his stomach.

He won't try to fuck Potter right now. He won't. He shouldn't. He can't.

Draco's other hand finds Potter's jaw and now he's holding his face between his hands and there's a decision to make here. Does he help Potter save his friend, the girl he loves? Or, can Draco live with himself for setting Potter up for failure and distracting him with the carnal sort of pleasure they've come to enjoy with one another? Draco can ignore the tug of string that's wrapped around his heart, the vibration of his soul through every cell of his being. But, he can't ignore Potter and his fucking love of her. It radiates from him.

He's so fucked.

He pulls his hands away from Potter and crosses them over his chest. Fists are balled under his arms because he's sure he has self-control, but unsure how much.

"Weasley loves quidditch, yeah? Granger hates it?"

Potter nods.

"We fund a ticket giveaway to a quidditch match." Draco wraps a hand around his chin and taps his finger against his cheek. "All Ministry employee names are entered. I'll inform Padma who the winner will be. She'll make it happen."

"Padma?" Potter's eyes are wide. "You're going to purchase quidditch tickets for Ron – three, otherwise he'll try and force Hermione to go whether she wants to or not. With three, he'll likely take the children instead. Padma will confound the drawing to ensure Ron wins?"

"I'm pretty sure she fancies me," Draco says on a laugh. Potter rolls his wide eyes dramatically. "She's incredibly valuable to have around. Smart witch."

"You sure you wouldn't rather have her naked in your bed, Draco?"

His annoyance earns an immediate smirk from Draco. Potter's jealous – something he doesn't get to see very often. He likes it. Probably too much.

"She's got a great set of legs." He outright laughs at Potter's indignant huff. Draco leans down and plants a firm, chaste kiss on his lips. "But no, I quite like having you naked in my bed, Potter."

"Good." He rests his forehead against Draco's abdomen. His hot breath tickles the hair that trails down the v-shape of his hips. "So, we get Ron to a quidditch match and I'll talk to Hermione."

Draco's fingers thread through Potter's flyaway hair, snagging here and there on tangles. "Talking to her isn't going to work. If it doesn't work now, she'll just deny what you're saying to her."

"Then what do I do? I can't just show up and stare at her until she sees what's happening to her."

Draco rolls his eyes. Dramatic as ever, Boy Wonder. "Show her."

"Right, because I'm such an accomplished legilimens."

He curls his fingers into Potter's scalp and pulls his head back. Their eyes lock and Potter's throat bobs in his throat. Draco feels a faint blush on his face. Normally when his hand is gripping his hair, it's for other, more pleasurable, experiences. Draco clears his throat.

"You don't need to be a legilimens to use a pensieve."

Potter releases a breath and something swoops in Draco's stomach. He's losing his ability to ignore the sexual tension. His erection twitches between them. Traitor.

Soft hands grab his hips, thumbs pressed into the flesh just shy of his hip bone.

"I don't have a pensieve lying around, either." Potter's voice is rough, deep, and Draco is keenly aware that he's inching closer to the standing problem between them. He swallows.

"Borrow mine," Draco whispers and then wets his lips.

"You have a pensieve?" Potter's hands rub up and down over his hip and Draco can't hold in the unsteady breath that leaves him. Potter knows exactly what he's doing. He's doing it on purpose, Draco realizes, when he's only an inch away from placing his mouth on him.

"Potter, I'm running out of self-control here."

He's forced to take a half step forward and then he's wrapped in the warm velvet of Potter's mouth. A groan leaves him and his legs shake, but Draco keeps his hands knotted in Potter's hair and encourages him to move just how he likes. Draco's head falls back as pleasure sweeps through him. He's not going to last long and he thinks Potter knows because the way his tongue is working against his cock is nothing short of eager and focused.

"Circe, who knew you'd be such a good –"

Teeth barely graze his shaft and Draco hisses at the sensation, which isn't altogether unwelcomed. He's consumed by the feelings that Potter's eliciting. They wrap around him like a cocoon, warm and dense, and if he thinks he's going to be satisfied when he comes down Potter's throat, he's got a lesson to learn because getting off isn't satiating the need he has for Potter anymore.

The back of Potter's throat constricts around him and Draco can't hold back any longer. He hears Potter moan from his spot on the edge of the bed and glances down to find him stroking his own erection away. The sight sends Draco over the edge with a jut of his hips.

They're lying in bed moments later curled around each other like they'd been when Potter woke up. Draco's heart is beating like a rabid troll locked in a dungeon. A shimmering blue and magenta light settles around them and Draco watches it until it fades away.

"What do you suppose those colors are?" Potter asks before yawning and drawing Draco's body closer to his.

"That never happen with you and She Weasel?" Draco asks him, but already knows the answer because it's the same as his when thinking about Astoria.

"Do you think it means this is right? That we're… meant for one another?" He feels the heat rolling off Potter's face as he plants it against his shoulder.

"Why Potter, do you think we're meant to be together?" Draco's lips rise in a soft smirk, a happy and pleased smirk, and he's thankful that Potter can't see the hopeful gleam in his eyes.

"I love you, you git."

"Mmm, say those words again, Potter."

"You git."

It's Potter's turn to smirk and he feels it burn a joyous little path from his shoulder to the back of his neck. Draco's heart is soaring as he wraps a hand around Potters and brings it up to his chest. He holds it in place, tight, and won't let him go any time soon.