Draco tastes like strawberries. Sweet, succulent, juicy. His kiss is wet, his lips plump, and there’s a slightly bitter rawness that follows when Harry pulls away.

Hermione tastes like peaches. Sweet, succulent, juicy. Her kiss is wet, her lips plump, and there’s a slightly sweet aftertaste that lingers long after Harry pulls away.

When they kiss for him, he watches theirs lips move together, tongues touching, teeth nibbling, and he knows what they taste because he’s tasted them both so many times. Draco’s bittersweet balances Hermione’s sugary sweet. Together, they’re his. He can’t have one without the other. One is too bitter, jaded, broody, trying to suck the life from everything around, while the other is too sweet, optimistic, hopeful, trying to see the world through rose-tinted glasses. When one is gone, it all falls apart. He has to have the bitter and the sweet, and they give him what he needs, what he wants, because they love him.

Within them, he’s found what he needs to wake up each day. They need each other, the three of them, to make it through this crazy thing called life. Draco tries her lip gloss, but beneath the peach, he is still torn and broken. Hermione tries his lip gloss, but beneath the strawberry, she is still cheerful and capable. He knows the difference even if they do not. With one, he is broken and angry. With the other, he is confident and assertive. With them both, he’s finally able to just be Harry.

The End