The Madness of Queen Sue

The List [the director's cut]

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 15:20:49 GMT

Title: The List — [The Director’s Cut]
Author: tari_sue
Prompt Number: 155
Rating: R
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary: Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.
Warnings: None really – just a bit of swearing, sex, the usual
Word Count: 21,508
Betas: A million thanks to the amazing crazyparakiss, oddnari and winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt.

The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html

This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.

Part 1 | Part 2 |
Part 3

The next weekend he determinedly avoided Harry at the Falcons vs Wasps match

* * *

“So, once again you don’t take me to Undesirable No.1. How unsubtle do a girl’s hints have to get?” Astoria asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s really not very good there; I thought you might prefer the opera.” He studied the stage before them through his omnioculars rather than looking her in the eye.

“No you didn’t, you’re avoiding Harry Potter. Why?”

“I’m not avoiding him. No more than normal, anyway. Shush now, it’s about to start.

It had now been two weeks

* * *

Three days later, Harry finally caught up with him at the Hogsmeade Christmas market.

“Draco, wait!” Potter grabbed his arm by the enchanted wooden-toy stall.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asked, avoiding eye contact by feigning interest in some wooden elves which were singing in a very high pitch.

Harry panted, out of breath. “Why are you ignoring me? We had a fantastic night, and then you started avoiding me. What the hell is that all about?”

Draco glanced about and hastily pulled Harry to one side in case he was overheard.
“I told you, Potter, I can’t be gay,” he whispered crossly. “I have my parents to think about and I have to get married in order to claim my inheritance. I’m seeing Astoria Greengrass.” He tried to ignore the look of hurt that flashed across the other man’s face.

“Why is this inheritance so important to you anyway?” Harry asked, running his fingers through his hair. Hair that Draco remembered to be so terribly soft.

“Because it will make me independently wealthy. I will finally be able to get out from my father’s shadow and be my own person,” Draco said, finally looking Harry in the eye.

“Right.”

“Look, I’m really sorry, Harry. If things were different…”

“Yeah, whatever, don’t worry about it.”

Harry stalked off with a defiant set to his shoulders.

* * *

Draco was buying Astoria’s Christmas present in Boot & Beard, Diagon Alley’s most exclusive jewellers, when he spotted Potter and Finnegan arguing outside Gringotts.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to hear what the couple were saying, maybe Potter’s nosiness had rubbed off on him, maybe he didn’t like Potter arguing with anyone who wasn’t him, but he quickly made his excuses and left the shop.

Using all the stealth and cunning that came to him naturally as a Slytherin, and a quick Notice-Me-Not charm, Draco made his way over to Gringotts, hiding behind a convenient clown selling niffler balloons. He could easily make out Finnegan’s accent in the crowd.

“… I mean, for fek’s sake, Harry! How could you let this happen?”

A low rumble in response. Draco edged a little closer.

“Ah, right so, maybe it’s not all your fault, I admit didn’t realise he was going to rob us blind either, but you had more dealings with him than I did! Did you check out his references? Did you not notice anything odd about him? Or were you too busy checking out his arse?” Finnegan sounded annoyed.

“I was not checking out his arse! His references were good, he seemed like a nice bloke!” Potter’s raised voice made him easier to hear this time.

“Well that’s just grand then. You know, maybe that’s your problem, Harry – you think everyone’s a ‘good bloke’ and deserves a chance, and meanwhile they screw you over because you’re a soft touch. I mean, you’re even friends with bloody Malfoy now! What happened to Harry ‘suspicious’ Potter?”

“Draco’s changed!” A smile crossed Draco’s face. “Besides, we’re not friends anymore so you’re safe.” The smile left as quickly as it had come.

“Yeah, of course he has. Look, ok so it wasn’t fair to blame you, but what are we going to do – the business is about to go down the pan and Gringotts won’t lend us a sickle.” The balloon seller now had Draco in his sights and was trying to make a sale. He shook his head crossly at the man.

“Well, that bit sort of is my fault,” Potter was saying as a plastic niffler was waved in front of Draco’s nose.

“Yeah, you and your saving the world tendencies. What about Malfoy?” Finnegan was asking. Draco wondered if the Irishman had found out about him and Potter.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Seamus! Why are you worrying about Malfoy now? No, I don’t think he’s up to anything and we have more important things to worry about.” Potter started to move off down the street with Finnegan following.

“No, you arse. Malfoy’s as rich as Croesus, can you not tap him for a lend?” Finnegan started after Potter. Draco attempted to follow, but the balloon seller wouldn’t let him get away.

“What? You were all ‘don’t trust the big bad Malfoy’ a minute ago, now you want to borrow money off him?” he over heard Potter asking.

“Yeah, well beggars can’t be choosers, can they? It’s either swallow our pride and go cap in hand to Malfoy, or go back to the restaurant and tell everyone to go home and we’re sorry but we can’t pay them. Then we can floo around all the suppliers and tell them we can’t pay them either and then we can go over to New York and do it all over again! I haven’t got any money, and I know for a fact that you haven’t because that bastard …”

“I can’t ask Malfoy…”

They moved out of earshot and Draco was left having to buy a balloon, which kept attacking the shiny buttons on his coat.

* * *

“Draco, good to see you. I assume this must be Astoria?” Potter said in a forced-friendly voice. Against his better judgement, Draco had finally caved and brought Astoria to Undesirable No.1.

“Yes, Astoria was keen to try your restaurant, we were lucky to get in at such sort notice this close to Christmas.” Draco tried to ignore the looks Potter was sending him.

“Hi!” Astoria said brightly holding out her hand to Harry. She must have picked up on the tension between them; it would have been hard to miss it. “Draco has told me so much about you!”

Astoria looked about her as they sat down. “It is certainly very nice here. I like how the windows are charmed to look like we’re at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Is it the same view every night or do you change it?”

“We change it,” Potter replied with a too-polite smile directed at Astoria. "Customers can make requests when they book, the place that gets the most requests is where you end up eating for the night.”

“How delightful! Where did you request?” she enquired of Draco.

“I didn’t bother,” he mumbled in response.

“Oh.” She glanced about, awkwardly. “Well, this certainly seems like a lovely place you have here, Harry.”

The stilted conversation continued for a few minutes more before Potter was called away to talk to a couple of suited men.

Dinner was a quiet affair, despite his normally easy conversation with Astoria. He couldn’t help but watch Potter and Finnegan talking animatedly in the corner of the restaurant after the men had left, during which time Finnegan kept gesturing in Draco’s direction. He excused himself after the main course and went to the bathroom. On the way back he was accosted by Potter.

“Draco…” Potter caught his arm.

“Please, Potter, don’t do this to me again.”

“It’s not about that, this is important. I need your help.” Harry's, no Potter’s, eyes were big, but seemed to be avoiding settling in one place.

“Go on then,” Draco sighed.

“You remember I was having trouble with my accountant?” Draco nodded. “Well, it turns out he’s been stealing from me. The MLE officers turned up just now to say they’d arrested him.” Harry looked exceedingly uncomfortable, like he’d rather be chewing his own arm off than talking to Draco.

“What do you mean?”

“Just, well, the money’s sort of, well, uh – gone. He used the restaurant’s money to make some very bad investments in his own name, and he’s lost the lot. I’ve been subsidising the business from my personal accounts, I sold my godfather’s house to fund the New York restaurant and I’m flat broke. Look, I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t essential, but I’m desperate here. If I can’t get my hands on some ready cash A.S.A.P. then I won’t be able to pay my suppliers or staff. I’ll have to close the restaurant. Please, I wouldn’t ask but…”

“You want me to give you money?” Draco said flatly. Fucking typical, Potter was just like everyone else! Was that all the other man had been after from the word go? Finnegan was probably in on it, seduce Malfoy, get some cash off him. Just like Blaise Zabini had tried in sixth year, well, without the seduction bit, obviously.

“No! Just lend. Please, Draco, you know I wouldn’t ask if I could think of any other way. We’ve put so much work into this place! Think of the knock on effect – all the people I can’t pay – hell, Seamus wants to get married, how’s that going to happen if the restaurant goes under?” Harry was pleading with him now. Draco had to look away, unable to hear anything past the fact that Harry was getting married to Finnegan. Getting married after he'd shagged Draco.

“Do you realise how much I’ve always wanted to have the great Harry Potter grovelling at my feet?” he said coldly. “Begging for money, Potter? I’d have thought that was beneath even you,” he sneered as his self-defence mechanisms kicked in. It bothered him, seeing Potter like this. Harry Potter didn’t ask for help, particularly from the likes of him, but surely the Gryffindor wouldn’t use him like this? Could it be genuine? The books had seemed a little off, but they weren’t that bad were they? He’d seen it for himself, the money should be there. But then, Potter and Finnegan had been talking about someone robbing them…

“Yeah, that’s right, Malfoy. For fuck’s sake, I thought we were at least friends, can’t you see how fucking difficult this is? I have nobody else I can ask – Gringotts won’t lend us a sickle. No one else I know even has that sort of money; you are the only person left!”

“Oh great, last resort, how very flattering!” Draco was starting to feel guilty now, had he misjudged this?

“D’you know what, forget I asked!” Harry’s eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed, whether with anger or humiliation Draco wasn’t sure. “I’ve lowered myself as far as I can possibly go, I knew I shouldn’t have fucking bothered, I suppose it was too much to hope that I meant anything at all to you.” He turn on his heel and started to walk away.

“Harry, wait!” Draco called after him. Harry turned back with a wary look. “Look, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“You’d get your money back,” Harry said quietly, not looking at him. “You don’t have to have anything to do with me. I’ll leave you alone to get on with your life and marry Astoria – she seems like a lovely girl.”

“Potter, Harry, you don’t understand, I can’t. Not I won’t, I can’t. I’m not personally wealthy. I will be, once my father dies, which I hope won’t be for a good long while yet, or if I manage to convince Astoria to marry me before I’m thirty, but right now I only have my allowance, which won’t get you anywhere.”

Harry nodded once and walked off quickly without another word. Composing himself, Draco walked back to his table.

“Potter seemed eager to talk to you, have you two patched up your differences?” Astoria commented as he sat back down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Draco, I’m not stupid, it’s obvious there is something going on between you two.”

“It is? How?”

“Well, let’s see. There’re the possessive looks he keeps throwing over here, the tension you could cut with a knife, the looks you throw at him when you think I’m not looking – shall I go on? What I don’t understand is, why are you sitting here with me?”

Draco, eyes wide, wished Astoria hadn't been such a good Slytherin. He swallowed, and looked away. “If I started dating a man my parents would kick me out faster than I could say Liberace.” He decided to throw caution to the wind and be honest with her. After all, he might be marrying her, she'd figure it out eventually. “If I had my own money it would be different, but I don’t and there aren’t too many people willing to employ an ex-Death Eater.” Draco said bitterly.

“So that’s why you are so keen to get your hands on this inheritance?”

“Sort of, but of course in order to get that money I have to get married, so I still couldn’t be with Harry.” The arguments were starting to sound hollow even to him.

“You know, Narcissa thinks you hung the sun in the sky. You could probably date a yeti and she still wouldn’t disown you. I don’t see her having a problem with you seeing Harry Potter,” she said. Draco made shushing motions as the waiter came over with their bill.

“It’s not my mother who’s in charge of funds, and my father happens to be a total bigot, or had you forgotten that?”

“Oh honestly, Draco! Surely you realise by now that Lucius does what he’s told; especially since the last time Lucius tried to take charge he got you all mixed up with Tom Riddle. Get your mother on your side and you’ll be fine.”

“If I end up out on the street, I’m coming to live with you!” The waiter came back and took their cash, thanking Draco and Astoria as they stood up to leave.

“That depends on your shadow. If Potter’s not interested in you, why does he keep giving you puppy dog looks?” She turned and gave him her best lawyer stare.

“There is nothing between Harry and me – he’s engaged to someone else,” he said as they left the restaurant, hailing a taxi outside.

“Really? Harry Potter is engaged? I hadn’t heard that.” Astoria got that look that girls get when gossip is in the air.

“Maybe it’s not public information, Potter just told me – whatever you do don’t tell anyone, please,” Draco said quickly. Potter had not given him permission to share that information. Besides, Harry and Finnegan getting married really wasn’t something Draco wanted to think about.

“Does it bother you?” Astoria didn’t look at him as the taxi pulled up.

“It’s not up to me who they tell,” he replied flippantly, deliberately misunderstanding her. They climbed in the cab and Astoria gave her address to the driver.

“You know what I mean, Draco. Can’t you admit your true feelings, just once? Even to yourself?” She fixed a steely gaze on him now.

“Why? What difference does it make? I can’t be with Harry, I couldn’t even tell anyone even if I were in love with him.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In love with Harry?”

“No, of course not, don’t be stupid.” He sat back in his seat and stared out the taxi window as Greater London whipped by.

Because he didn’t, did he? How could he possibly be in love with Potter? Potter infuriated him, always had done; you couldn’t be in love with someone who infuriated you, could you? One night of drunken sex that he couldn’t stop thinking about did not make for life-long love.

“Honestly?”

“Yes! Harry is better off with Git-Face anyway. I’ll marry some girl and father a child and we’ll forget any of this ever happened and everything will be rosy, ok?”

Harry could marry Seamus. That would be fine. He was fine with that. Harry and Seamus. Sure. Draco would be getting married soon himself so why should he care? It wasn’t like Draco would be there to see Seamus put his pikey hands all over Harry anyway. Once they were both married to their respective partners, they’d probably have nothing more to do with each other. That was fine too. Honestly.

He didn’t need Harry Potter in his life – it wasn’t like the last few months had made him feel alive for the first time since the war or anything like that. Just because he could be himself with Harry, it didn’t mean anything.

Although he would miss their conversations.

And other stuff.

Who needed to feel alive anyway?

Feeling alive was hugely over-rated.

As were brilliant green eyes and soft black hair and sexy mouths and taut chests… and nice cocks…

“Earth to Draco!” Astoria said loudly.

“Huh?” He pulled himself out of his stupor and looked over at her.

“I said, if Potter isn’t after your body, why did he want to talk to you?”

Draco sighed and decided that he could trust her. “They are in financial trouble, Potter and Finnegan; something to do with a dodgy accountant. Potter wanted money.”

“You’re going to invest in Undesirable? Wow, what a fantastic business opportunity.” Astoria sounded impressed.

“No, not invest, he wanted a loan. I don’t have the ready cash though.”

“Harry Potter asked to borrow money? From you? Has hell frozen over?” Now she sounded incredulous. He supposed it did sound rather unlikely now he thought about it.

“Very funny.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe he should have heard Potter out.

“Come on, Draco – things must be pretty serious to do that. From what I hear he likes to stand on his own two feet. Was their accountant Alan Tweedy? That conman who ripped off half of Diagon Alley. Nobody’s going to get a single sickle back from that one, he’s as crooked as Dumbledore’s nose. Even Madame Malkin might go out of business because of him. And I suppose that if Potter lives in the flat above the restaurant, he could lose his home along with his business,” she said as the cab came screeching to a halt outside her house.

“He seemed more worried about all the people he won’t be able to pay,” Draco replied as he paid the fare and they climbed out of the taxi.

“You couldn’t raise the money? If he was desperate enough to ask you, he must have had no other alternative,” Astoria said as she unlocked the wards on her front door. “And you seem to care about him, surely there must be something we could do?”

“I can try, but not many people can out-Slytherin Father, and he would never let me have that sort of money to give Potter. I can try and get him to invest in the business, but he’s likely to say no out of spite, and I doubt Potter would want Father involved in his restaurant. I could try and raise money somehow. My best hope would be Uncle Leo’s will, and I’d need to find someone willing to marry me at very short notice to get the money in time.”

“Well, I think we could try and come up with a plan before we go that far, but if the worst comes to the worst, I’ll marry you!” She motioned Draco inside.

“Really?”

“Really. But let’s discuss a few details before we get carried away, shall we?”

* * *

A smart tawny owl dropped a thick cream-coloured envelope on the table. A wedding invitation. He opened it and read in silence.

Draco tore up his list of potential brides and cast incendio at it.

* * *

“Come on, Harry, open up, I know you are in there!” Draco yelled, banging on the door to Harry’s restaurant.

“Draco? What do you want? It’s half past seven in the morning!” Harry’s dishevelled head appeared round the door, blinking mole-like in the early-morning sun.

“Can I come in?” Draco barged his way into the restaurant and headed towards Harry’s flat. “I’ve created a new list – a shortlist, if you will. A very short list.”

“What? What list? What are you on about?” Harry followed him looking grumpy. “It’s a bit early to be drinking, Draco.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Finnegan was marrying Ginny Weasley?” Draco waved the wedding invitation under Harry’s nose as he pushed past. “I thought you said he was your partner? Are you ok? Was he cheating on you? Do I need to hex him?”

“Huh? Me and Seamus? Are you kidding? Seamus isn’t even gay; he’s my business partner!” Potter exclaimed in a sort of shocked stutter.

“So you’re not in love with him?” Draco pressed his point to make sure.

“Why would I shag you if I was in love with him? What the hell are you going on about, Malfoy?” Potter shook his head.

“Never mind,” Draco exclaimed as he spun round to face Harry at the top of the stairs. “Back to my list! I need to run it by you. If we’re going to get the money to save your restaurant then I need to get married quickly. Then I thought that rather than simply lending you the money, I could invest in the business, and then I could take care of the financial side of things. Obviously I wouldn’t be an accountant or anything, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Financial Director’…” Draco turned to go into the flat.

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, grabbing Draco’s arm. “You’re going to help me? You said you couldn’t help.”

“Yes, well I’ve been thinking of strategies and I’ve decided that I need to get married.” Draco shrugged Harry’s hand off his arm, irritated that the other man wouldn’t let him finish.

“But you were already planning on getting married.” Harry moved his hand as though to push his glasses up his nose but stopped when he realised he wasn’t wearing them and settled for blinking at Draco.

“Yes! That’s the point!” Draco huffed in frustration. “I nearly have a lot of money at my disposal, all I have to do is get married and the money is mine and I can invest it in the restaurant.”

“That’s brilliant, Draco, thank you.” Potter sounded a little off and refused to meet Draco’s eyes as he pushed past to get back into his flat.

“Hey! I’m rushing this through for you, Potter.” Draco said, feeling irritated, although now he looked at Harry properly he couldn’t help but notice the huge bags under his bloodshot eyes and the sort of grey quality to his skin. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, or possibly more.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I thrilled that you’ll help us, really, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Harry offered him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This restaurant is the most important thing in my life at the moment, thank you. You’d better come in.” Harry rubbed his face tiredly as he stood back to let Draco in.

“Well, I’ve been speaking to Astoria, and she’s pointed out a few important facts that I’d totally missed! I’m telling you, that girl is brilliant.” Draco decided to push on, despite Potter seeming less thrilled than he proclaimed to be.

“Oh good! I’m so glad you are getting on so well with little miss perfect,” Potter replied sourly. “It sounds like you’ve made your choice, so why do you need my input?”

“Here is my new list.” Draco pulled his new improved list out of his pocket and thrust it at Harry, who refused to take it.

Why do you need my input? No offence here, Draco, I’m delighted that you want to help, but I’ve only just woken up and it makes no difference to me who you marry.”

“Well, it might do if you read it.” Draco tried to push the piece of paper into Harry’s hand.

“I left my glasses in the bedroom when you woke me up.” Harry folded his arms across his chest and glared mutinously at Draco. “Why do I have to read it, anyway?”

“Because I want you to understand!” Draco all but yelled in his frustration. “I want to marry someone perfect for me, and I think I’ve finally found that person and you need to tell me if I’m right! Because as far as I’m concerned, we’d get married eventually anyway – the whole thing with the money and the restaurant only determines the date. And yes, it’s all a little rushed and ideally, we’d take things slower. I know we didn’t always get on so well, and we’ve only ever even slept together once, but I feel it in my gut that this is right!” Why wouldn’t the stupid tosser just read it? It would all make sense if he just cooperated.

“Look, this is all just fabulous, Draco, I’m really happy for you, honestly. But I was up late last night trying to sort this mess out and I’m really tired, ok?” Potter said tonelessly as he walked through to the little kitchen and started to make coffee.

“No, wait listen,” Draco followed him, unfolding his very short shortlist and beginning to read, “‘Pros: Gorgeous, funny, intelligent, kind, brave. The sexiest, most talented hands I’ve ever come across, and the wickedest tongue.” He raised his voice a little to be heard over the noise of Harry banging cups about. “We could talk forever and never get bored, except for all the times we’re making love.’” Draco blushed, it hadn’t sounded quite so corny when he’d written it. “‘My perfect equal, my perfect opposite, my perfect match.’ You see?”

“Draco, please,” Harry closed his eyes with a pained look, “I can’t do this, not now, I just can’t. My life is going down the toilet; I can’t cope with you rubbing my nose in it too.”

“‘Cons:’” Draco read on, “‘My parents might hate me, but I’m hoping they’ll come round.’ There are probably others, I dare say, but that’s the only one I could think of. I guess we’ll just have to sort out the others when we come to them.”

“Malfoy…” Potter’s voice cracked.

“‘Description: Beautiful. A bit on the short side, around 5ft 8…’”

“Five eight is not short!” Potter finally snapped, picking on a completely irrelevant point as usual.

“Yes, well, that as may be. Let me finish, ‘The softest, blackest hair I’ve ever seen…’”

“But…” Harry started, but Draco ignored him and continued,

“‘…it looks like ink, especially when it’s spread out across my pillow. Eyes I could happily drown in, a brilliant, beautiful emerald green, like the tropical sea. His smile lights up my world, because he is my world and I think I might love him.’”

Harry’s own green eyes had snapped up and he watched Draco intently now. Finally, he snatched the list from Draco’s hand and held it up to his nose as he read it in silence.

“Is this some sort of fucking wind up?” Harry looked like he was considering throwing the kettle at Draco.

“No!”

“We slept together and then you avoided me for weeks! I asked for your help and you ran away – do you know how difficult it was for me to even ask you in the first place? Half of my friends telling me not to trust you an inch and the other half telling me to be a proper Gryffindor and do what’s right for everyone else involved! Personally, I would have rather chewed my own foot off than ask for money, especially from you, and you made me feel about two inches tall! And now what? You felt like kicking me in the teeth again just for fun? Yesterday you couldn’t even admit that you were gay, and now you supposedly want to get married?” Harry was starting to run out of steam.

Draco stepped forward and kissed Harry square on the mouth. “Maybe it’s time to start doing what I want rather than what my mother wants!” He cupped Harry’s face with his hand so the other man couldn’t look away. “I’m nearly thirty and I’m still living at home on an allowance, dating the women my mother tells me to and worrying about what my father would say if he discovered I was in love with a man. And do you know what? I’ve finally realised that I don’t care.” He sighed and glanced down for a moment, steeling himself to say what he’d come here for. “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” He looked Harry straight in the eye. “I’ve been getting everything wrong for so many years and wasting so much time, so to hell with everything; I want you.” He knew Harry must be able to feel his hand shaking where it was still touching his face.

“You love me?” Harry blinked once, seemingly otherwise unable to move.

“Yes! I think so, I’m not sure, this is all a bit new to me. Look, Potter, Harry, I know it’s probably too soon,” Draco started talking as fast as possible, trying to convince Harry, “but Tori pointed out that I only have to be married, it doesn’t have to be to a woman, and then I found out that Finnegan is marrying Ginny Weasley and not you at all, so you were free and if I have to marry someone it really might as well be you, and I know I’ve rejected you too many times and I wouldn’t blame you at all if you rejected me now, but please, I’m so sorry, just think about it and mpmph…” Draco was cut off mid plea by the sudden pressure of Harry’s mouth on his.

“Yes,” Harry whispered against his lips, “Oh hell, yes.” Then they were kissing again. And they didn’t stop for quite a long time.

The List [the director's cut]

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 15:19:13 GMT

Title: The List
Author: tari_sue
Prompt Number: 155
Rating: R
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary: Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.
Warnings: None really – just a bit of swearing, sex, the usual
Word Count: 21,504
Betas: A million thanks to the amazing crazyparakiss, oddnari and winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt.

The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html

This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.

Part 1 |
Part 2

Name: Annie Jones
Age: 27
Occupation: Herbologist
Description: Short, mousy brown hair, nice smile.
Family: Mudblood! Potter has set me up with a bloody Mudblood!
Notes on the date: This girl is a friend of Longbottom’s, I can just tell.
Pros: Clever
Cons: Mudblood, boring, Mudblood, boring.
Score: 4/10

*

“She’s the female Longbottom.” Draco complained as he stretched himself out on Harry’s sofa and waited for Potter to refill his glass.

“What’s wrong with Nev?” Potter paused in the middle of pouring drinks, looking indignant on his friend’s behalf.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“This isn’t working, is it?” Potter sighed.

“No. Whisky?” Draco replied waving his glass in Potter’s direction.

Potter did as he was told and finished pouring two generous measures of Balblair into the glasses before moving Draco’s feet off his sofa and plonking himself down in their place. Draco huffed indignantly at this treatment and stuck his feet in Potter’s lap instead.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Potter enquired, resting his glass on Draco’s shin.

“What are we going to do about what?”

“The fact that you now have just over six months left to find a wife and get married. You seem to hate just about every woman I send your way – and they don’t think much of you either.”

“Well, they should,” Draco said distractedly, trying to ignore the feeling of Potter’s hand resting on his leg, and other parts of Potter under his feet – he really hadn’t thought that move through. “They’d be bloody lucky to land a catch like me!”

“Yeah? Why don’t you just put an advert in the paper then? ‘Wanted: gold-digger, must be intelligent, witty, brilliant and beautiful. Ability to put up with a hell of a lot an advantage’, they’ll be queuing around the block.” Potter smirked at him.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you, Potter?” Draco glowered back

“Yup.”

They sat drinking in a companionable silence for a while. Draco glanced around the room, it was looking better now that when he’d first come here and there were fewer boxes littering the place, although Draco couldn’t figure out where Potter had found room for all the stuff in this poky flat.

“Look, it’s Charlie’s wedding anniversary on Saturday, they’re having party, why don’t you come?” Harry said, eventually, looking at Draco’s feet rather than his face.

“I’m not going on a date with you, Potter.”

“It’s not a date, idiot. I just thought that you might stand a better chance at a party, let your hair down, and get to know women in a less intense setting.” Potter shifted self-consciously and pushed Draco’s feet off him.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair!” Draco ran a hand over his hair to check it was immaculate.

“I never said there was, it’s a Muggle expression.” Potter sighed. “I just think you might be more yourself in a more relaxed environment. You can get to know these girls rather than practically holding job interviews.”

“I know enough about them to know whether or not they’d be any good.”

“Oh really, and what is your criteria for the perfect candidate for the job of Mrs Malfoy?” Harry joked.

“Just the usual: looks, intelligence, family, personality.” Draco ticked the points off on his fingers.

“Oh god, I bet you have some sort of a list or something, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. How else am I supposed to grade them properly?” Draco shook his head; no wonder Potter never got anywhere if he thought making lists was silly rather than sensible.

“You grade them?” Harry sounded incredulous.

“This is a very important decision!” Draco defended. Honestly, Potter made it sound like he shouldn’t take the most important decision of his life seriously!

“Let me see.” Potter held out his hand.

“What? No! I’m not showing you, you’ll just laugh at me anyway.” He folded his arms and looked sulky.

“If I’m going to laugh anyway then it won’t hurt to show me, will it?”

“I’m not showing you the book, Potter. Fuck off.”

“Ok.” Potter shrugged and looked away. Draco was surprised that he’d given up so easily, but chalked it up as a victory and took another sip of his drink. The next thing Draco knew, Potter has his wand out and was accioing his little black book from his pocket.

“Give that back, you total bastard!” Draco leapt up, spilling whisky on his trousers.

“No, I want to know what was so very wrong with all of those girls.” Potter opened the book.

“Potter…” he made a grab for the book but Potter held it away from him.

“Too posh? Too posh? How the hell can you, Draco Malfoy, have the cheek to call someone else too posh? I’m mean; you probably have gold toilets at home!” Harry held a hand against Draco’s chest to keep him from the notebook.

“Honestly, Potter, that would be terribly crass,” Draco replied, making another grab for the book, but Potter moved out of his way again, laughing.

“I rest my case. Too fucking posh for gold loos, but apparently not as posh as,” Potter consulted the book, “Caroline Marchmont. And, Draco, that poor woman did not look like a horse!”

“Yes she fucking did! She ate like a horse too. She also laughed like one and had an arse like one.” Draco shuddered at the idea of being married to Caroline Marchmont. “Give me the sodding book back, you bastard.” Where had he left his wand, anyway? Bugger, it was sticking out of his cloak pocket, he could see it from here.

“All right then, what about Jacinta Smythe-Bryant? ‘Brain the size of a pea’, do they have to take an I.Q. test?”

“I can’t marry and imbecile, can I?” Draco scowled and sat back on the sofa with his arms folded. Let the bastard have the book, see if he cared. Maybe if he inched sideways he could reach his wand…

“Wow, you are really critical of appearance, aren’t you?” Potter was still flicking through the book.

“Not especially, no,” replied Draco defensively.

“Yeah? ‘Nose is too big’, ‘mouth is too big’, ‘too short’, ‘too tall’, ‘too thin’, ‘too fat’, ‘Tits are too big’. I mean, can tits even be too big to a straight bloke? I thought it was meant to be the bigger the better? Reading this you sound more gay than I am!” Potter was now giving him a really odd look.

“Of course tits can be too big! I am not gay, Potter, I’m a pure-blood!” Draco exclaimed, looking down his nose at Potter – an easy task because Potter was a short-arse.

“What the fuck has that got to do with anything? I assure you, there are plenty of gay pure-bloods!” Potter was now doing that annoying ‘Draco is a pillock’ head shake thing.

“No there aren’t! Homosexuality is a Muggle invention; pure-bloods are above such things!” he replied stubbornly.

“What about Charlie Weasley? Or Johnny Bulstrode? Or even Jemima Alderney for that matter!” Harry was now giving Draco his best earnest look.

“I thought you said we were going to Weasley’s wedding anniversary?”

“We are – his and his husband’s, Angelo De Vittri, also a pure-blood. Stop changing the subject.”

Draco was quiet for a moment before replying, “I remember when Johnny Bulstrode came out. It was the summer between our third and fourth year at Hogwarts, just before the Quidditch World Cup. Mrs Bulstrode brought Millie to our house so that she could cry on my mother’s shoulder. She was devastated; she said that she would never have grandchildren.” He remembered wondering why anyone would choose to be homosexual if it meant upsetting their family like that.

“She was just upset and being melodramatic! There are ways for homosexuals to have children, Charlie and Angelo are looking into adoption, for example, or there’s surrogacy. Besides, even if Johnny had been straight, he wouldn’t necessarily have had children, and what about Millie anyway?”

“Millie isn’t the prettiest of girls; I don’t think they hold out much hope of her ever getting married." She wouldn’t thank him for telling Potter any of this. When her mother had come out with that little gem she’d disappeared for ages. He finally found her out by the folly pretending to be fine.

“Really? Someone ought to tell Dean Thomas that, he thinks she’s gorgeous.” A mischievous look appeared on Harry’s face as he contemplated what seemed to be his favourite hobby – matchmaking.

“Does she know?” Draco decided to humour him; Millie could do with finding a decent bloke and Thomas hadn’t exactly been hit with the ugly stick.

“I don’t think so. I guess you could always bring her to Charlie’s party…” there was a wicked gleam in Harry’s eye that said he was about to get his own way.

“They disowned him, Harry.” Draco said quietly after a pause.

“Huh? Who?” Harry looked confused at the abrupt change of topic.

“Johnny. Pretty much as soon as they found out he was seeing a man they disowned him. So you see, he’s not a pure-blood anymore, he’s not anything. By rights, he shouldn’t even still be using the name Bulstrode. It was horrible.” Draco stared into the bottom of his glass.

“So pure-blood homosexuals should just hide who they are instead?”

“No. They should just not choose to be gay.”

“You don’t choose it. You are born gay; there is nothing you can do about it. Although to be honest, I wouldn’t change if I could – I like fucking men.” Potter looked pissed off.

“This isn’t a personal thing against you, Harry. You can choose whether to act on those feelings or not. Not everyone is the Chosen One; not everyone can get away with doing whatever they want.” Draco grabbed the whisky bottle and poured himself another.

“Right. Tell me, Draco, do you have those feelings?” Potter grabbed Draco’s wrist as he raised the glass to his lips.

“What feelings?” He snatched his hand away and downed the drink in one, relishing the burn down the back of his throat.

“The ones you have to suppress. The ones you have to lie to yourself about. The ones you will presumably be lying to your future wife about.” Potter was full of righteous indignation now, and he sounded almost exactly like Granger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I don’t have feelings; I’m not perverted like you.” Draco thumped his glass down on the coffee table and turned to glare at Potter.

“Really? So you won’t wake up in a few years’ time and wonder why you can’t get it up for your wife? Why she’s miserable, why you’re miserable, why your kids are miserable? Because if you are planning on getting married, this won’t just be about you, will it? It’ll be about her too!” Harry glared back at him.

“I’m NOT gay! How many times do I have to tell you that?” Draco rose from the sofa picked up his cloak; he didn’t need to listen to this. Finally drawing his wand, he accioed his list and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“How many times do you have to tell yourself that?” Potter rose too and walked toward him.

“I have to think about my family!”

“And their expectations are more important than your happiness?”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t even have a family, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about? You trying coming out when you are the sodding ‘Boy Who Lived’. You think I can get away with doing whatever I want? There are people I’ve never met who will never forgive me for being gay! People think I’m some sort of role model or hero or whatever other shite they want to pin on me. I can’t do whatever I want; I’m supposed to do whatever the entire Wizarding World wants! No, I might not have a family, I have no idea whether or not they would have had a problem with my sexual orientation, but I do know what it’s like to try and live up to other people’s expectations.” Potter’s eyes were bright and he was breathing heavily; Draco was not turned on in the slightest.

“Disappointing people whom you love is a bit different than disappointing people you don’t know. I love my family, Potter, and I’m not gay. I’m going home; I don’t need your help anymore. Goodbye.” He pulled his cloak on and wrenched the door open.

“You’re not gay?” Potter put a hand on the door, preventing him from leaving.

“No.”

“Not at all?” Potter was standing very close to him now and there was a strange glint in his eye.

“No.” Draco was feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he tried to back away and nearly fell over one of the damned boxes; maybe they weren’t completely gone after all. Potter reached out to steady him.

“You won’t be at all affected by me doing this then.”

Before Draco knew what was happening, Harry had leant forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s. He was too stunned to move at first but then he forcefully pushed Potter away.

“You kissed me!” he spluttered, staring at Harry, unsure of how to act.

“I know.” Harry’s big green eyes were staring at him intently through his glasses.

“Why?” Draco unconsciously raised his hand to his lips.

“Why not?” Harry feigned a casual shrug.

“But I told you I wasn’t gay!” Belatedly, Draco rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.

“So it shouldn’t have bothered you. You can leave now, but think about that kiss, think about how it felt to be kissed by a bloke and whether or not you liked it. If the answer is yes, you might want to rethink your marriage plans.” Harry was holding the door open for Draco to leave.

“I can’t do that…” Draco stared blankly at the open door and then looked at Harry.

“Just think about it, that’s all I ask.” Harry started to raise his hand to Draco’s face but then dropped it.

Draco nodded absently and made his way to the door.

“I’ll see you at Charlie’s party on Saturday, it’s at the Burrow. Don’t forget to bring Millicent. If you’re still one hundred per cent sure that you aren’t gay then, I’ll drop it, ok?”

Draco nodded again and went home in a daze.

* * *

He couldn’t get rid of the feel and taste of Potter from his mouth.

It hadn’t even been a proper kiss, no tongues, nothing. Just a press of lips.

So why was it haunting him? It had been two days!

‘Because if you weren’t gay it wouldn’t have affected you,’ a treacherous little voice that sounded like Potter said at the back of his brain. He thumped his pillow and lay back down.

“But I’m not gay,” he said aloud to the empty room. “I’m not, I can’t be. I’ve always dated women. And now the wanker has me talking to myself.” He sighed and rolled over.

This was stupid. Potter had wanted to prove that Draco was gay; he probably thought everyone was gay. All he seemed to have done was prove that Draco was obsessed with Harry Potter.

‘Nothing new there then,’ said the voice in his head. He rolled onto his other side.

He didn’t want Potter. He was going to get married and do what was expected of him. He didn’t want Potter. He couldn’t, besides Potter was with Finnegan.

Not that that made a difference, of course. Because he didn’t fancy Potter. He pulled the pillow over his head to try and smother the voice.

* * *

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Good morning to you too, Malfoy,” Harry said with that funny little lopsided grin that was just so damned Gryffindor, glancing down from where he was kneeling on a table writing the specials on the blackboard.

“I said why did you kiss me?”

“I know, I heard you.” Harry carefully underlined the word ‘puddings’.

Draco waited a heartbeat but Harry still didn’t seem inclined to answer his question.

“Well?”

Potter shrugged halfway through the word ‘syllabub’, making it go wonky. “I wanted to. It seems to have you a tad bothered. Why is that I wonder?”

“I’m not bothered! Anyway, what about Finnegan?”

“Seamus? He’s off sourcing ingredients. So you wouldn’t object if I did it again?” Harry put down his chalk and turned to face him.

“Of course I would! I’m not gay! If I were gay it wouldn’t bother me!” He stamped his foot in frustration.

“But you just said it didn’t bother you.” Harry said as he jumped down off the table.

“It doesn’t!” Draco glanced towards the kitchen, hoping no one was in there listening.

“Which is it, Draco? Bothered or not bothered?” Potter walked towards Draco.

Draco gulped and said nothing.

“See, I think you liked it,” Harry said quietly, invading Draco’s personal space. “I think you’ve been thinking about it since last night and you liked it, which bothers you because you can’t possibly like being kissed by a man.”

“You are talking out of your arse.” For some reason, he couldn’t make his legs move away.

“Hmm, spend a lot of time thinking about my arse, do you?”

“No!”

“I bet you do. I bet you lie awake at night thinking about what you’d like to do to my arse. Or you will now, anyway. You know what? I’d probably let you.”

“You bottom?” Draco asked before he could stop himself. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Potter would willingly let him do that.

“I didn’t say that.” Potter pulled away abruptly and Draco felt a twinge of disappointment. “But since you mention it, yes,” he smirked, “so long as my partner is prepared to give up his snow-white arse on occasion too.”

Draco gulped. “I er, I have an appointment.” He turned and almost ran out of the door.

* * *

Name: Tori Greengrass
Age: 27
Occupation: Lawyer.
Description: Well, she’s Daph’s baby sister, she looks like a thinner version of Daph. Wavy blonde hair, green eyes, rosy cheeks – really pretty actually, she has improved enormously since she used to be that little pest who followed us around everywhere.
Family: The Greengrasses did quite well during the war – they kept out of it just enough that neither side had a problem with them and yet they still managed to make money.
Notes on the date: I actually had a really good evening, I wonder if Daphne would kill me for marrying her little sister? She’s intelligent and really funny and great company. Plus, she’s really pretty, so Potter was clearly wrong, how can I be attracted to him if I’m attracted to Astoria? I knew he was wrong.
Pros: Brilliant, beautiful, fun, clever, rich, good family. Gorgeous eyes.
Cons: Great-Great Grandfather was Muggleborn, but that can probably be overlooked.
Score: 9.5/10

*

“Do you remember that time my mother took us all to Hogsmeade for Daph’s tenth birthday?” Tori asked, flashing her perfect white teeth at him.

“What, when Pants, Theo and I tried to put you on the Hogwarts Express back to London?” he laughed in response as a surly waiter thumped two bowls of pasta in front of them.

“Daphne went crying to Mum and you all got such a telling off!”

“You think that was bad? You didn't hear the bollocking I got when I got home!” He was feeling decidedly guilty for the terrible Muggle restaurant he’d taken her to in an attempt to avoid Potter.

“The stupid thing was that I wasn’t upset in the slightest – I thought it was all a huge adventure, I’d never been in a train station before.” Tori laughed again and took a bite of pasta, pulling a face at it as she did so.

“Daph was always such a little snitch though; she got Pants and me into trouble more times than I can possibly remember,” Draco said before bravely sampling his own food. It was disgusting.

“Pansy usually got her own back though.” Astoria delicately pushed the plate away, reminding Draco of Narcissa. “Yet when we got older and Pansy and Daph were sneaking off to meet boys, they always expected everyone else to keep their secrets. Daph never landed us in it on purpose though; she’s just hopeless at keeping her gob shut.”

“Actually, that time at the train station I think she really thought I was going to put you on the train by yourself.”

“You were.” She playfully swatted his arm.

“I wasn’t! We were just winding you up. And Daphne.” He tried his best to look innocent.

“Whatever you say.” She took a sip of wine and shrugged. “You know, I was a bit surprised to find you were looking for a wife, I always thought you were gay.” He couldn’t figure out if she was winding him up or no.

“What?” he spluttered. “What on earth made you think that? I’m not gay!” Draco could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. “Who says I’m looking for a wife?” he added belatedly.

“Darling, I’m an associate at Diggle, Diggle and Howarth, your Uncle’s solicitors, I know everything.”

“Then you know why I’m looking for a wife.” He pushed his pasta around the bowl, not looking at her.

“Yes, your Uncle’s will said you could only inherit if you were married by the time you are thirty,” she said pointedly.

“There you go then.”

She gave him a long, considering look before shrugging and taking another mouthful of her wine and pulling a face again.

“Incidentally, why did you not take me to Potter and Finnegan’s restaurant? I was told you took all your dates there and I’d been rather looking forward to trying it; it’s supposed to be fabulous isn’t it? Unlike here.” She glanced around disdainfully at the restaurant.

“I, er, I got rather sick of the sight of Potter, if you must know.” He drained his own glass.

“Really? I always thought you couldn’t get enough of the sight of Potter. You were always following him around at school.” Astoria had always been far too shrewd for her own good.

“I’ll have you know he was the one following me around – he’s the poof, not me.” He took a bite of his food.

“You know, darling, there really is nothing wrong with being gay these days.” She was staring at him as thought she could make him spill all his secrets – she probably could.

“I never said there was did I? It’s just that I happen not to be. Look, I’ve been invited to a party on Saturday, would you like to come with me?” he said, changing the subject.

“Ooh! A second date with the great Draco Malfoy? Nobody gets asked out twice! What a lucky girl I turned out to be.” If there was a trace of sarcasm in her voice, Draco chose to ignore it. “I thought you were taking Millicent?”

“How do you know that?” He was confused, surely none of his acquaintances would know about some Weasley party?

“I work with her, durbrain.” She smirked at him.

“Durbrain? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“What can I say? There is something about you that brings out the childish insults.” She threw her napkin at him to emphasise her point.

“So you won’t come then?” He picked her napkin out of his dinner; he hadn’t wanted to finish it anyway.

“Are you planning on turning up with a girl on each arm? I suppose that’s one way to kill the ‘gay’ rumours. Either that or people will just think that you are over-compensating, but then, that’s nothing new for you, is it?”

“If you must know, Potter seems to fancy himself as a bit of a matchmaker and he wants to set Millie up with Dean Thomas.”

“I can see that working. Does this mean that you’ve been spending more time with Potter than you would have led me to believe?”

“I told you, he fancies himself as a matchmaker. He keeps setting me up with people like Loony Lovegood.”

“Luna? What did the poor girl do to deserve that? You know, it doesn’t sound as though he’s trying too hard, maybe he wants you for himself?”

“Don’t be stupid, he knows I’m straight. Anyway, he’s spoken for.”

“Not that you made a point of finding out or anything.”

“Of course not!”

“I have to go, I have a case to prepare for tomorrow.” She started to rise from the table.

“You still didn’t say if you were coming to Charlie’s with me?”

“You’re taking Millicent. Thanks for dinner.” She dropped a kiss in the general direction of his forehead and waved as she made her way to the exit.

Draco grumbled to himself as he got the bill, mentally noting that pure-blood girls always seemed to assume that he was paying, even if they earned a good salary. He silently cursed Potter for messing up his chances of a second date with Astoria – if the stupid specky git hadn’t told him to take Millicent he could have taken Astoria, ergo it was all Potter’s fault. Most things usually were.

* * *

Draco looked around the Burrow with distain. He’d always known the Weasleys lived in a hovel, but he’d never expected to actually set foot in it. To make matters worse, he was here alone. Astoria had turned him down, Millie had buggered off with Dean, and Potter had stood him up! Not that he was here as Potter’s date or anything, but still, the four-eyed git could at least have been here rather than throwing him to the lions, so to speak.

At least the punch was good, even if it had been made by George Weasley.

“Feeling abandoned?” a voice asked behind him. Turning around quickly he saw Astoria standing beside some sort of ghastly clock with too many hands.

“Tori! I thought you weren’t coming?” He threw his arms around the woman in a most un-Malfoy-like manner, desperately glad to see another Slytherin face among the sea of ginger heads. He was possibly a tiny bit pished.

“No, I said I wasn’t coming with you. Ginny invited me,” she laughed, extracting herself from him embrace.

“Oh charming, you’d rather go to a party with the Girl-Weasel than me? You’re not… you know… are you?”

“No, Draco, I’m not ‘you know’. I didn’t come here with Ginny. I should imagine she came with her fiancée. I came on my own – women can do that in the modern world you know.” She pushed a piece of cake at him but he shook his head – goodness only knew where Mother Weasley had got that from, he was fairly sure the Weasleys couldn’t afford a house-elf.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked instead. The drinks on the other hand were probably safe – the alcohol would kill any Muggle-loving germs hanging around the place.

“Oh no, you’re not actually drinking George’s punch are you?” Astoria looked at the glass in his hand which only contained a few bits of fruit and something that George had described as a ‘jelly baby’, which seemed like a little extra pocket of alcohol swimming in a sea of alcohol.

“It’s actually surprisingly good.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “Especially the jelly babbies.”

“Riiight… Have you seen Charlie and Angelo? I wanted to give them their anniversary present.”

“I think we’re supposed to leave them on the table over there.” Draco made a vague gesture that encompassed half the room.

“Oh, ok. I’ll be back.” He watched her head over to the present table and then she started chatting with Ginny Weasley and Seamus Finnegan. Seeing Finnegan made Draco wonder again where Potter was.

“Your luck with women is still holding up then, Malfoy? That’s two I’ve seen walk away from you as fast as possible,” an unwelcome but not unexpected person stopped in front of him.

“Oh joy, it’s my old friend Weasley.” Draco’s smile was more of a grimace, but it was the best Weasel was going to get.

“You might find quite a lot of people here called that. Not wishing to sound inhospitable or anything, but what the fuck are you doing here?” Weasel wasn’t looking as pissed off as Draco might have expected.

“Inhoshpitable? Did Granger teach you that word?” He gave a small hiccough before giving his best Hermione Granger imitation, “‘Oh honestly, Ronald! Stop being so inhoshpitable to that gorgeous, sexy Draco Malfoy!’ I’m sure she’ll be very proud of you for using it in the correct context. And if you really must know, Potter invited me.”

“If someone invites you to a party, you could at least call them by their first name.” Weasel frowned at him.

“What? You mean ‘Potter’ isn’t his first name? You know, if he invites someone to a party he could at least have the manners to show up. Where is the runty little bastard anyway?” He glanced about the room again but Potter still didn’t materialise.

“Hey! Don’t talk about Harry like that!” Weasel took Draco’s glass off him and sniffed it. “Is this George’s punch?”

“You knew who I meant though. Don’t try and tell me that Potter isn’t a short-arse. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a short-arse, there have been some very fine short-arses throughout history – look at Napoleon.”

Weasel gave him a considering look before replying, “You know, Hermione actually thought Napoleon was a Muggle? It’s one of the only times when she’s run off to the library and had to come back and admit I was right!”

“I can imagine that was quite satisfying; I spent five years trying to best Granger. I gave up trying in sixth year, lost interest for some reason. So where is Potty anyway?” Draco was getting tired of standing here, the floor in the Weasley house tilted in a most peculiar way and he wasn’t sure how they put up with it. He needed another drink.

“You seem awfully interested.” Weasel had gone back to studying him. “He’s tied up at work, if you really must know.”

“Ew, I now have unpleasant images of him and Finnegan getting kinky in the restaurant.” He really did not want the image of Finnegan’s pale arse in his head, but there it was anyway.

“Dear god, I hope not!” Weasley looked appalled.

Draco glanced over to reassure himself that Finnegan was indeed here and relaxed when he saw the sandy-haired Irishman with his arm slung around the youngest Weasley. Finnegan was standing awfully close to Ginny Weasley… it sure as hell didn’t look innocent! Then again, Seamus might be a renowned flirt but he was as camp as Gilderoy Lockheart and had probably never even thought of kissing a girl, let alone having an affair with one. Besides, how likely was it that he would cheat when he had Harry waiting at home?

They stood in silence for several minutes – it was probably the friendliest few minutes Draco and the Weasel had ever spent in each other’s company, and he wasn’t really sure why the lanky Auror was talking to him at all. Draco made a grab for another glass of punch from a nearby hovering tray.

“Look, Malfoy,” Weasley said at last, “I’m Harry’s best friend, he tells me stuff. Quite frankly it is none of my business what you two get up to, but if you mess him around or hurt him in any way, I will come after you and beat you to a bloody pulp, understand?” Weasley drew himself up to his full height, which was actually quite impressive.

“I don’t know what you think you know or what Potter has been saying, but you are quite correct, it is none of your business.” Draco swayed slightly as he drew himself up to his full height, which still wasn’t as tall as Ron. “However, I assure you there is nothing going on between Potter and I; I don’t seek for that team. Furthermore, I’m pretty sure Potter can look after himself.” Had Potter told Weasley about kissing him? He had no right to tell him stuff like that! He quickly downed his glass of punch.

“I’m serious, Malfoy. Just don’t even try it, ok?” Weasel gave him one last glare and strode off.

*

Forgetting all about Astoria and Millicent, Draco Apparated to Potter’s restaurant, determined to give the other man a piece of his mind.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked, wondering what had happened to Potter’s training in ‘constant vigilance’. He let himself in and made his way up to Potter’s flat.

“Shoddy security system you have here, I could have been anyone – a Death Eater or something, oh no, wait, I was a Death Eater!” he sneered from the doorway.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” Potter looked up in surprise. He was sitting at the desk going over some paperwork with a half-full bottle of whisky and an empty glass beside him.

“I came to find out why you’ve been talking about me to Weasley.” Draco glowered at him.

“Ah. He wasn’t supposed to mention that.” Potter looked guilty.

“No, you weren’t supposed to tell him in the first place!” Draco said, pointing his finger in Potter’s general direction.

“Well sorry! You’re not the only one confused here you know.” Potter snapped back.

“What have you got to be confused about? You’re already gay!” Draco stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

“So are you! You’re just too scared to admit it.” Potter rose from the desk and stalked over to Draco. “I’m confused because I found myself really liking a bloke I used to hate, but I believed him when he told me he was straight and now I don’t know what to believe anymore, ok?” Draco took a step back.

He gulped. “Really liking?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” Draco looked about him for something to say. “What are you doing here today anyway? It’s meant to be your day off.”

“Oh… I’m still having trouble getting the books to balance.” The fire seemed to go out of Potter.

“What? But I showed you where you were going wrong! I thought you said you had an accountant?” Draco really couldn’t see what Potter’s problem was; Undesirable No.1 should be raking it in.

“I have got an accountant, that’s the sodding problem!” Potter walked over to the sofa and sank down onto it, resting his head in his hands. “Alan, my accountant, seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, Gringotts hates me and has frozen my accounts. I have a massive delivery coming tomorrow and the staff wages are due.”

Unsure of what to do, Draco crossed to the sofa and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “There, there, Potter, I’m sure it can’t be this bad.”

“You’re right, I’m probably being paranoid – I know we’re making a profit, I wouldn’t have sold my house to finance the second restaurant if this one wasn’t doing well. It’s just that the goblins really do hate me because of all that stuff with the dragon and the sword of Gryffindor and so they won’t see me. My accountant’s fucked off to fuck knows where so they can’t see him either and I need to sort this out.” Harry sat back on the sofa and sighed.

“You sold your house? That’s a bit drastic!”

“Yeah, well, why did you think I’d moved in here?” He gestured at the room in general. “Gringotts wouldn’t give me a mortgage either. Stop changing the subject, anyway, we were talking about you.” Potter determinedly stared at his hands, clearly not wanting to meet Draco’s eyes.

“I’m not changing the subject, you are! You could have asked for my help you know. And I bet the whisky isn’t helping.” Draco sat down next to Harry.

“I’d say you’ve had a few yourself.” Potter shifted on the sofa so he was facing Draco. “You were changing the subject because you don’t want to admit that you are attracted to me.” He cheekily put his hand on Draco’s knee and gave one of those little wonky half-smiles of his that made Draco’s insides do that strange flip-floppy thing.

“When did you get so full of yourself, anyway? Is it completely inconceivable that someone might not be attracted to you?” Draco attempted to scoot away but the sofa really wasn’t that big.

“There are loads of people who aren’t attracted to me, I just don’t happen to think that you are one of them.” Harry moved in closer.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Potter was very close to him now. Close enough to kiss him.

“Well, for a start, I can make you blush very easily," Harry said with a cheeky grin

“I have very pale skin; I often look like I’m blushing when I’m actually not.” Draco attempted muster his best disdainful voice but feared he actually sounded a little defensive and needy instead.

“All right then. You watch me. I catch you looking at me sometimes like you want to devour me.” Harry traced a line up Draco’s knee with the tip of his finger.

“I most certainly do not! If I watch you it’s because you are a git and I need to make sure you aren’t up to no good!” Draco slapped Harry’s hand away.

“Up to no good? Funny, that was always my excuse for watching you." Harry laughed triumphantly like he’d just seen the snitch and Draco hadn’t. "How about this one then, most straight blokes would punch me for doing this.” Potter turned his face up towards Draco’s and kissed him. Again. “See? That’s twice you’ve let me get away with that now,” Potter laughed before resuming the kiss.

Potter’s lips were soft, not as soft as a girl’s, but soft nevertheless. He hadn’t shaved today and his stubble stung Draco’s own lips in a way that should have repulsed him, but actually turned him on more than he cared to say. Potter smelt masculine, not unpleasant, just masculine – slightly musky with hints of aftershave or shower gel, peaty whisky, and just Harry, with an underlying spicy sent that no doubt came from working in a restaurant all day. Potter’s hair was unbelievably soft, and Draco knew that because his left hand had somehow found its way into the ebony locks, pulling Harry’s head closer to him. His body was firm and flat – no jiggling, bouncing breasts getting in the way, just a nice, toned chest pressing against his own, their bodies flush against each other. However, certain other noticeable bulges were trying to make themselves known – from both of them.

For the fact that any of this was happening at all, Draco decided to blame George Weasley. Whatever had been in that punch had obviously been potent stuff, designed to have him make a fool of himself and act completely out of character. For what happened next, he decided he could purely blame Potter. Potter and his lopsided grin and soft hair and luscious lips. Potter and his comments of a few days ago, ‘I bet you lie awake at night thinking about what you’d like to do to my arse.' Because he had been right, ever since that conversation Draco had lain awake at night thinking about all the things he could do to Potter’s arse, just as he was thinking about those things again right now. Potter had said he would let him. Gay or not, he couldn’t turn that down any more than he could deny the erection straining at the front of his trousers.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what happened to their clothes, but soon he noticed other things about Harry. His skin was smooth, not as satin-smooth as a woman's but smooth nonetheless, surprisingly. He had no hair on his chest, but his chest couldn’t have been less feminine with its distinct lack of breasts, and his skin tasted saltier, less perfumed.

Harry was far better at sucking cock than any of the girls he had been with; he knew exactly where and when to apply pressure, not to suck too hard, not to let his teeth get in the way. Draco discovered he couldn’t last long with Harry down there as the other man licked his way down the underside of his cock before actually taking his balls into his mouth. When Harry deep-throated him – something Draco had previously believed only porn starts could do – he nearly came on the spot.

Potter pulled off him suddenly and smirked, before getting up and dragging Draco into his bedroom, shedding the remainder of his clothes as he went. That was when he discovered something else about Potter that might have been his favourite discovery yet – Harry was completely shaved. Draco wouldn’t have believed that he could be so turned on at the sight of a completely naked cock standing to attention like that, and yet as soon as he saw it he felt the need to return the favour.

Draco was clearly not as practised at giving a blowjob as Harry had been. He knew the basic principles and attempted to replicate Harry’s own moves, some of which caused an embarrassing choking fit. Harry simply laughed and suggested that Draco might need a little more practice before attempting that one again before kissing Draco.

He thought the most erotic thing he’d ever seen might have been Harry lying back on the bed and hastily lubing and stretching himself for Draco’s cock. Draco moved as if in a dream, positioning himself on top of the Hero of the Wizarding World so that they were face to face with Harry’s legs flung over Draco’s shoulders. The sight of Harry spread out before him like that with his head thrown back so his hair fanned across the pillow and his reddened mouth open was nearly too much for Draco and he had to close his eyes.

Now other differences came into play. Potter might be on his back, letting Draco fuck him like a girl, but he was hotter, tighter, and less wet than a girl. The little grunting sounds he made were definitely male and when Draco was finally fully inside him, there was a hard cock pointing straight at him, begging for attention. Harry’s green eyes pierced him as he leant in for another kiss.

Their coupling was fast and hard, they’d had too much to drink for it to be anything else. To Draco’s relief, Potter came first, working his own cock with his hand, coming in spurts across his chest. The sensations of Harry’s orgasm set off Draco’s and soon they were a panting heap of sweat and limbs.

“Draco? No offence, but you’re getting heavy.” Harry finally uttered the first proper words that had been spoken between them for some time.

Draco reluctantly rolled off the other man. “That was pretty intense.”

“Yeah. Still sure you’re not gay?”

“Git.”

“Stop with the compliments already! You’ll embarrass me.” Harry grinned sleepily, kissing him yet again.

“How could you possibly be embarrassed after what we just did?”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Harry snuggled in and curled his arm around Draco’s waist.

* * *

Draco hated hangovers. Particularly hangovers where you were achy and sticky like you’d just had a really good shag. Because he’d just shagged…

Fuck!

He shagged Potter last night! How in the name of Morgana had he let that happen? Potter was, well, Potter! A BLOKE. George Weasley was going to die a long, slow, painful death for spiking his drink.

Potter was nowhere to be seen, but there was a cup of strong black coffee and a doughnut by the bed that he assumed was for him. He drank the coffee but left the doughnut before hastily dragging his clothes on and Apparating home.

He couldn’t believe he had let that happen! Ok, so he’d always had this thing for Potter and lately he’d been wanking to fantasies of the man, but that didn’t mean he had to go and act on it.

He couldn’t come out as gay – his parents would disown him and he would lose his only hope of income by not being able to meet the terms of his uncle’s will. Besides, Potter was with Finnegan. It wasn’t that Draco had any great love for Finnegan or even that he’d have any qualms about stealing his lover, but Potter and Finnegan ran that restaurant together and Draco really couldn’t see Potter jeopardising that for him. Furthermore, Potter evidently had no problem with cheating on his lovers, and Draco wouldn’t stand for that. He’d heard that monogamy wasn’t big in the gay community, but Draco hadn’t been brought up to share and he was damned if he was going to start now.

There really was only one thing for it. He would just have to carry on as if last night hadn’t happened. He could probably convince Astoria to marry him and nobody need ever know. Apart from Potter.

* * *

| Part 3

*

The List [the director's cut]

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 15:17:42 GMT

Title: The List
Author: tari_sue
Prompt Number: 155
Rating: R
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary: Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.
Warnings: None really – just a bit of swearing, sex, the usual
Word Count: 21,504
Betas: A million thanks to the amazing crazyparakiss, oddnari and winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt.

The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html

This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.

* * *

Name: Wendy Fitz Patrick
Age: 24
Occupation: Primary School Teacher
Description: Pretty, blonde, petite – almost ideal candidate for a Malfoy! Irritating voice though. Like, really irritating.
Family: Good old English family, pureblood line mostly untainted.
Notes on the date: The waiting staff became extremely rude when they discovered I was a Malfoy. I think they over-charged me, especially as our food was cold! You’d think this treatment would better by now – the war ended over ten years ago and still I am treated appallingly! Wendy has one of those squeaky little-girl voices I can’t stand!
Pros: Good looks, good family, plenty of money, not too stupid.
Cons: The voice. She thinks I’m an idiot because I let them get away with treating me like that in the restaurant. In addition, her eyes are too close together.
Score: 7/10

* * *

Name: Veronica St John
Age: 26
Occupation: Healer
Description: 5ft 8, blonde, blue eyes. Um – good skin?
Family: Top notch! These are the pure-bloods to beat all pure-bloods.
Notes on the date: What date! They turned me away from the bloody restaurant and she went home in disgust! I’ll never get another date with her now; Mother is going to kill me.
Pros: Good family, extremely wealthy
Cons: She never wants to see me again. Her feet were massive anyway – like flippers.
Score: 6/10

* * *

Name: Pauline McAlistair
Age: 23
Occupation: Student – studying for a Masters in Transfiguration.
Description: Blonde, extremely pretty, curly hair, blue eyes – almost my height though!
Family: So-so. A few impurities in the bloodline but they were quite some time ago. They have done their best to make up for it since (her father was a DE and is currently in Azkaban).
Notes on the date: The Malfoy name is so unpopular in Wizarding England that I thought I’d take her to a Muggle restaurant. She was not impressed; seems the apple has not fallen far from the tree and she is not a Muggle-lover!
Pros: Intelligent, so good for the gene pool.
Cons: Trying to steer clear of the whole Death Eater thing, reputation already in ruins. Far too tall.
Score: 5/10

* * *

Name: Genevieve DuBois
Age: 22
Occupation: Trainee Gossip Columnist for Witch Weekly
Description: Short, dark-blonde hair, brown eyes, pretty-ish.
Family: Very old family, not involved in the war on either side so nice and neutral!
Notes on the date: Decided to risk Potter’s restaurant (Undesirable No.1, what a stupid name for a restaurant, is there no end to the man’s ego?) as he is in America opening restaurant No.2 (I wonder if they’ll call that one Undesirable No.2?). Haven’t tried it before as I didn’t want to risk running into Potter…
Pros: Good family
Cons: Very young for her age, talks incessantly and for some reason seems to be obsessed with Potter. Does she not know that Potter is a poof? It’s not just something we used to sing at him for a laugh you know (well, actually, is was, but hey, turned out to be true!). Mouth is too big. Very thin – like a swizzle stick.
Score: 7/10

*

“I’m afraid we have no free tables, Mr Malfoy,” the hostess said smugly. “Undesirable No.1 is very popular. You really do have to book in advance.”

“I did book in advance; I booked a table weeks ago!” Draco said through gritted teeth. He did his best to remain calm but he couldn’t quite rein in his irritated tone.

“I’m sorry, but we are fully booked tonight. I have a table free…” she ran her finger down the page and then turned it over and kept going, “… two months Tuesday.” He didn’t imagine the glee in her voice at turning him away. A picture of seventeen-year-old Harry Potter smirked down at him from the original Undesirable No.1 poster on the wall.

“No! It has to be tonight. I have a date tonight, you see?” He gestured towards the petite blonde next to him. “Two months’ time is no good.”

“Well, there is nothing I can do about it. Good evening.” The waitress gave him a triumphant smile of dismissal that told Draco there had been no mix up with his reservation at all – they simply didn’t want ex-Death Eaters in this establishment.

“Can we speak to the manager?” Genevieve asked innocently, fluffing her hair and looking around trying to catch a glimpse of said manager.

“No!” Draco said quickly. “Um, no need for that! I doubt he’s even in the country at the moment,” he blathered on, mentally kicking himself for coming here.

“Actually—” the waitress smirked at him.

“Actually, he got back from the States a day early,” Potter’s voice spoke up from behind them. “What seems to be the problem?” Draco barely covered his groan before plastering a smile onto his face and turned to greet the other man.

“There seems to be no record of our reservation,” he said, trying to be civil. Damn it all, what gave Potter the right to have grown into that jaw since Draco had last seen him? He could almost be considered good looking these days, especially with those broad shoulders in that suit! Almost.

“Yes, I’m afraid we don’t have a table available for this… gentleman,” the waitress didn’t even try to keep the contempt from her voice at that last word. She was obviously delighted that Potter was there to back her up.

“I’m sure we must be able to squeeze Mr Malfoy and his date in somewhere, Rosanna,” Potter replied with a forced smile of his own. “Is my usual table free?”

“Harry, that one’s reserved,” the waitress hissed, now looked highly affronted.

“Yes it is; reserved for me. As Draco and I went to school together I think he can be my guest, don’t you?” Potter was frowning a little now.

“You’re friends with that?” She looked appalled at the idea of her hero mixing with Death Eater scum like Draco Malfoy. “He’s a bloody Death Eater!” she whispered, obviously under the impression that Draco could no longer hear her.

“Do you think that I of all people am not aware of that, Zanna? Did you know that Draco and his mother saved my life twice during the war?” Potter said, drawing the waitress away from the guests slightly.

“Well, no, but…”

“I’ll not have prejudice in this restaurant,” Potter said firmly. “The war is over and we will not wage another one. If you have a problem with this you can speak to me in private later." The girl nodded and looked about ready to cry. Potter’s expression softened. “Take five, Zanna, I’ll cover for you out here.” He put a comforting arm around the girl and pushed her in the general direction of the kitchens. Draco sighed, he should have known Potter couldn’t keep up the ‘big tough boss’ routine for long.

After the hostess left, Potter turned back to Draco and Genevieve with his best professional air. “Sorry about that, Mr Malfoy, she takes these things a little personally," he said as he took their coats. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”

“Thank you, Potter.” Draco deliberately left off any ‘mister’ from Potter’s name; he wasn’t sure how to cope with the other man being civil to him, let alone offering them his own private table.

They followed Potter to the other side of the restaurant and Draco took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He had expected either ostentatious opulence or cheesy Muggleness, but was surprised to discover neither. The floor was polished oak and the light-coloured walls had some rather splendid frescos of various people, including Professors Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape. The windows, which were charmed to show a different location each night, looked out over the Grand Canal in Venice. If you listened hard enough, you could even hear the gentle lapping of the water.

“So, Draco, how have you been?” Potter asked as he held out a chair for Genevieve. Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment; he couldn’t remember hearing Potter use his first name before.

“I’m fine, thank you, Potter. And yourself?”

“Oh, I’m doing well enough, thanks.” Harry's grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“Certainly,” Draco scowled back at him. “Potter, this is Genevieve. Genevieve, Potter.”

“Call me Harry, please.” Harry smiled as he shook the girl’s hand.

“Oh, well, it’s Gena!” she gushed grabbing at his hand and hanging on for dear life. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Harry! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting Harry Potter!” she simpered. “Draco, you never told me you knew The Chosen One!” To his credit, Potter blushed, which raised him slightly in Draco’s estimation. The fact that he actually looked rather attractive with the colour on his cheeks had no effect on Draco at all, obviously.

“Look, er, I have to get back to the other diners,” Potter said as he handed them menus. “It was good to see you again, Malfoy.”

As soon as Potter disappeared, Genevieve started talking, “You never told me you were friends with Harry Potter! What’s he like?”

“Oh yes,” Draco replied after a heartbeat, a cunning plan forming, “Potter and I go way back.”

* * *

Name: Jacinta Smythe-Bryant
Age: 26
Occupation: Model
Description: Brunette. Medium height. Gorgeous.
Family: Nouveau Riche. Need I say more?
Notes on the date: One of Genevieve’s friends – the idiotic woman seems to have told all her friends that I know Harry Potter, which at least means I’m back in the game. Unfortunately, Genevieve’s friends are all about as bright as she is, and Jacinta may well be the worst of the lot! They seem to be a bunch of Potter fangirls. Again, why are these women all obsessed with a man who would probably break out in a cold sweat at the idea of touching them in a sexual manner?
Pros: Very attractive.
Cons: Brain the size of a pea. Her mother is very fat – I suspect it may be hereditary. Plus, she has strange ears.
Score: 7/10

* * *

Name: Tiffany Beauchamp (n.b. pronounced Beach-um)
Age: 25
Occupation: Actress
Description: Redhead. About 5ft 8.
Family: Long line of squibs (Merlin forbid!), as far as I know.
Notes on the date: Another friend of Genevieve, probably only here to meet Potter. Her head was on a permanent swivel trying to find the git, she reminded me of an owl. I kept expecting her to drop a letter in my dinner. The fact that the windows made it look like we were on top of Snowden made the bird impression even more realistic.
Pros: Decent sense of humour.
Cons: Fangirl. Ginger. Brown eyes. Freckles. Short neck.
Score: 6/10

* * *

Name: Caroline Marchmont
Age: 30
Occupation: Breeds horses.
Description: Horsy. Brownish/blondish hair, long face. Doesn’t take much care of her appearance.
Family: Excellent. So good in fact that this one is already Mother approved – this whole disaster was her idea!
Notes on the date: Her only topic of conversation is horses! This ‘gel’ is so posh she makes me feel common!
Pros: Mother likes her – probably thinks she is good breeding stock!
Cons: If it looks like a horse, smells like a horse, and laughs like a horse, it probably is a horse! Enormous arse. Too Posh.
Score: 4/10

*

“…So anyway, Tarquin said Dumbledore’s Boy was only fit for the knackers yard, which is quite simply preposterous, and I really don’t know what he would know about the matter anyway, he’s absolutely hopeless on a horse but he thinks he knows more about it than me, which is frightfully ridiculous because Daddy bought me my first pony when I was just a little gel and I’ve been riding ever since…”

Caroline Marchmont had to be the most boring woman on the planet, and Draco should know, he’d dated a fair few of them lately. If she didn’t stop to draw breath soon she would drop dead for want of oxygen, though her enormous gob would probably still keep talking even then.

“…I mean, we are a horse-loving family, Algernon was as good as born in the saddle; horses are practically in our blood, don’t yeh know!” Well, that would certainly explain the horsy face, tiny brain and massive backside, Draco thought as he stabbed at his piece of sirloin with his fork and pretended it was his date’s head.

“Is there something wrong with the steak?” an amused voice asked from behind him. “If it’s not up to standard I can take it back to the kitchen, although Chef may take it as a personal insult and bring down the wrath of the Irish on your head.”

“Um, no, no, the food is lovely, really!” Draco quickly stopped attacking his dinner and turned to face Potter. Finally! This was the third date he’d brought to Potter’s restaurant since last week and this was the first time Potter had actually been here since that first evening. What was the point of trying to impress his dates by knowing the Bloody Chosen One if said Bloody Chosen One couldn’t be bothered to put in an appearance? Moreover, this one wasn’t even part of the fangirl set! She probably couldn’t care less about Potter – he only had two legs and no tail, as far as Draco knew.

“Malfoy. So, who is your date this evening?” Potter asked, giving him a funny look.

“This is Caroline Marchmont, her parents are the Gloucestershire Marchmonts. They have a lovely estate near Tetbury.”

“What, Highgrove?” Potter looked like he was making a joke, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the joke was.

“No—” Draco started to say and then looked at his date in shock as she interrupted him.

“Oh, yes, we’re quite close to Highgrove actually. Daddy plays golf with Charlie; it’s all part of his Muggle Relations Programme, you know? And of course Princess Anne doesn’t live far away, Zara is a close personal friend of mine, and she’s not a bad horsewoman either!” Of course. Draco had heard that the Muggle Royals lived somewhere around there, come to think of it, but it hadn’t really interested him.

“Uh, right.” Potter looked perplexed. “So, are you Draco’s girlfriend then?” The man really was quite stupid.

“Oh, well, not quite! We only just met tonight; Mummy and Auntie Cissa thought we’d get on splendidly!” She was a stupid bitch too; why did she have to tell Potter every little detail of his life?

“You’re cousins?”

“Distant,” Draco said quickly. “We’re very distant cousins, that’s all.”

“Oh lord yes, nothing indecent going on here!” Caroline snorted. Hell, she even laughed like a horse. “I say!” she peered at Potter with her watery blue eyes, “You’re that Potter chap, aren’t you?”

“Yes; you’re eating in my restaurant.” Potter looked irritated, no doubt miffed that she wasn’t fawning all over him.

At that moment a loud crash came from the direction of the kitchen followed by a lot of swearing, although the only bit Draco could really make out was, “You stupid, fecking arse!” followed by further crashes.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” Potter gave them a tight smile before walking hurriedly towards the kitchen.

“I say, what a strange little place this is!” Caroline stated loudly. “And how very quaint, the windows look like we’re in Cornwall or something.” Then she went back to her food and her monologue about horses.

Draco sighed in resignation.

* * *

Name: Angelica Betty
Age: 18
Occupation: Wants to be a model
Description: Prettyish but nothing to write home about. A little on the chubby side, but could just be puppy fat.
Family: Bunch of nobodies
Notes on the date: Where the hell do I begin?
Pros: Knows how to stand up for herself? Ambitious?
Cons: Completely fucking mental. Tits are too big.
Score: 0/10

*

“Betty? I don’t think I’ve heard of the Bettys?” Draco was making a futile attempt at conversation – he honestly didn’t think he had a single thing in common with this girl.

“My father runs a haberdashery shop just off Diagon Alley,” she replied, sounding bored, as she reached for a breadstick.

“Oh. Right. How very enterprising of him.” He wracked his brains for something else to say.

The stony silence was becoming intolerable. The girl was probably just way too young for him; they had absolutely nothing in common. She was into some sort of Muggle activity called ‘skateboarding’ that he’d never heard of, and she had something called an ‘Ex Box’, which made him wonder what it was now if it wasn’t a box anymore. She made him feel old, and he was only 29!

“So, Angelica, what do you do?” he desperately dragged out what he hoped was a safe topic of conversation.

“I’m a model, or trying to be anyway.” She started breaking the breadstick into tiny bits.

“A model? Interesting.” Draco reached for his rather expensive glass of red wine.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied defensively.

“Oh, well, nothing! I’m… I was just…” he attempted to backtrack.

“Just what?” She was glaring at him now.

“Nothing! Um, so what do you want to be if you can’t be a model?” Draco asked in his best placating voice.

“Why shouldn’t I be able to be a model?” It hadn’t worked.

“Well, er, it doesn’t always work out for everyone, does it? You know, contingency plans and all that…”

“Yeah, well what do you want to be when you get tired of being a prick?” Her voice was becoming quite loud and shrill; people were starting to stare.

“Being a prick is working out just fine for me, thanks,” he muttered, willing her to quiet down.

“Yeah? Well being a model will work out just fine for me!” No, that was actually louder.

“What if it doesn’t? I’m only suggesting a backup plan.” He was about to give up trying to be nice.

“Why shouldn’t it? Jacinta’s doing well!”

“Yes, but Jacinta is beautiful.” Draco winced as he heard the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been skirting around saying this and now he’d as good as blurted it out without thinking.

“Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” she screeched indignantly.

“It’s not that you’re ugly or anything, you’re actually quite pretty. But models usually tend to be stick-thin and gorgeous don’t they?” Draco's attempt to placate her only ended up digging a deeper hole. He didn’t even see the glass of wine coming until it was dripping from his hair and into his eyes.

“Well you’re no oil painting yourself are you? You’re just some skinny old Death Eater!” she screamed at him. “I only came out with you because Gena said you were friends with Harry Potter!” She leapt up from the table and grabbed her bag.

“What the fuck did you do that for? This is one of my best shirts! You insane fucking bitch!” he exclaimed in dismay as he mopped at his shirt.

“Insane am I? Well at least I’m not stupid enough to sit here any longer with an arrogant tosser like you!” With that said stormed out, leaving Draco with red wine dripping down his front.

“Malfoy, do you want to use my flat to get cleaned up?” an amused voice said from behind him. Typical, why was bloody Potter always around when he was at his worst? Grimacing, Draco got up and followed the bastard out.

*

“Will the wine stain your hair?” Potter asked innocently as he ushered Draco into his flat above the restaurant and closed the door.

“Stain my hair? I certainly hope not! Why should it stain my hair?” Draco was horrified; surely wine couldn’t stain hair?

“Well, because red wine stains everything; my Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let it in the house, they always drank white. I usually drink red now, I think it’s some sort of rebellion.” For some reason he seemed to think that Draco actually gave a crap about his ridiculous Muggle family.

“I’d have thought pink wine would have been more your sort of thing, Potter,” Draco replied snidely.

“I don’t mind some rosés, but I prefer a nice Chianti,” Potter said, making a strange fuffing noise with his teeth and sniggering. Damn, the pillock had been easier to wind up at school.

“Well, where can I clean up?”

“The bathroom is just through there,” Potter led him through to the bedroom and pointed at the bathroom door. “I’ll lend you a shirt – it might be a little big across the shoulders and around the neck, but it will do until you get home.”

“You’re lending me a shirt? Why?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“Because you have red on you?” Potter sounded sarcastic. “Look, I assume you would rather not go around with a wet shirt on? Magic’s good, but that shirt is going to need house-elf attention if it’s ever going to be wearable again and if you dry it you’ll make it worse. Stop being a wanker.” Potter took a shirt from his wardrobe and tossed it at Draco. “Or you could always go shirtless.”

Draco glowered at him as he caught the shirt and did his best to walk into the bathroom with dignity. “No peeping, Potter. I know you’re probably just trying to get a sneak peak of me with no shirt on.”

“Yeah, in your wet dreams, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. Git.

Potter’s bathroom was a little on the small side, but surprisingly rather nicely done out in a mixture of black, white and chrome. Draco managed to get most of the red wine off him; his hair would be perfect once more with a proper wash and a few charms. Potter had a ridiculous number of washing products, nearly as many as Draco himself, although you’d never think it to look at the state of his hair. Although if Draco were honest, Potter’s hair really wasn’t looking that bad these days.

Unless Twiggy could work her own expert brand of house-elf magic upon his shirt, it was ruined, which he was more than a little pissed off about and would be sending the silly bint the bill. Potter’s shirt was indeed a little too big for him, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t had to borrow trousers, because they would have been far too short.

He exited the bathroom and took a quick peek at Potter’s bedroom – a little on the small side and rather predictably decorated in cream and dark-red. The bed was massive, seemingly too big for the room, although the boxes everywhere didn’t help. It looked like Potter was either moving in or moving out, probably the later, Draco concluded, on the basis that the flat wasn’t very big.

The living room was comfortable-looking with a couple of large sofas facing some sort of big silver rectangle on the wall and a door going through to a kitchen. There were more boxes full of stuff in here, haphazardly packed and disordered. The tosser was still there, sitting at a smart desk writing something and prodding at some sort of muggle device with numbers. Draco managed to peer over his shoulder before Potter looked up and, for some strange reason, gave him a lopsided smile.

“So, I’m guessing you are either really good or really bad with women, and if tonight’s performance is anything to go by it must be the latter.” Potter shook his head and carried on writing, if that scrawl could be called writing.

“What makes you say that? I’ll have you know that I’m the perfect gentleman and women love me, which is more than I could say for you!” Draco folded his arms and glared at Potter.

“Women love me, Malfoy, I just don’t happen to love them – not in a sexual way anyway. If you are a perfect gentleman and women love you however, then how come you seem to be in here with a different woman every night? And do I really have to remind you that your latest date poured a rather expensive glass of wine over you?” Potter smirked, a look which rather suited him.

“A minor glitch, I assure you. The woman is clearly insane.” Draco sniffed.

“Insane to have gone out with you in the first place?” Potter prodded a few more buttons on his Muggle device.

“Oh ha bloody ha. I don’t know how you cope with being so funny.” Draco surreptitiously peered over Potter’s shoulder to see what he was doing, briefly noticing the way the black hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know how you cope with such brilliant comebacks,” Potter muttered as Draco studied what Potter was doing.

“I don’t know how you manage to keep your business afloat when you can’t even remember to carry a number to the correct column!” he exclaimed. Honestly, what the hell was Potter trying to do here?

“Huh?” Potter had adopted the trademarked confused look that Draco remembered from school.

“Your sums,” Draco indicated Harry’s scribblings, “they don’t add up, and they never will the way you’re trying to do them.”

“What’s wrong with the way I’m doing them?” Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stand up on end in a slightly adorable way, also reminiscent of school. Not that Draco found Harry adorable or anything, adorable wasn’t really a word he used at all…

“Budge up,” he sighed at Potter. He took Harry’s seat at the desk and started running a few arithmetic charms on the page, making adjustments in pencil as he went. Potter leant over him and watched every thing he was doing with fascination. Draco was a little disturbed by the nearness of the other man – he could smell his aftershave and even felt his inky hair tickle his ear.

“That’s what’s wrong with the way you were doing it.” Draco quickly moved away and tried to will himself not to be affected by Potter. “Don’t you have an accountant to deal with this sort of thing?”

“Yes, of course I do! I’m just having a little trouble getting hold of him at the moment so I thought I’d check the figures myself.” Potter looked slightly uncomfortable but Draco chose to ignore it.

“Well, you were doing a sterling job, well done!” Sarcasm was great.

“They don’t exactly teach maths at Hogwarts you know.” Potter bristled. Maybe he was still easy to wind up after all.

“Arithmetic. I went to the same school as you and I can do it,” Draco replied in his best smug voice.

“Git,” Potter mumbled.

“Funny way to pronounce ‘thank you’.” Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

Potter gave him a considering look. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Why do you care if my numbers add up though?”

Draco shrugged. “One good turn,” he indicated the shirt. “I guess I’m just not as dastardly as you like to think. Besides, yours is just about the only Wizarding restaurant in London that will let me through the door these days; can’t have you going under now, can I?”

Potter laughed, looking startled. “No, I guess you can’t. Um, look, Malfoy, I have some rather good single malt over here, if you’d care for one.” Potter gave him a shy smile that did funny things to Draco’s insides.

“Stop trying to hit on me, Potter. Just because I helped you with primary-level mathematics doesn’t mean I want into your pants.”

“No problem, Malfoy. Just because I’m homosexual doesn’t mean I want in your pants. So is that a no to the whisky?”

“I prefer Islay…”

“Talisker.”

“Close enough. It would be rude to say no, don’t you think?”

“Very.” Potter got up and routed a bottle of whisky and two glasses out of one of the boxes.

“I didn’t know you were a whisky man,” Draco said, watching him.

“An ex-lover of mine was a Chaser for the Pride of Portree. He taught me to appreciate the finer aspects of whisky,” Potter said with a grin as he sat back down.

“I don’t mind a nice drop of Talisker,” Draco found himself grinning back.

“So, are you going to tell me why you have a different girlfriend for every night of the week?” Potter asked as he poured two generous measures.

“Potter, just because I have condescended to drink your whisky does not mean that we are friends. Even if we were friends, I would not have to tell you all the minutiae of my life,” Draco said as he accepted the glass and took an appreciative sniff.

“So that’s a no then?” the nosy bastard pressed.

“You always were a nosy bastard, weren’t you?” Draco took a sip of his drink.

“Yup. My life could have been so much easier if, to quote Nev, I’d ‘learnt to keep me neb out’. Then again, Tom Riddle might still be running around killing people,” Potter said, sounding like an arrogant tosser.

“Oh, that’s right, play the ‘I killed a Dark Lord’ card. If you don’t mention it every five minutes someone might forget. Knowing about my marriage plans will not make the blindest bit of difference to you, Potter.” Draco scowled.

“Marriage plans?” Potter’s eyebrows went up.

Bugger it, one sniff of whisky and Draco’d spill everything. “Oh for fffu—… look, Potter, if you must know, I’m getting married, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a secret, he just didn’t like telling Potter stuff.

“Right. Who to? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong here, but marriage normally suggests one girlfriend, not lots. Is this some sort of wild oats thing? Does your fiancée know?” Potter sounded indignant on behalf of some woman he’d never met and who didn’t even exist.

“I don’t have a fiancée,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. Conversation with Potter was trying at the best of times.

“Isn’t that a rather necessary component to a wedding?” Potter must have been being stupid on purpose to annoy him.

“Hence all the women,” Draco said slowly, as if explaining to a small child.

“Huh? So what, you’ve just decided that you want to get married now and you’re auditioning potential brides?” Potter sounded incredulous.

“Well, yes, I suppose you could put it like that,” Draco shrugged.

“I suppose the notion of falling in love and then deciding to get married is just too weird and Muggle for you?” Those green eyes were watching him like he was some sort of strange insect.

“Not at all. In an ideal world we would all fall in love and be able to marry that person, but in this little place I like to call reality – I don’t think it’s somewhere you visit often – we can’t always have what we want. I have to get married and produce an heir. If I want to claim my inheritance from Great Uncle Leopold, I need to be married by the time I’m thirty. So yes, I’m ‘auditioning’ potential brides. I will be thirty in June, I can’t afford to waste time.” How did Potter do this to him? Why did he always find himself telling the git every little thing?

“Why didn’t you just start looking sooner?”

“Uncle Leo only died a few months ago, I wasn’t aware of this stipulation on my inheritance.” There was no point in fighting it, he might as well just spill.

“And do you really need the money that badly?” Potter sounded doubtful.

The smell of good food was wafting up from the restaurant down stairs, reminding Draco that he hadn’t had the chance to eat much of his dinner. “I don’t suppose I could get the rest of my dinner sent up here could I?” he replied, changing the subject.

“What?”

“My food? I had just ordered the monkfish when that silly little tart threw wine at me, I wouldn’t mind trying it,” he replied coolly, staring levelly at Potter.

“Fine! I’m sorry, ok? I am a nosy bastard, I fully admit it,” Potter laughed before summoning a rather decrepit looking house-elf and requesting two monkfish. “I can help if you want,” he continued, not letting it rest.

“Help with what?”

“Finding you a date of course.”

“How and why would you help me?” Draco didn’t care if he sounded suspicious, Harry Potter didn’t offer to help Draco Malfoy for no good reason.

“I know a lot of nice women who might be suitable. You can carry on bringing your dates here and I’ll turn on the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing and big you up a bit.”

“What makes you think I need your help?” Draco pretended to study the pile of Muggle books Potter seemed to be using as a coffee table.

“Well,” Potter’s eyes strayed to Draco’s damp hair, “things don’t look like they’ve been going too well from where I’ve been standing.”

“You still haven’t told me why you want to help,” he said again.

“Call it a peace offering. Maybe you can help me with my accounts some time.” Potter gave him one of those puppy dog looks that seemed to get him whatever he wanted.

“I thought you said you had an accountant?”

“I do. He’s a bit, er, well, that is to say – I’m not sure he’s all that good.”

At that point the house-elf reappeared with food and cutlery for both of them and Draco suddenly realised, to his horror, that Potter didn’t have a dining table and he would actually be expected to eat this off his lap.

“Look, what have you got to lose? It’ll be fun.” Potter’s cheerful tone sounded a little forced as he picked up a fork and started to dig in to his fish.

“You and I don’t have fun together, Potter, and accounts are never for fun.” Draco picked up a fork with a look of distain and then made a point to pick up a knife as well. How could Potter run a classy restaurant with absolutely no table manners? Or even a table? “In case you have forgotten, we are not friends. Besides, Malfoys are not accountants.”

“We could be, though, friends I mean, couldn’t we?” Potter persisted.

“Why?”

“Why not?” The puppy-dog look again. Damn it.

“Ok,” Draco sighed, “Why not, as you say. You have yourself a deal, Potter. I’ll show you how to add up and you can make me look good. Sound fair? You should advertise this – ‘Come to Potter’s restaurant; get a bride and chips for under ten galleons!'”

“Would sir like anything on the side with that?” Potter asked with a snigger.

Draco forced a laugh and they shook on it. Draco ate the rest of his food in silence, still trying to convince himself that Potter had no effect on him.

* * *

Name: Beatrice Dalrymple
Age: 24
Occupation: none
Description: Short dark hair, blue eyes.
Family: Snooty bastards. Lord and Lady Snotty of Snooty Land.
Notes on the date: YAWN! Beat is one of those people with a lot of opinions that she thinks everyone else should listen to and then agree with.
Pros: She’s attractive – has nice hair and all her own teeth.
Cons: YAWN YAWN YAWN! Too short. Too snooty. Too boring. She has those funny, cold blue eyes and a very big nose.
Score: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz/10

*

“So, what was wrong with this one?” Potter raised his eyebrows. They were in Potter’s flat once more, sampling a rather nice twenty-one-year-old portwood Balvenie.

“Where should I begin?” Draco raised just one eyebrow in return.

“I thought you’d like Beatie!” Potter whined. “She’s attractive, she’s intelligent, she’s very well up on pretty much everything. Admittedly, she can be a little intense, but she means well. And she’s as pure-blooded as they come and a Slytherin. He folded his arms and actually looked a little sulky.

“She tried to convince me to vote for Adrian Pucey in the next election!” Draco exclaimed in self-defence, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. “Is that really the way you think a first date should go? When I told her that I remember Pucey from school and I wouldn’t vote for him if it were a contest between him and Fudge, she gave me an hour-long lecture on how Fudge was the worst Minister in history. I never even said I was voting for bloody Fudge, the man retired over a decade ago.” He shook his head to emphasise the idiocy of this.

“She just has issues she feels very strongly abo—”

“I know,” Draco interrupted. “She made sure to tell me all about them – all of them – over dinner. From Muggle Rights to rubbish disposal to space travel. I heard the lot.”

“No you didn’t,” Potter gave an exaggerated sigh. “You were nearly asleep when I walked past and asked if everything was all right with your meal. I only did it to stop your face from landing in your soup.” Potter’s eyes were twinkling – was the bastard laughing at him?

“Well that says it all really, doesn’t it? I was falling asleep and we were still only on the soup.” Draco grumbled.

“Actually, you still have some soup here.” Potter reached over and ran his thumb over the corner of Draco’s mouth to get the soup off before sitting back down looking completely unconcerned. Draco managed to restrain himself from licking Harry’s thumb – just. He took a large gulp of his whisky.

* * *

Name: Vanessa Menzies (n.b. pronounced ‘Mingy’)
Age: 22
Occupation: ~~Secretary~~ P.A.
Description: Frizzy browny/blondy hair – looks a bit like Granger.
Family: Scottish.
Notes on the date: So we got off on the wrong foot when I mispronounced her name, then I mistakenly thought she was a secretary when it is apparently pronounced ‘Pee Aayyy’ these days.
Pros: She has a nice backside – it’s good to see it leave!
Cons: Stupid, stuck-up, know-it-all cow. Too tall – can’t have a wife taller than me! Eyes are too far apart. Really bad teeth.
Score: 5/10

*

“Oh come on, you can’t possibly have disliked Nessa; everyone loves her! She’s beautiful, funny, smart. If I were into girls, I’d date Ness like a shot.” Potter was shaking his head with a general air of disbelief as he shot off cleaning and tidying spells around the restaurant. It was after hours and Potter had sent everyone home for the night as he finished off.

“Yeah, well you’re not into girls, are you? So what the bloody hell would you know?” Draco scowled at him, he hated people talking down to him. He had been allowed to remain in the restaurant, perched by the bar, and give Potter the details of his miserable date as he cleared up.

“I know she’s a good friend, so just watch your mouth.” Evidently, nobody had ever told Potter that it was rude to point a wand at people as he swung round and did just that.

“She’s a stuck-up cow.” Draco leant back against the bar and crossed his legs. Potter baiting really was fun.

“That is a bit rich coming from a Malfoy!” Potter started with the righteous indignation, hands on his hips in a classic Mudblood Granger pose.

“She is a puritanical, black-hatter! She looks down her nose at everyone because they are not as pure and noble and bloody Scottish as she is. You missed a bit.” Draco indicated the bar he was leaning against where Potter hadn’t yet cleaned.

“That sounds racist to me, Malfoy.” Potter shot a spell at the bar, sweeping off everything which wasn’t supposed to be on it, including Draco who nearly fell off his stool.

“My Great Grandmother was Scottish, I’ll have you know.” He glared at Potter as he adjusted his suit jacket and tried to make it look like he intended to stand up.

“So why do you have such a problem with Nessa being Scottish?” Potter’s wand directed a broom to start sweeping the floor.

“I don’t have a problem with her being Scottish! I don’t like people who look down their noses at me for being English, or for being me.” Draco crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to look petulant. “If I’m racist then so is she. Moreover, she may be a wonderful friend to you, but she thinks you should be ‘cured of your homosexuality’ with the ‘love of a good woman’, did you know that? Apparently, it is just laziness.” He’d like to see Potter stick up for the stupid cow now.

“Her parents were Muggles; it’s just the way she was brought up.” Potter plonked himself down on the stool next to Draco – obviously, he would stick up for anyone who wasn’t a Malfoy.

“Really? I bet Granger doesn’t think that. I seem to remember getting into a hell of a lot of trouble for acting ‘the way I was brought up’. If I can get over it then so can she.” Draco put on his best smug face.

“You know, you’re kind of cute when you sulk.” Potter ruffled Draco’s hair. Unbe-bloody-lievable!

“Poof.”

“Git.”

* * *

Name: Jemima Alderney
Age: 26
Occupation: Artist
Description: Straight black hair cut into a short bob. Blue eyes, fair skin. Very striking. Slim but not too skinny.
Family: The Alderneys of Alderney.
Notes on the date: I love this girl, I’d marry her tomorrow! She reminds me of Pansy. She has a wicked sense of humour and is extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, she is not really into men and only came on the date to keep her father happy. Pity.
Pros: Brilliant, funny, clever, beautiful, gorgeous.
Cons: Dyke.
Score: 9/10 (point off for not finding me attractive!)

*

“Well of course Jem is gay, she doesn’t make a secret of it!” Potter laughed as he glanced over Draco’s shoulder. They were in Potter’s poky flat again as Draco looked over the accounts.

“She shouldn’t lead a chap on! Why did she agree to the date if she had no chance of being interested?” Draco folded his arms indignantly.

“Maybe same reason you did – didn’t your mothers organise this one?” Harry reached over and plucked a stray blond hair off Draco’s shoulder.

“That’s not the point. Get me another drink.”

“Help yourself. You can fill me up too.” Potter grinned at him. Draco felt his cheeks heat up at the innuendo and quickly turned his attention back to the accounts.

“You know, Potter, these accounts really don’t make much sense.”

* * *

Name: Euphemia De Montfort
Age: 22
Occupation: Florist
Description: Blonde, bubbly, petite.
Family: What can I say, they’re the De Montforts. Doesn’t get much better than that!
Notes on the date: There is touchy feely and then there is touchy feely! I do not appreciate being groped! Especially not in public!
Pros: Great family, very pretty.
Cons: The woman cannot keep her hands to herself! I feel violated! Huge tits, not a fan of huge tits, they get in the way. Especially when she is otherwise so damned skinny!
Score: 6/10

*

They were just eating their main course when Draco felt a foot slide up his leg. He nearly dropped his fork. He glanced at his date who seemed to be quite innocently eating pasta beside him. He’d been irritated enough when she’d dragged her chair around to be closer to him rather than opposite anyway; now it seemed the goal had been so she could cop a feel.

A few minutes later, there was a hand on his knee. Just sitting there, on his knee. He decided to ignore it and hoped she would get the hint, which turned out to be a mistake.

The hand started to inch higher. Draco was left in a predicament. If he continued to ignore her, she would eventually make it to his crotch, but if he mentioned it, how would he explain the fact that he’d ignored it in the first place? And this was a respectable restaurant, even if it did belong to Potter, he could hardly jump up and screech, ‘unhand me, wench!’. What was one supposed to say in these circumstances anyway? ‘Excuse me, you seem to have misplaced your hand’? ‘You appear to have a hold of my cock’?

In the end, Draco did the only thing he could do – he bolted to the gents’. Potter found him there ten minutes later, trying to transfigure the window into a door.

“I think you should know that my restaurant is protected against transfiguration attempts, so please leave my windows alone.” Potter leant back against the doorframe wearing that amused expression he always seemed to have around Draco these days. “Your date is looking a little lonely, and as the charms are of the Taj Mahal tonight, she is doing rather a good Princess Di impersonation.”

“Is she? Good. Who’s Princess Di?” Draco figured she was probably some Muggle but really didn’t care.

“Don’t be catty.”

“I’m operating in the interests of self-preservation. Actually, I’d rather she wasn’t lonely, I rather she found someone else to grope. There, happy?” Draco kicked the wall in exasperation.

“Ok. Well you can at least go an tell her you don’t think it’s going to work out, rather than trying to do a runner like some sort of cowardly little arsewipe.” Potter straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t very impressive.

“You’re the bloody Gryffindor, you tell her.” Draco moved forward and poked Potter in the chest.

“She’s not my date!” Potter protested.

“She’s your friend,” Draco pointed out.

“Actually, she’s Seamus’s friend,” Potter stated, looking triumphant.

“Finnegan? You discussed this with Finnegan?” Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Potter, making the little midget take a step back so that he was pressed against the doorframe. How dare he discuss Draco’s business with that poncy little Irishman!

“He wanted to know why you were eating here so much; I told him you were looking for a girlfriend.” Potter said, holding his hands up as though that made it ok that he’d been sharing details of Draco’s private life with his stupid friends.

“How did he know I was coming here in the first place? Do you sit around with your friends and talk about me?” Draco asked crossly. He glared at another patron who chose that moment to walk into the bathroom; the man left hurriedly.

“Why yes, we have no other topic of conversation actually.” Draco assumed that was supposed to be sarcasm, Gryffindors were shite at sarcasm, nearly as bad as Americans; not that he knew any Americans. “Seamus is the chef. He cooks your dinner; didn’t you realise that?” Potter continued, frowning at Draco.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t blown the place up!” Draco said, aghast, taking a step back and bumping against a urinal, which promptly instructed him to wash his hands. “What on earth possessed you to employ Finnegan?”

“I didn’t have much choice, he’s my partner!” Harry laughed, flicking on a tap to shut the urinal up. There was a sudden funny feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach. “Anyway, he happens to be very good, or have you not enjoyed your food here?”

“It’s not bad I suppose.” Draco had to admit that, before he discovered the identity of the chef, he’d thought the food excellent. He was stung by the news that Potter had a lover – he’d been half convinced that Potter was flirting with him, but it would seem not. Not that he cared or anything…

“Good, well you’d better get back to your date then before word gets around that you hang out in men’s toilets with a known homosexual!” Potter laughed as he steered Draco towards the door.

To his relief, Euphemia had got the hint by the time he got back to the table, although she kept shooting glares between him and Potter.

* * *

Name: Effie MacRae
Age: 29
Occupation: Teacher
Description: Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall.
Family: A fairly prestigious Highland Clan.
Notes on the date: Went well enough. I quite like her, she is smart and funny. Apparently she teaches my cousin, Teddy.
Pros: Top personality.
Cons: Not the prettiest of girls and far too tall. Tits are too big (is that a nice way of saying fat?) and she has brown eyes. I quite like dark hair, but nice striking black hair, like Jemima, not boring brown like Effie. Also, too old.
Score: 7/10 (all on personality)

*

“What’s wrong with Effie? I thought you two would get on, she totally has your evil sense of humour!”

“I do not have an evil sense of humour!” Draco huffed as he threw himself onto Harry’s sofa, which was finally devoid of boxes. He never did come up with a good way of asking about the whole box situation and why Harry was living in this crappy flat. Were they friends now? Was it ok to ask? Or had he left it too long, would it look really weird if he asked now that the boxes were gone? Fucking protocol.

“Seriously?” Harry handed him a Laphroaig with an amused look. Why did the bugger always look amused when he looked at him? He was supposed to look intimidated.

“Well, not that evil. Look, your friend is lovely – I wish we’d had Defence teachers like her rather than some of the nutters we did have – but can you honestly see her as Mrs Malfoy? I think not. Besides, she has brown hair.”

“Have you ever thought you might be too picky? We can’t all be as pretty as you.”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

* * *

Name: Cecily O’Dowd
Age: 25
Occupation: Mediwitch
Description: Nice curly blonde hair, brown eyes. Medium height.
Family: Good old Irish family.
Notes on the date: Quite liked this one. Unfortunately, she seems to be of the misguided opinion that Cecily should be shortened to Cissy.
Pros: Intelligent, witty (evidently a Ravenclaw), pretty, fun.
Cons: I refuse to be intimate with anyone with the same (shortened) name as my mother! Really noisy eater.
Score: 7/10

*

“Oh come on Malfoy, Cecily is fun, smart and pretty. I was so confident with this one!” Harry exclaimed in exasperation as he put their drinks down on the pub table. It was Potter’s night off and they’d met up in the Leaky Cauldron after Draco’s date.

“She’s very nice, Potter, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Draco sighed, checking to make sure the glass was clean before taking a sip.

“What’s wrong with her then? She even has blonde hair!” Potter pulled up a chair and took a long sip of his beer.

“Her eyes are brown.” Draco was doing his best not to look at Potter’s beer-foam moustache.

“You have got to be kidding me? You’re turning her down because her eyes are brown?” Potter was giving him one of those looks that said he thought Draco was slightly insane.

“That and the name thing.”

“What name thing?”

“Come on, Potter! She has the same name as my mother! That would just be too weird!”

“Your mother’s name is Narcissa, not Cecily,” Harry said, slowly, as though explaining it to a child.

“Cissy. They’re both Cissy, you pillock.” Draco gave him a playful smack about the head.

“Ah.” Harry pretended to rub where Draco had hit him, but his laughter gave him away.

“And she sounds like a pig when she eats,” Draco added.

* * *

Name: Luna Lovegood
Age: 28
Occupation: Musician
Description: Insane. Blonde, blue eyes, medium height.
Family: I think we’re cousins somewhere along the line, but since when has that ever stopped pure-bloods?
Notes on the date: I have a feeling Loony Lovegood was not Harry’s original choice of blind date for me tonight – he can’t possibly hate me that much! It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her exactly, she’s just Lovegood! I get the impression that she was there to do Potter a favour.
Pros: Pretty. Kind.
Cons: Odd.
Score: 5/10

*

“I remember you from school. You weren’t very nice, were you?” Luna gave him one of those unfathomable looks that slightly bothered him. Maybe she had a point – Mad Auntie B had locked her in the cellar for ages after all. He pretended to study the menu so he wouldn’t have to look at her, although he knew this menu pretty well by now,

“I don’t think I ever even spoke to you.” He glanced up and gave her his most winning smile, the one that even worked on that old cow Umbridge. It had no effect.

“I think that proves my point rather than yours don’t you? It’s the nargles you know, they made you cranky. Harry always liked you though, not that I think he ever realised it. Do you think the haggis is freerange? I wouldn’t like to think the poor little things had suffered. Do you like Harry?” Luna’s conversation flowed from topic to topic in a way that gave Draco a headache trying to follow it.

“Potter is all right I suppose. A haggis is not an animal.” He signalled the waiter over, desperate to get this over with a fast as possible.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. You’d make a very attractive couple, you know. There were haggis in the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, they’re very shy.”

“I’m not gay.”

“You’re strange.” She shut her menu and smiled benignly at him before the mushroom stroganoff from the specials board.

*

“Just no, ok Potter? Don’t even go there.”

* * *

Part 2 | Part 3

*

Film quote meme

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 11:25:42 GMT

I totally stole this from katelinmr and treacle_tartlet :)

1. Pick 20 of your favourite movies.
2. Go to http://www.imdb.com/, and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search functions.

1. He's always hated me, and now he wants to shoot my mum! – Shaun of the Dead. Point to veritas03

2. What exactly am I trying to say? You's a bunch of fuckin' elephants.

3. She turned me into a newt! I got better. – Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Point to fireflavored

4. I don't know, fly casual. – Return of the Jedi. Point to tuawahine and bootsy_mine

5. Well, you're just pathetic, and you're gutless. You're a gutless wonder! Vivir con miedo, es como vivir a medias! – Strictly Ballroom. Point to treacle_tartlet

6. Evil: If I were creating the world I wouldn't mess about with butterflies and daffodils. I would have started with lasers, eight o'clock, Day One!

7.Then, on the fourth day, he roped himself a couple of sea turtles, lashed 'em together and made a raft. – Pirates of the Carribean. Point to katelinmr

8. 1: Has he ever told you about his friend Frank?
2: Frank?
1: Yes, the giant bunny rabbit… – Donnie Darko. Point to katelinmr

9. Look how she moves! It's like Jell-O on springs.

10. I know kung fu. – The Matrix. Point to lolafalola and fiercedragon13

11. We've gone on holiday by mistake. We're in this cottage here. Are you the farmer? – Withnail & I. Point to fireflavored

12. It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays. – The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Point to treacle_tartlet

13. I carried a watermelon? – Dirty Dancing. Point to cassie_black12

14. You wanna be a big cop in a small town? Fuck off up the model village. – Hot Fuzz. Point to vix_spes .

15. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. – The Princess Bride. Point to veritas03 and bootsy_mine

16. Ho, ho, ho! Well, if it isn't fat stinking billy goat Billy Boy in poison! How art thou, thou globby bottle of cheap, stinking chip oil? Come and get one in the yarbles, if ya have any yarbles, you eunuch jelly thou! – A Clockwork Orange. Point to crazyparakiss

17. Get away from her, you bitch! – Aliens. Point to bootsy_mine

18. How shall we fuck off, O Lord?

19. Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?

20. … once again you've put your keen and penetrating mind to the task and as usual come to the wrong conclusion. – Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Point to katelinmr .

katelinmr 3 correct guesses :)
bootsy_mine 3 correct guesses :)
fireflavored 2 correct guesses
veritas03 2 correct guesses
treacle_tartlet 2 correct guesses
cassie_black12 1 correct guess
vix_spes 1 correct guess
crazyparakiss 1 correct guess

tuawahine 1 correct guess

lolafalola 1 correct guess
fiercedragon13 1 correct guess

Veela Fest 2010!

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 11:25:40 GMT

do_me_veela are hosting another Veela Fest! Yay! Prompting is open, please go here:

http://community.livejournal.com/do_me_veela/16583.html

and give them some prompts!

Lest we forget

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 10:07:39 GMT

2 minutes of your time?

Ode of Remembrance
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

The Soldier
Rupert Brooke
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

What way is she turning?

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 19:36:10 GMT

You may have seen this before, but I thought I would post it because it messes with your head!

Does the figure turn anti-clockwise or clockwise? Does she even always turn the same way or does she change direction as you are watching? She makes my head feel strange because for me she alternates if I concentrate!

This is supposed to be a test to see if you think with the left or right side of your brain. The explanations can be found here.

Does anyone else think LJ seems a little gremlinish today?

Speed Pr0nz: Look at you

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 08:32:51 GMT

Title: Look at you
Author: tari_sue
Pairing: James/Sirius, James/Lily
Rating: PG
ADW (if relevant): n/a
Length: 640
Summary: An affair can only last till it burns out, and then life must go on
Warnings: swearing (I’m only putting that this time to annoy dirty_darella)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything Harry Potter except for some rather tatty copies of the books.

Author’s note This is my second attempt at writing for this prompt and it just won't go down the porn route so sorry to anyone that is only looking at speedpr0nz for the porn. came well within the two-hour deadline though. The pieces go together but can be read separately, the other one is Kiss Him and is told from Lily’s pov.

Look at you, picture of fucking innocence! Sirius Black, beautiful and he knows it. How the hell you can look innocent after what we just did, I’ll never know.

What the bloody hell do you do to me? No, don’t bother – every time I leave your room I’m convinced that everyone knows exactly what it is you’ve done to me! Like they’re all sniggering behind my back, 'there goes James Potter, he’s just had Sirius Black’s cock up his bum, you can tell by the way he walks'.

Actually, I don’t think they do know, or most of them don’t anyway.

Shall I tell you who knows?

Remus. Remus knows. He can’t bring himself to look me in the eye anymore because he’s so disgusted with me. He can probably smell you on me with his wolf senses or some shite like that. He must think I’m fucking depraved, allowing you to do that to me.

The thing is, I could live with that. I could live with losing one of my best friends if it meant spending my nights with you, but I can’t lose Lily. You remember Lily, right? Incredibly pretty, long red hair, amazing green eyes, unbelievably smart? You know, my girlfriend, the love of my life, the girl I’ve been crazy about since I was old enough to realise that girls aren’t that annoying?

She knows too.

Oh Merlin, Sirius! Lily knows! My Lily, who I waited forever for her to decided I was fit to be seen with, she knows about us! I don’t know what to do, I love you, Sirius, but I love her more.

I tried to tell you, Lily’s pregnant. Yeah, I know, stupid of us right? Fucking ridiculous really – just over a year ago we were graduating as head boy and girl and now we can’t even cope with simple charms and potions.

I’ve asked her to marry me. It’s not just about the baby, never think that, I think Lily and I were always on this path – to be honest; I think you knew that too, didn’t you? You were always a little jealous of Lily.

Like it or not, I have responsibilities now, in about seven months I’ll have a wife and child and it scares the crap clean out of me, but I can’t say I don’t want it because I do, I want it more than anything, even Sirius Black – I’m sorry.

Tonight was the last time, but you knew that, right? That’s why you wouldn’t let me speak and I’m stuck here now, spilling my guts while you’re fast asleep, you lazy fucking bastard.

You’re my best friend; I don’t want to lose you as a mate. Fuck, I’m going to be a dad, I need my mates to come and save me from the nappies! You and Remus and Pete will have to come over all save my sanity. We can teach him to play quidditch and that weird feetball game that Lily’s dad is so into. We'll teach him how to play pranks – he can be a mini marauder, start of the next generation! What if it’s a girl though? Me in a house full of girls, you’ll have to save me, what do I know about girls? I guess we could still teach her quidditch and the rest, right? Do girls like that sort of stuff?

How in the name of shitting bastard hell do I get myself into these sodding situations? She told me to come in and talk to you and then ‘kiss you goodbye’ – she didn’t mention a couple of goodbye fucks too did she? She didn’t say, ‘let Sirius pin you to the wall and fuck the living daylights out of you’ or anything else we did; just 'kiss him'.

I hate being a fucking adult.

Kiss Him

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 08:52:36 GMT

What is so tough about this one? It seems to be wrong in pretty much every other fanfic I read!

Weasleys' – the business is owned by two of them so it is plural possessive. Can you really see George cutting his brother out of the title? It has an apostrophe after the s, use it – the same applys to the Weasleys' house and anything else they own as a family.

Wizard – singular. Not Wizarding, not Wizards not any other variation, just Wizard. This is probably a reference to Enid Blyton-type books where the term 'wizard' means 'really cool', but whatever the reasoning, it's still just Wizard in my book(s) – you know, the ones JKR wrote.

Wheezes – this is probably the only bit that people get right, but I won't hold my breath!

edit: The term 'Wizard Wheezes' could also be a reference to Molesworth by Geoffrey Willans, where, and I quote the wonderful alovelycupoftea here, 'A 'wizard wheeze' in Molesworth is a jape or a trick. Generally played on masters and other boys who are wet and a weed.' Thanks to alovelycupoftea for the extra info!

Speed Pr0nz: Of Rain and Meddling Mothers

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 13:04:19 GMT

Title: Of Rain and Meddling Mothers
Author: tari_sue
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC17
ADW (if relevant): n/a
Length: 1988
Summary: What is a rather damp Harry Potter doing in Draco’s bedroom wearing his favourite pyjamas?
Warnings: well, it’s a slash pwp fic with an adult rating – you figure it out.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own them.

Author’s note I may have gone slightly over the time allowance for this one because the boys wouldn’t stop shagging, but I’m not sure because I did it in bits and lost track. Very PWP, which I'm rubbish at – oh well!

speedpr0nz round two picture prompt 10

Draco’s favourite fantasy seemed to be coming true right in front of his eyes. Harry Potter was standing in Draco’s bedroom, next to his bed wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms. What the bloody bastard hell was going on? It wasn’t that Draco necessarily objected to having a pyjama-clad man in his room, it was more the particular man in question he objected to. Or rather, didn’t object to half as much as he should.

“Potter? What the flaming fuck are you doing here? Those had better not be my pyjamas you’re wearing; I had to venture all the way into a Muggle place called ‘Marks & Spencer’ to get them and it was horrible!” he snarled at the bewildered man in front of him. He couldn’t help himself – attack was the best form of defence and as Potter wasn’t here at Draco’s invitation, he could only be here as some sort of practical joke at Draco’s expense.

“M-Malfoy!” Potter squeaked in a most unmanly way (no, really, he did), dropping the pyjama top in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? In case you hadn’t noticed, you dim-witted numbskull, this just so happens to be my home! In fact, this is my bloody bedroom! Get the fuck out!” And no, Draco did not sound like a teenage girl having a hissy fit. “And for that matter, give me my sodding pyjamas back!”

“But…” Potter started trying to make some lame excuse.

“I don’t give a crap about your butt! Give me what’s mine and sod off!” he definitely didn’t screech that.

“I don’t have anything else to wear!” Potter exclaimed, looking ~~edible~~ pathetic.

“Oh, really? And I suppose you came here in the buff, did you?” Draco had managed to calm his voice down to a low snarl. It wasn’t fair! He’d been attracted to Potter for as long as he could remember, but even more so since he’d started working in the Department of Regulations and started bumping into him on a regular basis.

“No! Your Mother reported a prowler outside and I came to investigate.”

“Oh, of course she did; and they just had to send SuperNakedAuror! rather than a MLE Officer?” Somehow he had moved closer to Potter without actually moving his feet and was now sneering directly into the other man’s face. Potter gulped.

“I was wearing regulation Auror robes,” Potter said through gritted teeth, “I came personally as a favour to Narcissa.”

“Mother is in the South of France! She’s been there for the last month and a half, she couldn’t have called you here – and this still doesn’t explain why you were naked!” The idea of a naked Harry Potter prowling around his house was doing unsettling things to Draco's nether regions.

“Well she was definitely here less than half an hour ago. She made me come in to dry off because it’s bloody pissing it down out there. When she realised that she couldn’t magically dry my robes she gave them to the house elves and sent me for a shower to warm me up.” Potter ran a hand through his damp hair in frustration.

“Ohhhh, I seeeee. The great Harry Potter is clever enough to mumble Expelliarmus at the Dark Lord but not smart enough to cast an Impervius on himself in a rainstorm. Makes perfect bloody sense and I should have bloody known.”

“You can’t cast an Impervius on Ministry-issue robes.” Potter had the cheek to roll his eyes.

Bugger it, he was right – Draco had signed the order that said all Auror and MLE robes had to be made from Parahex^TM, a new material that resisted magic, thus helping to protect the wearer from hexes and curses but also stopping any other charm from being used on them.

“That still doesn’t explain what you are doing in my favourite pyjamas,” Draco grumbled, not looking Potter in the eye.

“Your Mum told me to put these on, but if it bothers you that much I can always take them off.” Potter ran the flat of his right hand over his toned abdomen and made to tug at the garment. Heat surged through Draco as he spotted the undeniable bulge keeping the trousers in place. Oh Merlin, the arguing was turning Potter on? It was certainly turning Draco on…

“Uh, actually, I’m not sure I want anything back that your cock has been in.” he started to back away more. Shit, why did he have to mention Potter’s cock? It did look rather nice – and big – through the soft jersey of the pyjamas. Draco’s mouth started to water.

“Is that so? So if my cock were to find its way into your mouth, would your mouth then belong to me too?” Huh? How had Potter known what Draco was thinking? Oh Merlin, if that bulge was anything to go by, he would very much like to take Potter’s cock in his mouth.

“What about your arse?” Potter continued, “Would you make that mine too?” He stalked towards Draco like a preditor.

“Stop it! Your cock is not coming anywhere near me or my mouth and certainly not my arse!” Seriously? Was he going to lose what might be his one and only opportunity with the, clearly randy, Auror just because his mouth ran on auto babble?

“So your mouth is a better possibility than your arse? I can work with that…” Potter reached out and ran his thumb over Draco’s lips.

“Potter!” Draco turned his head to the side. He had now back himself all the way to the door, which had inconveniently swung shut and the handle was pressing into his back. Potter, however, was still just as close as he’d always been.

“Such a shame that such a nice mouth never seems to do anything but complain, I’m sure we must be able to remedy that…” Potter actually had the audacity to lean forward and kiss Draco. He opened his mouth to protest and only managed to give Potter’s tongue better access.

“Mmmpf!” Damn it, Potter was really good at that! Draco soon found himself grabbing onto the other man to steady himself, only to be reminded that Harry wasn’t wearing much as he grasped a handful of muscled arm.

“See?” Potter ground out in a husky voice, “I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking.” He pulled Draco tight against him and ground his erection firmly into Draco’s, grinning at what he felt there. In order to shut the smug git up, Draco pressed his mouth back over Harry’s, his hand was on Harry’ arse, which was really rather firm and lovely, and was busy fondling it.

Harry manoeuvred them back towards the bed and they fell onto it in a heap with Draco on top as he finally did what he’d been wanting to do ever since he saw Harry’s delectable nipples and ran his tongue over them.

“Draco, you have far too many clothes on.” Harry tugged at Draco’s jumper. “I’ll do you a deal, you can have your pyjamas back if you take off your clothes too.”

“Deal.” Draco started stripping out of his clothes faster than he had thought possible as Harry finally tugged down the last part of Draco’s pyjamas. Less than thirty seconds later they were both naked and scrambling back onto the bed, this time Draco found himself level with Harry’s crotch.

“Oh, god, I always knew you’d be gorgeous,” Harry mumbled as Draco went straight for his prize. “Oh fucking mother of Merlin!” Harry cried out.

Harry’s cock was every bit as gorgeous as it had promised to be – thick, long and uncut with a slight veer to the left. Draco ran his tongue over the head and then all the way down the underside while Harry continued his litany of swear words. Unable to resist, Draco took one of Harry’s nice plump bollocks into his mouth and lathed it with his tongue before repeating it with the other one. Then he returned to his worship of Harry’s cock, deep-throating it with practised ease. He probably shouldn’t be quite so proud of this particular skill, but he couldn’t help it – cock sucking was something he truly excelled at.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Draco, wanna shag you, please,” Potter was pleading with him, which was ridiculous because if Draco didn’t get a proper shag out of this he was going to commit murder. He grabbed some lube from beside the bed and squeezed some onto his fingers before reaching behind himself.

In an ideal world, he would have made Harry prepare him – give him a good rim job and finger fucking – but he was worried that Harry might come to his senses any moment and realise who he was in bed with so he quickly stretched and lubed himself before rolling a condom down Potter’s prick and positioning himself over it.

It had been a while since Draco bottomed, it was something he enjoyed but only to the right top and he had a feeling Potter would be the right top. It burned as he gently lowered himself onto the waiting cock and he had to jiggle himself up and down a bit to get it in, but of damn it felt good! Once he had sunk down as far as he could go he rested his hand on Potter’s chest and just sat there waiting for his breathing to even out and his arse to adjust. He felt the growl from Potter through his fingers before he heard it.

“Fucking move!” Potter’s hips surged up. Draco smirked and stilled Harry with his hands before rolling his hips slowly as Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. After a few minutes of this treatment, however, Potter had obviously had enough as he rolled them over and proceeded to give Draco a through fucking.

“That’s it, Potter! Harder!” Draco moaned out as Harry found his prostate. He was going to be lucky if he could walk straight tomorrow and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He grabbed his cock and began tugging it in time to Harry’s movements as Harry gripped Draco’s ankles, holding his legs in the air.

“Oh, fuck, I hope you’re close, Draco, because I can’t hold out much longer!” Potter whimpered as he continued to pound away.

“Not going to be a problem,” Draco ground out as he felt his balls tighten.

Draco couldn’t really have said which of them came first, all he knew was he felt Harry shuddering inside him as he came all over himself.

Potter pulled out as gently as possible and disposed of the condom before rolling onto his back beside Draco. “That was fucking brilliant! I always thought you’d be a fantastic shag, Malfoy,” Harry said with a contented grin on his face.

“Always thought?” Draco rolled onto his side to look at Harry. “You mean you’ve considered this before tonight?”

“Of course I have, we’ve been flirting with each other for ages now! If I didn’t know better, I’d say Narcissa got sick of it and set us up.” Harry leaned in for a kiss.

“Hmm, manipulation, yes, that sounds like something my mother would do.”

“Your mother is a fabulous woman, let’s stop talking about her though.” Harry gently wiped the come off Draco’s chest with the edge of the sheet. Draco wrinkled his nose and grabbed his wand to clean them up properly.

“So, do you want to do this again?”

“Hmm, maybe give me a few minutes or so?”

“Git.” Draco half-heartedly hit him with a pillow. “I meant do you want to see me again?” It was really hard not sounding needy when asking a question like that.

“Of course I do – your arse is mine now, remember? I like to keep sight of what’s mine.”

Here be recs!

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 17:59:44 GMT

From the first four weeks of hd_career_fair! These are some of my personal favourites – there are so many others that I liked too but the list was getting out of control! :D

Fashion Advice. Is there anyone left in the world who hasn't seen this and loved it? It was such a brilliant start to the fest, an lovely little fic, some beautiful art and a little porn all rolled into one! :D

Stories from America. I loved this because it's so nice to see Harry taken out of his usual setting. The magic was innovative, the sory-telling was fabulolus.

Small Blessings. This story is just so adorable! Harry runs an orphange and has an adopted son, who turns out to be Draco's natural son that he didn't know about.

Pomegranate. Draco is a no-nonsense chef who makes wonderful food. Harry grows his own produce. This fic is divine and it will make you hungry!

Punch Lines. I find it strange that I enjoyed this fic so much when I'm not a fan of Radio 4 at all. The humour is nicely done, we even get little sound bites and the H/D relationship is just lovely.

History of the War. This fic is so well written. It's a beautifully done AU showing a completely different outcome of the war. I urge all the people who were scared off by the warnings to give it a go and try something different!

Respect Your Editors. This is a very funny fic where Draco works for an advertising company and runs into problems when a major typo slips through the net.

World on Fire. I wouldn't have believed that Draco as a firefighter would work, but in this fic it really does! As an added bonus there is this creepy-as-fuck little girl who only Draco can see…

Heavenly Bodies. Draco is a stripper, what more could I ask for? Oh yeah, and a blundering Harry :D

Draco's Post War Prophesy. I honestly can't praise this enough, so I won't even try! Go and see it for yourself.

P.S. I know you. I'm not a fan of epistolary fics, but this one is done really well. Draco is an author, Harry is a fan and they write to each other without knowing their true identites, whilst also trying to sort out all the trouble their sons get into at school.

The Boy Who Baked. The title makes this a win from the off in my book. The fact that there is cake and romance also helps :)

The Way To a Man's Heart, Or, How Malfoy's Bon Bites Became Britain's First Vegetarian Wizarding Restaurant, Almost. This is the elf-head cake one. Malfoy owns a top-notch restaurant which is frequented by Health Inspector, Harry Potter. When a Health Scare leads Harry to have to close the restaurant, Draco is not a happy bunny. Fabulous.

Greeting Expectations. Draco is working in the Muggle world writing greetings cards and Harry is hired to investigate. This is just great – we even get some very funny samples of Draco's work.

The Poetry of Fragments. Um, yay, zombie fic!

Draconis' Dancer. Horse racing fic. Harry is a jockey who has lost his memory and Draco is lovely :)

Normal Does It. Very cool pirate fic! I absolutely urge everyone to go and read this fic right now because it is brilliant – and that is not just favouritism because I was one of the betas! There are flying pirate ships and mythical creatures and Draco running around dressed as a Druid with a fabulous supporting cast all the way from Hogwarts.

Now, here's a new one from me, I'm going to be a know-nothing who dares to recommend art! I seriously know sweet FA about art, so these are simply some of the pieces from the hd_fanart fest that I liked so far:

Goodnight, Draco

"No, you are not getting my Armani wet, Potter!"

Not Today

Stolen Moment

Compulsion

Malfoy Season

Impervius

Masks off at Midnight

The Bubble Bath

Need

Speed Pr0nz: Kiss Him

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:16:32 GMT

Title: Kiss Him
Author: tari_sue
Pairing: James/Sirius, James/Lily
Rating: PG
ADW (if relevant): n/a
Length: 500ish
Summary: An affair can only last till it burns out, and then life must go on
Warnings: a little swearing
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything Harry Potter except for some rather tatty copies of the books.

Author’s note: Look, no porn! Ok, so this doesn't really fit the brief, it was done in well under two hours but I was going to do something porny and fun, but it didn’t turn out that way. I shall have to pick a different prompt and try again! This now has a companion piece from James's pov in Look at You.

Kiss Him

Look at him, sleeping there. So peaceful, so beautiful in slumber – all hints of wickedness are gone from his face, he is perfect innocence once more, despite the new muggle piercing marring his nice, plump lip.

Look at him, unsuspecting. The world moves on past him, rather than revolving around him as he likes to believe. All must fall at the feet of the great Sirius Black and worship him, how could they not? How could you not? You do, of course you do, don’t tell me otherwise, my love, I won't believe you.

How do you tell him you’re leaving? You tried earlier tonight, yet still you ended in his bed again. Surely he knows, in his heart of hearts, that you always loved me? Your destiny lies with me, not him. Of course you love him too, but it is not the same; you are the other half of my soul, he is merely a distraction. He knows about me just as I know about him, but does he even care?

Why did he have to go after you? Why? Remus hangs on his every word, I see the way he looks at the two of you in envy, wishing he were part of the duo. But it’s more than that, Remus would fall into Sirius’s bed at the drop of a hat, perhaps that is the problem, where would be the fun for Sirius in such an easy conquest? Much more fun to go after someone he cannot have. How hard must Remus find it – to be like a moth, so close to the warmth, but never quite part of the flame, and like a moth, he would burn to a crisp if he ever got too close to the fire of Sirius Black.

I cannot let this go on, my love. You need to end this affair for your sake as much as mine – Sirius must destroy everything he touches, it is in his nature to do so just as it is in yours to win. He will burn you out and move on to the next challenge, and where will that leave us? You and me and the child growing within me?

Marry me, James. Sirius will move on, you and he will continue as friends, maybe he’ll even give Lupin a chance – perhaps the werewolf in Remus will tame the beast in Sirius (what, did you think I didn’t know? Honestly, James, I’ve known since third year). Could they be happy, just like us, or would all end in disaster? I think I like Remus too much to wish Sirius on him though, he’d be better off with someone quiet like Peter, except Peter has no interest in men that way. But then, I never thought you did either, so what do I know.

Kiss him goodbye. Come back to bed. I gave you your one last night together, I let him do things to you that I could never do, I let him screw you, hard and fast against the wall, I even let him make love to you later, in his bed, slow and sweet. I could almost believe he loved you; if he could ever love anyone but himself.

Kiss him goodbye, James, it’s time to grow up.

Look at you

Rec

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 21:39:35 GMT

Anyone who likes Merlin should check this out because it's fab :D

random_merlin

Speed Pr0nz: Not in front of the Muggles!

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:24:31 GMT

Title: Not in front of the Muggles!
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Word count: 1,009
Warnings: Public nudity and sexual situations (almost)
Disclaimer: I'm not JKR, I don't have any money and I certainly won't be making any from this!
Summary: Never trust a Slytherin not to steal your clothes!

This was written in about 2 hours for bryoneybrynn and dysonrules's Speed Pr0nz challenge, picture prompt No.4, as shown above. I apologise for it being crap and completely blame them for suggesting it in the first place :D

Why had he ever thought Draco had changed? Seriously, why? It had seemed safe enough, going on holiday with his lover. After all, Draco loved him…

And why should he have a problem when Draco suggested sunbathing nude? They were on holiday after all, why not go home with a nice complete suntan? It wasn’t like there was anyone around apart from Harry and Draco and the seagulls up here on the cliff top, and they put up wards just in case.

Really, it was just a sign of how much Harry had come to trust his boyfriend that he drifted off to sleep on that nice big, flat slab of rock leading down to the sea. It was a sign that you should never trust a Slytherin that he woke up alone with the alarms ringing in his ears to tell him that not only was someone approaching, but they were muggles.

And he couldn’t find his clothes.

Or his wand.

Or his boyfriend.

As the panic seeped into his brain his only thought was ‘bugger’. He scrambled up the hill trying to stay down, not really sure what he was planning to do but knowing that he was completely exposed where he was. There was a large rock outcrop at the top that he could hide behind.

Peering around the side of the rock he saw a family of muggles approaching, clearly just out for a stroll and certainly not expecting to see a very naked man hiding behind a rock. He could see the headline in the Prophet now, ‘Harry Potter, Flasher Pervert! Exposes himself to innocent muggles!’ He’d never live it down. He was going to kill Draco.

“Hiding, Harry?”

“Meep!” Harry jumped and gave a very undignified squeak. “Malfoy!” he hissed, “You complete and utter bastard! Where the hell are my clothes? And give me my wand back!”

“Hmm, Malfoy now, is it? What happened to ‘Draco’? As in, ‘oh, god, Draco, yes Draco, there Draco, harder Draco,” his lover whispered huskily in his ear as he pressed himself up against Harry. Harry gulped; Draco was still every bit as naked as he was. And hard.

“Give me back my clothes! And for that matter, where are yours? We are about to traumatise an entire group of muggles and get arrested for indecency!”

“A bunch of muggles, you say?” Draco started to kiss his way down the back of Harry’s neck, “I guess you’d just better be as quiet as possible then, hadn’t you?” He ran his hand down Harry’s bare hip and chuckled evilly as Harry tried to pull away only to bump into the rock in front of him. “Caught between a rock and something hard?” Draco sniggered as he pressed himself against Harry.

“Get off! It’s bad enough that you’ve landed us in this predicament without making it worse!” Harry hissed at him, trying to wriggle away without drawing attention.

“Worse? Surely I’m making it better? What could be better than a quick shag out in the open air in a beautiful setting?”

“I am not letting you shag me!”

“Fine, then you can shag me.” Draco gave his patented Malfoy smirk.

“Nobody is shagging anybody, we are going to hide here, quietly, until those people go past. Then, you are going to give me my stuff back and I am going back to the hotel. Where, after a stunt like this, you will still not be getting shagged!” Harry managed to turn around so he was facing Draco and could glare at him.

“You are so cute when you try to be all strict and menacing.” Harry realised his mistake in turning around too late as Draco pressed his body to Harry’s once more and his hand moved straight down to encircle their cocks. Harry was ashamed to find that he rapidly hardened under Draco’s skillful fingers.

“Draco! Get off!” Harry pushed ineffectually at the other man.

“I’m trying to. Now shush, you don’t want your little muggles to hear, do you?”

Harry could hear the family approaching now and tried to push Draco away again. Draco simply decided to silence Harry himself by leaning in and kissing him.

The chatter of the muggles grew louder as they drew closer and Harry closed his eyes in mortification as Draco sank to his knees in front of him. He tried to pull on Draco’s hair to get him to stop but his boyfriend batted his hand away as he placed his lips to Harry’s cock.

“Draco, please! There are people!” Harry whispered, only to be completely ignored. He couldn’t even move away now without being seen.

Draco, who would definitely have been smirking if he hadn’t had him mouth wrapped around Harry’s cock, had a very evil form of torture going on here. Harry was desperately trying to keep absolute silence as the muggles walked by, but his boyfriend was doing amazing things to his cock at the moment and sounds kept trying to emerge from his mouth.

Harry was obviously a far bigger pervert than he thought because rather than being deterred by the presence of strangers, he found himself coming down his boyfriend’s throat far sooner than usual. As he came down from his orgasm and opened his eyes he saw the backs of the muggles who had actually managed to pass them unnoticed. Harry pulled on Draco’s shoulder and tried to indicate that they should move around the other side of the rocks in case one of the muggles turned around, but Draco just shook his head and grinned.

“Oh no, Potter, it’s my turn now.” Draco indicated his still hard cock.

“Ok, fine, whatever, but let’s get out of sight!”

“Well, if you want to, but I’m pretty sure my disillusionment charm is still working.”

“Wait, what disillusionment charm?”

“The one I cast when we took our clothes off of course. Honestly, Potter, you didn’t really think I would parade around with my bits out in front of muggles did you? You are such a pervert, Potter!”

The Wall

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 14:53:05 GMT

Ok, so I wrote a very silly little fic called Grab the Dragon by its Tail for hd_smoochfest. Some people wanted to know what happened next, so then I wrote this other fic called The Wall. This second fic started to get a bit too serious on me, so I went away and did some work, stupidly leaving the two boys alone together, and when I came back they’d gone a little porny. Sorry about that.

Here it is anyway:

Title: The Wall
Rating: An unintentional NC17
Pairing: H/D
Beta: None, sorry! Corrections welcome.
Word count: 3,974
Warnings: Sex between two (completely legal) seventeen-year-old boys
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling (obviously) and I make no money from this, or from much else for that matter. Harry Potter etc do not belong to me, I didn't invent them, I just make them do naughty things, ok?
Summary: So, you die, defeat a Dark Wizard and win a war, all in the space of an afternoon. What can you possibly do next? Harry is left feeling a little out of sorts, he needs someone to remind him how to feel. Harry's POV and sequel to Grab the Dragon by its Tail, although they can be read separately.

He hit the wall about an hour ago. That was when the euphoria wore off and reality came crashing down. It had been so easy to begin with; it was all over, the war was finished, Voldemort had been vanquished, everything could finally go back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ might happen to be.

That was one of the problems though; he’d never had ‘normal’, he didn’t know how to do ‘normal’. What the hell was ‘normal’ anyway? And to make matters worse, everyone kept coming up and congratulating him, which he’d been fine with at first because, well, he’d defeated Voldemort. Except that he hadn’t. Oh, Voldemort was dead all right, absolutely definitely gone this time beyond a shadow of a doubt, but Harry had actually had very little to do with it in the end, he hadn’t even fired the killing curse. He’d just got lucky. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Was it better to be a killer or a fraud?

He was running on some sort of autopilot mode, just standing there and letting people come up to him and shake his hand and hug him or kiss him, hell, someone could have stabbed him and he probably wouldn’t have felt it. Hermione was there somewhere, she still hadn’t actually stopped talking, which was fine by Harry because if she did all the talking he didn’t have to. Ron and the rest of the Weasleys had disappeared off somewhere, probably to mourn Fred, and that was another part of the problem – how could anyone honestly expect him to be happy when so many of his friends were dead? But then, he couldn’t feel that either, his sense of feeling got switched off when the autopilot came on.

He hadn’t slept for hours, days even, not since he’d been at Bill’s house, when was that? Yesterday? A week ago? A month? In fact, he hadn’t slept properly for months, not really, not since well before he turned seventeen. Did he even still have a bed in Gryffindor Tower? Would anyone notice if he sneaked off to find out? Probably. He’d been running on pure adrenaline pretty much since Dumbledore died, but definitely since Bill’s wedding, and now he’d just stopped, and he wasn’t sure if he’d hit the wall because he’d stopped or if he’d stopped because he’d hit the wall. The big invisible wall that nobody else could see. It was almost like there were two Harrys, one standing on this side of the wall, watching, and one standing on the other side being manhandled by the entire Wizarding World and its mother, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t summon up the energy to get over it. So he just stood there, watching.

It was only because he was watching that he even noticed the very blond figure talking so intently with a dark-haired girl before making his way over so determinedly. ‘Malfoy’, his brain supplied. And that was Parkinson was watching them smirking, Parkinson who had wanted him delivered to Voldemort. ‘This is it then,’ he thought distractedly, ‘Malfoy is going to finish me off, and I can’t do anything about it because this stupid wall is in the way’. He continued watching as the other boy walked at him. Maybe he should say something, there were all these people around him, surely one of them could head Malfoy off? But his mouth didn’t work anymore. It was like he was watching a muggle film in slow motion, just letting it play out, unable to change events.

And then Malfoy kissed him.

Right there, bold as brass in the middle of the Great Hall with all the world looking on. Harry should be revolted, disgusted, appalled. He should be fighting Malfoy off, or at the very least protesting in some way. He most definitely should not be kissing him back! Hmm, apparently his mouth did work. His treacherous mouth was kissing Malfoy like it was the only thing keeping him alive, and suddenly the wall wasn’t there anymore, and it was him, he was kissing Draco back, and it was good, it was so, so good! He was dirty, they both were, covered in blood and grime and Merlin knew what else, but who cared as long as that kiss kept happening? Because life was worth living, after all, they’d come through a war, they’d survived and now anything was possible.

But, he didn’t fancy men, did he? Well, apparently he did. Not just any man either, but Malfoy of all people. Solid, real Malfoy, who would see him for what he was. Malfoy who could always make him feel alive. He hated Malfoy with a passion, but passion was good and hate was an emotion he could feel; although he wasn’t sure that this wonderful kissing feeling counted as hate.

When they finally broke apart, Harry could feel all eyes on them, staring, gob-smacked.

“Get me out of here,” he whispered, “please.” And to think Harry Potter had never thought he’d beg Draco Malfoy for anything. Come to think of it, he probably really shouldn’t have, because now Draco was smirking in a disturbing and Malfoyish way.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you will all agree that the man who has just saved all our sorry arses deserves a break. So if you will excuse us…”

“Hey, wait a minute Malfoy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bless Neville for intervening! Harry had a feeling he was about to do something very, very stupid, but Neville would help him.

“Hmm? Oh, Longbottom!” Dra— Malfoy smirked, “Well, hopefully I’m getting laid, as a war hero maybe you should try it too, have you met my good friend Pansy? She hasn’t stopped going on about you all year.”

“Draco! Shut up!” Parkinson’s shrill voice cut in as she elbowed her way to the front of the crowd.

“Sorry, Pans, darling, but it’s true! If you can interfere in my love-life then surely I can interfere in yours?”

“No you bloody-well can’t!”

“Why not? Seriously, Longbottom, I think it started when you were standing up to the Carrows. I don’t know if she has a thing for foolish bravery or if she just likes her men bloody, beaten and crucioed, but I’m sure you could work it out between you.”

Harry took pity on Neville, who was blushing furiously. His friend might have grown up dramatically over the past year, but he was still shy, bumbling Nev underneath it all and Parkinson would eat him for breakfast.

“Can you stop bullying my friend for just a minute, or nobody will be getting laid here!” It wasn’t till the words were out of his mouth that he realised what he had said and blushed all the way to the tips of his toes. Had he really just agreed to sex with Malfoy? In front of everyone? Agreed in front of everyone that is, he certainly wasn’t going to have sex in front of everyone. No, wait, he wasn’t having sex at all, with anyone! He didn’t go in for the whole one-night-stand thing, certainly not with a bloke! “Not that I’m saying anyone is anyway…” he trailed off lamely.

“Um, it’s fine, Harry. I think.” Harry hadn’t expected Neville to be the one to answer, maybe the boy had changed more than he’d thought. Maybe he’d just always underestimated him. Neville was busy grinning at Parkinson, and to Harry’s further surprise, it was actually Parkinson who was blushing.

“Come on then,” Malfoy grabbed Harry’s hand and tried to lead him towards the doors.

“WAIT!” Hermione had to put her two-pence-worth in at some point, it was inevitable. “Harry, what are you thinking? You can’t just walk out of here to get up to goodness-knows-what with Malfoy of all people!”

“So what, Granger, it would be fine for him to get up to ‘goodness-knows-what’ with anyone else?” Draco chipped in.

“Yes! I mean, no… look, Harry’s obviously not quite himself at the moment, he’s clearly not thinking clearly! He’d never go off with you normally, he’s not even gay! I can’t allow you to take advantage of my best friend!”

“Enough with all the exclamations, Granger, they are hurting my head. I’m not forcing Potter to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but the fact is he is an adult and can do what he wants. And he needs to get out of here. If we end up doing more than simply finding a place for him to crash, that is nobody else’s business, understand?”

“But…”

“But me no buts, woman!” And with that Draco steamed out of the Great Hall, draging a confused Harry with him and leaving an indignant Hermione behind with a love-struck Neville and Pansy.

“So, where are we actually going?” Harry finally remembered to ask as Draco lead him through the halls.

“My room.”

“Your room? You get a whole room?”

“Head boy.”

“How in hell did you manage to get head boy? You let Death Eaters into the school! You tried to kill the headmaster!”

“Yes, thanks for bringing up some of my finest moments there, Potter. I believe the original choice for head boy decided not to come back to school this year, went gallivanting about with his mates instead, and then my Godfather got made Headmaster, and the school was full of Death Eaters anyway, so he made me head boy. Don’t complain, I get my own room.”

“Um, Malfoy, look, I’m not really sure about this…”

“It’s all right, Potter,” Draco smiled at him, actually smiled, not smirked, it made him look odd, “I’m really not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you’re not going to get any peace anywhere else.”

“It’s just, well, I uh…”

“It’s ok, Harry, really, I can kind of guess that you’ve never had the chance to experiment much with boys before. Unless you’ve been getting up to ‘goodness-knows-what’ with Weasley all year, or even worse, Weasley and Granger, in which case I’d really rather not know.”

“No! God, no, I mean, well, I meant that I don’t really want to go for casual sex and… really – people don’t think that do they?”

“People will think anything, surely you realise that by now?”

“But me and Ron? And Hermione? Eww! That would just be wrong! We’re like siblings!”

“Hmm, so what does that make Gingervra?”

“What? Oh, um, Ginny. Uh, yeah.” Harry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, how on earth had he forgotten about Ginny in all this? He had a sort-of girlfriend and here he was with Malfoy, what was wrong with him. Draco, for his part, looked like he wanted to kick himself for mentioning his rival.

“Look, lets just forget I mentioned her, yeah?”

“The thing is, I never got that far with Ginny either.”

“Huh? But I thought you and her…”

“Yeah? She has six brothers. Had six brothers, I mean…” Harry faltered.

Draco put an arm around Harry and pulled him into a hug. “It’s ok, Potter. I know how you feel.”

“How? How could you possibly know how I feel?” Harry pulled back angrily.

“In case you’ve forgotten, my oldest friend was bur— died in the Room of Hidden Things. I know Crabbe was just wannabe-Death-Eater scum to you, but I’ve known him since I was three-years old!”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Draco. My brain just hasn’t really caught up with everything yet. Too many people are gone. I can’t deal with this now, ok?”

“Me neither.” Draco looked at the floor, but Harry found himself wishing that Draco would look at him instead, despite spend the last few hours wishing that everyone would stop looking at him.

“You could always kiss me again if you like.” Harry even surprised himself with that one.

“What?”

“I said—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you said. Did you mean it? I thought you didn’t go for casual sex? Not that I really do either mind! But then I suppose special circumstances and mmph—”

Harry leant in shut Draco up with a kiss.

“It’s just a kiss, Malfoy. Who said anything about sex?”

“Oh, er, right. I knew that.”

“But then, as you say, special circumstances and all that. It’s not exactly a normal day, is it?”

“Um, so you do want to have sex with me?”

“Why don’t we just forget about everything for a few hours? Ignore everything outside this room, make some better memories instead?”

“Are you sure about this?” Draco sounded unsure of himself now.

Harry didn’t answer at first but eventually he replied, “Yes, I’m sure. Make love to me, Draco. I feel numb, it’s like I ran into a brick wall at full-speed and now I can’t feel anything. I want to feel you. Make me feel alive again.”

“Oh wow.” Draco stuttered as Harry pulled him in for another kiss. “Hmm, you know what, I can already feel you!” He rubbed his hand against the growing bulge in Harry’s jeans, “Or is that my wand in your pocket?”

“Cheesy, Malfoy! You’re kind of killing the mood here!”

“Doesn’t feel like it to me. So, about my wand.”

“Is that all you’re here for?”

“No, but it might make lubrication spells easier.” This time when Harry blushed to the tips of his toes it was more obvious, because Draco had somehow managed to pull his t-shirt up and over his head while he was distracted. “You know, Potter, I love it when you blush, I can’t wait to see how much you blush when my cock is in you.” Harry wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his blush intensified. “I wonder if you’ll still be blushing the second time around, when your cock is in me?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Harry took several wands out of his pocket and put them down on the bedside table.

“Funnily enough, yes.” Draco started to kiss his way down Harry’s chest, making him emit all sorts of embarrassing sounds including a very undignified squeak when Draco started to unzip Harry’s jeans.

“Hey! Um, I’m not going to be the only one getting naked here you know.” Harry said, stalling for time. Draco just smirked at him and pulled his own shirt over his head without bothering to undo most of the buttons.

“Like what you see, Harry?” Draco preened as he unselfconsciously began to remove his trousers. Harry nodded dumbly before hastily scrambling out of the rest of his clothes.

“Now then, where were we?” Draco asked as he moved back towards Harry with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Harry, however, couldn’t take his own eyes of the very erect cock that was moving towards him until Draco kissed him again. “Anyone would think you’d never seen an hard-on before,” he whispered against Harry’s lips.

“Not from that angle I haven’t!” Harry exclaimed. Draco sat back on his heals, straddling Harry’s legs.

“So, what do you think?”

“Of what?”

“What do you mean, ‘of what’? You couldn’t stop staring at it a moment ago!” Draco gestured towards his lap.

“Oh, erm, it’s very nice? Er, big…” And it was too, Harry was starting to feel a little nervous, why did he always have to rush into these things? He’d given Draco permission to shove that monster up his arse! He so wasn’t ready for this. Why was he allowing his first time to be a spur of the moment thing with someone who hated him? To make matters worse, Draco was laughing at him!

“Thanks, I’m flattered, but to be fair, you don’t have that much to base it on and I’m afraid to say I’m a fairly average size – you should see Greg! Mine’s about the same size as yours, idiot.”

“Oh, erm, well it looks bigger,” Harry mumbled.

“Nope, look.” Draco aligned their cocks and began stroking them together, supposedly to show Harry how similar they were in size.

“Hmm, actually, I think mine is a bit bigger,” Harry gasped, faking bravado.

“In your dreams, Potter.” Draco laughed, giving them a squeeze. Harry laughed nervously. “Hey, come on, I’ll go slow, I promise, ok?” Draco kissed him again, obviously having decided that this tactic worked well on Harry. He was right, it did, Harry could feel his defences crumbling like that damned wall had.

Draco continued to kiss and nibble his way down Harry’s neck and torso, hoping to leave little bite marks for the morning. When he got down far enough he kissed his way around Harry’s dick and down the inside of one thigh before glancing back up at him.

“I know you’re nervous about this, Harry, but if you still want me to make love to you, you’re going to have to open your legs for me.”

Harry gulped, but did as he was told. “I er, I haven’t, I mean I don’t suppose you have any condoms?” he stuttered. He felt a little embarrassed at not having thought of it sooner.

Draco moved to sit between Harry’s legs and encouraged him to raise his knees, “Honestly, Potter, muggle thingies? Have you never heard of protection charms?” Draco grabbed a wand and cast a quick charm that Harry didn’t quite hear. Then, with a wicked grin at Harry first, he leant forward and licked the tip of Harry’s prick, making the dark-haired boy rear up off the bed.

“I’m not going to be able to suck your cock if you keep doing that!” Draco said, laughing as he pushed Harry back down and recommenced licking.

“Gunuh!” was Harry’s only response. Morals be damned, this was sex, damn it! Right now there was no way he was turning this down, and even if Malfoy did hate him, at least he was hot!

“Anyone would think you’d never had a blow-job before!”

“UH! Draco! Talking. Stop, please, blow job, ah fuck…” Harry pleaded. For once in his life, Draco did what he was told, briefly.

“Still want me?” Draco had somehow managed to lick his fingers as well as Harry’s cock and was now prodding at his arsehole as he asked his question. At Harry’s fevered nod he pushed one of his fingers in. “Just try to relax your muscles. I know you said you wanted to feel, but believe it or not I’d rather not hurt you.”

Harry couldn’t answer, his brain had given up the second Draco’s mouth had touched his penis, so he made whimpering sounds as he desperately tried to relax around the other boys finger. The harder he tried to relax the more tense he became.

“Come on. In a minute my dick is going to be in you and you’re too bloody tight!” Draco reached out and grabbed one of the wands again, murmuring a lubrication charm over his fingers before flinging the wand on the bed and returning his attention to Harry’s arse.

“I’m going to fuck you, Potter, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel right enough, you’ll feel me for a week!” Draco had two fingers working in and out of Harry now, and Harry was so hard he was starting to worry he wouldn’t last until the actual sex part. When Draco quickly added a third finger Harry gasped. Draco smirked and kept on talking, “You won’t be able to walk straight and everyone will know it’s because of me, because you got buggered by me! And you’ll love every minute of it.”

“Draco, please, will you bloody well shut up and fuck me!” It was the longest sentence Harry had managed in a while, unlike Draco who didn’t seem to be able to stop talking. That shut him up though. Draco hastily removed his fingers from Harry’s arse and scrabbled around for the wand on the bed before casting a lubrication spell straight at his dick and pouncing on Harry. Draco enthusiastically pushed Harry’s knees up around his ears and guided his cock into position. Unable to hold back any longer he started to push his way forward. Harry grimaced but pushed down onto the invading member.

Draco’s desire to talk seemed to vanish, along with his desire to show any finesse as the (slightly, although he had no intention of letting Potter know just how slightly) more experienced partner. He started pounding into Harry like the true nearly-eighteen-year-old he was, but also being only seventeen himself Harry really didn’t care – he was having sex! One time Draco even hit his prostate and it was bloody brilliant! He moved his hand down to wrap it around his own erection just as Draco moved to do the same thing. Their hands warred between them as they fought to bring Harry off, but Draco suddenly convulsed above him as he came into Harry’s arse while Harry continued frantically wanking under him. It really wasn’t long before Harry was coming too. They lay in a sweaty heap for a few minutes before Harry finally pushed Draco off him.

“I thought we were dirty and disgusting before!” Draco exclaimed, fishing around for the wand, which had rolled on the floor. Harry lazily watched Draco’s delectable arse as he leant over the bed to grab the wand. Re-emerging with said item, Draco proceeded to cast cleaning charms at them both before flopping back down beside Harry. “We can shower in the morning though.”

“Where did you get that?” Harry suddenly exclaimed, grabbing the wand where Draco had dropped it.

“Hmm?” Draco had a peaceful post-coital expression.

“This wand, where did you get it?”

“Oh, it’s yours isn’t it?”

“Um, I suppose so. I just don’t think this is quite the purpose it was intended for.”

“It’s too late to get prudish on me now, Potter. So wands sometimes get used for sex, big deal.”

“This is Voldemort’s wand.”

“That’s nice.” Draco’s voice sounded drowsy now.

“Also known as the Death Stick.”

“Hmm, just go to sleep. WHAT!” Draco suddenly sat bolt upright as Harry’s words sank in.

“I was going to hide it. Tomorrow.”

“Ah. Um. Well. I pointed that at my cock!”

“Um, yeah…”

Draco had paled considerably, which was quite a feat for him.

“This is the quietest you’ve been all night.” Harry ventured.

Draco just looked at him. And then he started to laugh. Harry gave him a bemused look before grinning too.

“So, how was your first time? How does it feel not to be a blushing virgin anymore?” Draco asked, as his laughter subsided.

“It was fan-bloody-tastic! But, you know, somehow, I think you’ll still be making me blush the hundredth time we shag, Harry laughed as Draco lay back down on the bed.

“Hundredth? You’re planning on a hundred shags tonight or you’re planning on making this a more permanent arrangement?”

“Well, only if you wanted to…” Harry felt like a fool, of course Draco wouldn’t want to, it wasn’t like they were boyfriends or anything, he’d got what he wanted.

“Oh, I don’t think I could cope with that, Potter.” Harry’s heart sank. “I mean, I’m good, but I really don’t think you have the stamina for a hundred shags in one night!”

“Huh?” now Harry felt confused.

“Well, I mean, I know we’re young, but that might be pushing it. No, I think if you are going to keep that promise of a hundred shags you just made me, we might have to become full-time lovers or something.”

Harry rolled onto his side, wincing slightly as he did so, and looked at Draco’s nervous face. He grinned, “Oh, I think we’d better make it at least a hundred, don’t you?”

And he kissed him.

Grab the Dragon by its Tail

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 23:13:17 GMT

Title: Grab the Dragon by its Tail
Name: tari_sue
Prompt: Prompt #60 for hd_smoochfest
Freeform prompt: "I don't know, he looks sort of attractive all mussed and covered in blood, don't you think?"
Prompt Given by: dysonrules
Word Count: 2000
Rating: PG
Betas: badstalker
Author's/Artist’s Notes: Any opinions on gingers or people with speech impediments are purely the opinions of the characters and not the author.
Summary: The war is over, how can Pansy get out of this mess she’s got her self into?

“We are so royally screwed, aren’t we?” she moaned at her best friend as she took in the scene before them.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I think we just might be…” he whispered back, his eyes never leaving the dishevelled hero across he room.

They stood in an alcove off to one side of the Great Hall, just behind the statue of Silus the Sneaky, watching all the people cheering and celebrating on the other side of the hall.

“…I’m sort of glad, though. That he won, I mean,” the boy continued.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I know we were on the other side and all that, but the Dark Lord was a bit – psycho…”

“True, but at least he wasn’t Potter.”

“You’re going to have to start keeping those sort of opinions to yourself now you know, Pans, they’ve got you into enough trouble lately. We’ve got a certain amount of arse-licking to do if we want to be on the winning side.”

“Oh come ON! You don’t seriously think that we can get away with switching sides now do you? The war’s already been won!”

“We’re Slytherin, if anyone can pull this off, we can.”

“It’s all right for you, you didn’t stand up in front of the whole school and suggest handing him over to the Dark Lord!” she hissed at him.

“Oh no, you’re right, it’s so much better for me, I only tried to kill his team-mate, his best friend and his mentor before having his arch nemesis over to stay in my house where his other best friend got tortured by my auntie!” he retorted, counting them off on his fingers, “But of course, before that Potter and I were bosom buddies, so it’s all fine.”

“Actually, next to you, I look quite good!” she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Cheers for that, I love you too.”

“I wish. The only person you love is you. Maybe I should go and get me a new boyfriend, you know, I bet Ginny the Ginger Minger hasn’t had time to get back with Potter yet.”

“Oh right, and I suppose you think you have a shot with him do you?” A wary look came over his face.

“As good a chance as any and better than most.”

“Why better than most?” he raised an eyebrow in that annoying way Snape had taught him that she’d never been able to get the hang of.

“Well, I’m prettier than most and twice as devious,” she preened.

“Well quite. Except for me of course. And you did try to hand him over to the Dark Lord. And you hate him. And he’s gay.”

“Oh he is not!”

“Is too.”

“How in the name of hell would you know a thing like that?”

“Gaydar.”

“Bollocks.”

“Nope, never seen them. Yet.”

“Just Potter’s or anyone’s?”

“Mind your own business. The point is, you stand no chance with Harry.”

“Oh reeeeally? I shall remind you of that when you dance at our wedding – mine and Potter’s.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Do you, Pansy, take this man, Potter’. You can’t even say his name.”

“Neither can you. At least I stand a better chance than you do!

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“What are we talking?”

“If you manage to pull Potter, I’ll take Polyjuice and sit your Potions NEWT for you.”

“That shows some confidence! You know, you can’t take the same exam as you at the same time, if you sit it as me you don’t get to sit it as you.

“Oh please, like you could pull Potter – you don’t even like him!”

"I don't know, he looks sort of attractive all mussed and covered in blood, don't you think?" she mused as she turned her attention back across the hall.

“Well, now you come to mention it…” he got that look again that he always got when thinking about Potter and he thought nobody was looking.

“Ha! I knew it! I always knew you fancied Potter!” she crowed.

“As always, Pansy my dear, you are right, well done. So, I tell you what, if I manage to pull Potter, you have to do my Care of Magical Creatures practical.”

“What? No way, I’m not messing around with some dirty smelly animals!”

“That sure I’ll win, are you?”

“No, I didn’t mean that!”

“Well then, you have nothing to worry about, do you?”

“No, you only took that stupid class because you thought Potter would. And it’s not like Potter is actually gay anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Pans, whatever you say.” With that, he smoothed down his perfect blond hair and started to make his way across the Great Hall.

“Hey, Draco, wait, where are you going?” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back.

“Well, to win a bet of course.”

“I never agreed to the bet! And you can’t just barge over there like that, you need a plan!”

“I have a plan.”

“What plan, you can’t have a plan already! Why didn’t you tell me you had a plan?”

“Pansy my dear, if I told you all my plans you would steal them for yourself.”

“That is so not true! I’m hurt, I tell you, hurt!”

“It is true and you know it.”

“Well, if you’re right and Potter is gay, then it wouldn’t matter if I knew your plan, would it?”

Draco stopped and gave her a considering look before treating her to his trademark smirk. “Alright then, Potter is the Hero of the Hour, hell, he’s probably the hero of the decade, the century too, or the remaining two and a half years of it.”

“Stop rabbiting on and talk sense.”

“Hold on, I’m getting there. Potter is the hero, everyone is going up there and hugging him and congratulating him.”

“So?”

“So, I’m going to join them.”

“What? That’s your mighty plan? Just march up there and say, ‘Oh well done old thing! Of course, I was on your side all along, fancy a shag?’ I have to tell you, Draco, as plans go that is a really lousy one.”

“Yes, yes it is rather, isn’t it? Just as well I’m better at this than you.” He looked down his pointy nose at her.

“You most certainly are not!” She kicked him on the ankle. “Come on then, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to march up there and snog him silly. Shouldn’t take much doing really, he’s already more than halfway there.”

“All that cruciatus from the Carrows has affected your brain! The Weasley hordes will eat you alive before you get within ten feet of him!”

“No they won’t, they aren’t there, look. I think one of them must have snuffed it or something, they’re all over there with the dead people.” He pointed through an archway to where the mourning families had gone to get away from the celebrations.

“Yes, that’s it, go over there and be really sensitive like that, I can already sense that Outstanding potions Newt coming my way. ‘Oy, Potter, how many of your friends snuffed it then?’”

“As if I would say something like that!”

“You know damn well you would.”

“Potter isn’t the only one who lost friends today.”

“I know.”

They stood in silence for a while before Draco spoke again.

“If I was Potter’s lover, it would be good for all of us, you know.”

“How do you work that out?”

“Well, you would be part of the in crowd, wouldn’t you? They’d have to acknowledge my friends.”

“Hmm, only when it suits you!”
“I wouldn’t abandon you, Pans. This would work out for all of us.”

She dragged him back again as he started to stride off towards the crowd around Potter.

“Draco, wait! You’re going to make a fool of yourself! He’s just killed the Dark Lord, do you really think he would hesitate to kill you too?”

“Well, he didn’t really, did he? He just got a bit lucky – with my wand I hasten to add, that means he owes me.”

“But Draco…”

“Look, Pans, we could all be dead now, just like Vince. The Dark Lord could have won; surely if that tells us anything it is that life is for living! Potter could be dead and I’d have missed my chance forever because I was so afraid of rejection that I spent my whole life putting him down. I lived with that maniac in my house for the last two years, I won’t live in fear anymore, I just won’t.”

“You’re not being rational.”

“I’m being perfectly rational. Yes, he might laugh at me or hex me or punch me or have me thrown in Azkaban, but at least I will have tried! I won’t be afraid of people’s reaction, I won’t spend the rest of my life thinking ‘what if’, and you know what, Pans, you know what? He might laugh, or hex me, or any of those things, or he just might kiss me back! That is the chance I’m willing to take. The chance I have to take.”

“But why right now? Wait until tomorrow when you might be able to catch him alone and talk to him. You can’t just march up there in front of everyone!”

“Yes, I can. He’s on an adrenaline high right now, his guard is down, it’s my best chance. Grab the Dragon by the tail and all that. He’ll be up for anything because he nearly died, because he won’t want to waste any more chances either. Neither of us can chicken out of this if it happens right now, and there are too many witnesses to deny it later."

“Slytherins don’t rush into things like this, you need to stop and think about it.”

“No, Slytherins don’t rush into things like this, but Gryffindors do. What if I wait till tomorrow and Harry comes down to breakfast with Gingerva Weasley because I hesitated and she didn’t? They can dance off into the sunset together and have a whole troupe of kids with chavy names, or even worse they could call them after his dead parents or Snape or something ghastly like that. And Potter can sneak off to gay bars when she’s not looking and try to pretend he’s happy.”

“And my poor little Draco will wither away to nothing, pining for his ikle Potty. Or, even worse, you could go of and marry Daphne’s little sister, you know she has the hots for you!”

“Oh please, not the one with the mono-brow?”

“Nope, the other one, the one who can’t pronounce her ‘r’s. Astoria. Astowia and Dwaco sitting in a twee. You can mawwy her and have lots of childwen because you love childwen, don’t you Dwaco?”

“Oh Christ, I’m doomed! And stop making fun of people, we’re on the other side now, remember?”

“Weelly vewy sowwy Dwaco.”

“See, you’ve argued my case for me, I have to at least try with Potter so that (a) I don’t have to marry Astoria and (b) you don’t get put in Azkaban. If the worst come to the worst, I’ll write to you from Mexico, if the best comes to the best, you can dance at my wedding.”

“If the worst comes to the worst you’ll be dead.”

“Then at least I will have died knowing what it’s like to kiss Harry Potter. You won’t talk me out of this Pansy, but I love you for trying.” And with that he pulled out of her grasp and strode purposefully across the room.

Pansy smirked in satisfaction as she watched her best friend walk up to Harry and plant his hands on either side of his face before thoroughly snogging him. Best friend to Harry Potter’s lover, most of the benefits with none of the risks. Draco Malfoy might be good, but when it came to getting her own way Pansy won hands down.

Everything rested with Potter now.

Artwork by: star_sailor13

And for those who really wanted that smooch confirmed, there is now a sequal:
The Wall

Writer's Block: Heart to Heart

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 12:58:35 GMT

Valentine's Day: love it or hate it?

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Like most ugly people, I loathe it.

A Life More (or Less) Ordinary Part 2/2

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 13:09:59 GMT

Part 1

The hospital was big enough that he managed to walk off quite a bit of his irritation by the time he reached the ward. It was practically deserted as most patients had been sent home if possible and the rest were most likely sleeping off their Christmas dinner.

“Hiya Harry!” rang out the voice of Matilda as he rounded the corner.

“Hey Mat, how’s it going?”

“Oh, you know, it’s Christmas day, we’re stuck here, just peachy! What are you doing back here so early? I thought you were spending Christmas with the fiancée?”

“Uh, I left something in my locker, you know how it is when you come off night shift.”

“Duh! Staff room’s that way dummy!”

“Yeah, I just thought I’d check in with my favourite patient whilst I’m here.”

“Oh, well, rather you than me! Call me if he rips your head off, won’t you?” Matilda laughed as she left him standing there.

Harry opened the door and peered in to check that the Veela was awake before going in. To his surprise he found him sitting by the window, which had always had a heavy blind pulled over it when he’d been in there before.

“Hi, Bird, um, I thought I’d inflict my company on you again for a bit, if that’s ok.”

The Veela beckoned him in.

“Tell me, Bird, why does everything have to be so damned complicated? I don’t want to go to bloody America! I mean, I’m sure it’s a perfectly nice place, but it’s just not home, is it? I like living in England, I’m English!”

The Veela seemed to grow a little agitated but Harry was too wrapped up in his own problems to notice.

“Ginny, my fiancée, wants me to move to America with her because that’s where her job is. To hell with my job and my life and my friends, eh? And I know her family aren’t really my family, but they always have been really, ever since I started Hogwarts. I don’t want to leave everyone and everything I know and start all over – again. I just want… I want what every one else has, a home and a family and a job, a wife and kids. That isn’t really so much to ask for is it? She didn’t even discuss it with me, just assumed it would all go ahead because she wants it.”

The Veela sat down on the bed and looked at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Bird. I really must stop dumping all my troubles on you, they’re nothing compared with yours. I just don’t know what to do. Do I give up everything to follow Ginny around the world? Give up my nursing training, which I love, give up my friends? Am I being selfish by not wanting to? Or should we just call it a day? I mean, how many people really end up with their high school sweethearts? I guess I should be saying all this to Ginny really. I suppose I’m just scared that the perfect life I had envisioned is slipping away from me.”

Harry sat and stared out of the window for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. He rose suddenly and turned to face the Veela.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Bird, I really am. I have a Christmas present for you, actually. It’s in my locker, I’ll just go and get it. Back in a mo’!”

Harry left the room quickly and went to the staff room. The present wasn’t much, just a pair of fingerless gloves he had bought on impulse, because he noticed how cold the Veela got and he couldn’t wear normal gloves with those talons. On his way back to the ward he heard a familiar voice.

“Hiya! Tilly, isn’t it? I remember you from Hogwarts, you were a Hufflepuff prefect when I was head girl?”

“Oh, hullo Ginny! Are you here with Harry? He’s just popped into the Veela’s room, he’ll be out in a minute I should think.”

Harry turned the corner just in time to see Ginny cross over to Bird’s room. His feet just wouldn’t move fast enough as he tried to run across the room, his cry of “Ginny! No!” went in vain, lost in the deafening screech that rang out across the ward. Harry reached Ginny and grabbed her arm just in time to see his favourite patient launch himself at Ginny. He quickly dragged her backwards and slammed the door shut; it was with a certain feeling of guilt that he heard the Veela smack against the door, but then the thuds kept coming, as though the creature was just hurling himself against the door.

“Ginny, what the hell are you playing at? You nearly got yourself killed!” Harry had to hold the door shut against the ever more frenzied attacks of the Veela.”

“Harry, get off, you’re hurting me! I just wanted to see you, Dad said…” There was a furious cry from inside the room and the thudding stopped.

“I’d better go and check on my patient.” Something heavy thumped against the wall.

“No, wait, Harry, I need to talk to you.” A ripping sound followed.

“Later, Gin, I have to go.” Breaking glass – the window!

Shaking Ginny’s hand off his arm, Harry opened the door and ran inside, ducking to narrowly avoid the debris sailing towards his head.

“Bird? Bird, it’s ok, it’s me, Harry. Come on now, mate, what’s all this fuss about, eh?” Inside the room was chaos. The bed was upturned against one wall. Something, probably the chair, had gone through the window and there were feathers from the pillows and bits of shredded sheet everywhere. The Veela stopped halfway through hurling a vase of flowers at Harry, it was too late, it hit Harry squarely on the side of the head.

“Fucking ow! Jeesus, Bird, you’ve got a damn good throwing arm!” Harry rubbed his head and glared at the Veela. To his surprise, the Veela came over and gently took hold of him, examining the forming bruise. A creature that powerful shouldn’t have been able to be that gentle with him, especially not with those cruel-looking talons, but Harry found himself soothed by its touch.

It was almost inevitable that the door would open at that point. The Veela immediately came back on the defensive, rising up with his wings spread out and making a strange hissing noise.

“Harry? You ok?”

“Ginny, get out.”

“Oh my god, Harry! You’re hurt! What has it done to you?”

“I’m alright, Ginny, get out.”

“But…”

“GET OUT! NOW!” The Veela gave a shriek as though to back him up. Ginny took one look and fled.

Harry got to his feet and put an arm out to calm the Veela down.

“Come on, Bird, it’s alright. Ginny’s not that bad, honestly; just a little annoying sometimes. I’m sure she wasn’t worth all of this destruction! Look at the state of this room – Fanny will go mental at you! And me. In fact, if I don’t come and see you any more, it’s probably because I’ve been kicked out.”

To Harry’s amazement, tears started to form in the Veela’s eyes.

“Hey! No need for that! It’s not your fault, Bird, she should never have been in here. It’s my fault, all my fault – well, and maybe a bit Ginny’s. I’m so sorry. I didn’t bring her here – she came looking for me.”

The Veela looked so pitiful standing there that Harry found himself gathering the other man into his arms before he even realised what he was doing. He felt his shirt growing wet as the Veela continued to sob onto his shoulder.

“Please don’t cry, Bird, I hate to see you cry.” He stroked the soft blond hair, unsure of what else to do.

“What, exactly, is going on here, Probationer Potter?” Harry hadn’t heard the door open that time. Sister Vanyarsfeld was standing in the doorway looking rather like someone had just ruined her Christmas.

“Um, this patient got a little upset, Sister.”

“And how might that have happened?”

“Uh, well, uh, that is to say, uh – someone came in who shouldn’t have, he didn’t take it too well.”

“And how did this ‘someone’ come to be on my wing, let alone in this room?”

“Well… she might have come looking for me.”

“I see. You seem to have everything under control here, Probationer, as it is Christmas day I shall return to my family. I expect this room to be immaculate by the time my shift starts tomorrow morning, I will see you in my office at nine.”

Harry sighed. Why did everything have to go wrong for him all the time?

“Come on then, Bird. I suppose I’d better get this place sorted out, huh? How did you manage to do this much damage when you usually can’t find the strength to drag yourself off that bed?”

***

“Right then, Potter, let’s hear it.”

Harry stood in Sister Vanyarsfeld’s office, unsure of what to say despite having had the whole night to think about it.

“Come on Potter, I haven’t got all day. There must be some reason why you decided to bring your girlfriend onto my ward on Christmas day and take her into that room. So let’s hear it. Do you think my ward is some kind of a freak show that you can bring your friends along to? Well?”

“I didn’t bring her! I wouldn’t do that!”

“So what then, Potter? Explain to me why I shouldn’t sack you on the spot.”

“I just left a present in my locker, I came to retrieve it.” Harry decided to stick with the version of the truth he had told Matilda yesterday.

“And that led to a patient getting distressed how?”

“Ginny came looking for me, she must have gone in there by mistake. I tried to stop her.”

“Why would she have thought you were in there?”

“I don’t know, Sister.”

“Could it have anything to do with the fact that you yourself went in there, alone, not five minutes earlier?”

“Possibly.”

“Why did you do that, Potter? You know you are not supposed to go in that room alone, that patient is highly aggressive, as was proved yesterday.”

“He’s usually fine with me, Sister.”

“The bruise on your temple says otherwise. It is not for you to decide which patients are safe, Potter. It is for you to listen to your superiors and do as you are told. Now, how long have you been going into that room on your own?”

Harry mumbled a response.

“I’m telling you this for your own good, Potter. You have a great empathy with the patients, but you are in danger of taking that too far. You can’t afford to become too close, especially not with patients like this. Distance yourself, Potter, before it’s too late.”

***

When she was through with him, Sister Vanyarsfeld sent Harry home with strict instructions to get some sleep and to take the next few nights off. He left St Mungo’s in a daze and made to apparate home, before changing his mind at the last minute. He just couldn’t face another argument with Ginny at the moment. Focusing on a different location, Harry went to see a couple of friends who he knew wouldn’t judge him, no matter what.

“Hey, Nev. I sort of need a place to kip.” He didn’t need to elaborate. They wouldn’t ask questions, they knew he’d tell them when he was ready.

“No problem, Harry. I’ll make up the spare room, you look like death warmed over.”

“Harry!” Luna came out and hugged him as best she could with her huge baby bump. “Come into the kitchen, Harry, I’ll make you some breakfast – or dinner, whichever you prefer.”

Harry sat and watched Luna rustle him up something hot and greasy, because she always knew what he needed. She chattered away in that style that was pure Luna, one hand caressing the bump and a contented look on her face. ‘This is what I want from life’, Harry thought to himself, ‘I want Nev’s life, with his un-perfect wife and his un-perfect house and his wonderful air of normality – well, Neville and Luna normality anyway’. He didn’t feel guilty about calling Luna imperfect, her lack of perfection and her refusal to conform were what made her special. She’d have probably been far more insulted to be thought perfect than imperfect.

He went to sleep in Neville’s spare room, the bed was located somewhere between the plant cuttings and the strange artifacts, and he slept like he hadn’t slept since before Ginny came home. When he awoke Neville had gone to work, but he spoke to Luna and told him all his problems and she put them in perspective for him, just like she always did. When Neville returned he offered advice of his own and when Harry flooed home that night to confront Ginny, he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

***

“Harry? Harry, is that you? Oh my god, where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you!” A stab of guilt shot through Harry, it hadn’t even occurred to him to let Ginny know he was at Neville and Luna’s.

“I’m fine, Gin. Sorry, I should have let you know.”

“Why aren’t you at work? I thought you were on the night shift all week?”

“I got sent home and ordered not to come back till Monday because of all that trouble with the Veela.”

“They’re blaming you for that? Surely they should blame whoever let that creature in a public place!”

“No, they’re blaming the person they hold responsible for letting some idiot barge into the room of a very distressed patient – and that would be me.”

“Yet I get the impression you blame me. Are you really saying it was my fault that I got attacked by some crazy Veela?”

“You should never have been there, Ginny, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Fine, it’s all my fault, as usual! And therefore you are completely justified in speaking to me the way you did and then disappearing like that and not letting me know where you were. That’s fine, Harry, just you blame everyone else, the bloody saviour can’t possibly ever be in the wrong, can he?”

“I didn’t say I was blameless, Gin, but neither are you! What on earth possessed you to go in there like that?”

“Oh, let’s see, could it have been my fiancée walking out in a strop on Christmas day and upsetting my dad? I was looking for you, numbskull.” He couldn’t help noticing that her accent returned to normal when she was angry.

“Oh, yes, well let’s talk about that for a minute, shall we? What’s this I hear about us moving to America? When exactly were you planning on telling me about it? Or discussing it even?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe when you actually had five minutes away from that bloody hospital to talk to me! You’re never here, Harry – when are we supposed to discuss anything?”

“You never even said you had anything to discuss! You could at least have waited to talk to me before discussing it with the rest of the Wizarding World!”

“I’d hardly call my parents ‘the rest of the Wizarding World’! I might be moving to America permanently, don’t you think my mum and dad have a right to know?”

“Of course they do, but Arthur seemed to think it was a forgone conclusion and yet I didn’t know the first thing about it. Why the hell would you want to move to America anyway?”

“It’s my job, Harry, me being in America will be better for the business – I can run everything far more effectively from there!”

“Bullshit.”

“Come on, think about it! A new start, no hero-worshipping, we can just be Ginny and Harry – have some fun!”

“I’ve done the whole ‘have some fun’ thing, Gin, if I’d had any more fun after the war I’d be dead. I just want to settle down, have a career, a family, a home – you know, the usual. What’s so wrong with that?”

“We could still do that, when we’re a bit older.”

“In another country? And what about my job? Am I supposed to just walk out part way through my training? Again?”

“You could come and work with me.”

“Really? Is there much call for a nurse at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?”

“Very funny, Harry. You know what I mean, I could get you a decent job.”

“I’ve got a decent job.”

“So have I. You won’t consider giving up your work, but you’d be quite happy for me to give up mine and come back here and have babies! You’re not even willing to consider this, are you?”

“Honestly, Gin? No. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’m not.”

“What are you saying, Harry?”

“I’m saying that maybe we just don’t want the same things from life. Maybe we are trying too hard to make this work.”

“No, Harry, don’t be like this, please. We can work it out, you know we can.”

“Can we? It seems to me that one of us will have to give in and be unhappy. One of us will end up resenting the other. Perhaps we would be better off just parting now, as friends. I love you, Ginny, I will always love you, never doubt that, but I don’t want to end up hating you.”

“I love you and you love me, and yet you seem to be saying that we should split up! Come to America with me, Harry. You can still be a nurse over there you know. And if we still want kids in a few years’ time, we can talk about it then. America’s not so far away you know.”

“We were so young when we got together, we aren’t those same sixteen-year-olds any more, maybe we need to discover who we are. You go to America, start your own business empire, become a massive success. I’ll stay here and finish my training and live my quiet life. If we still want to be together in a few years, we’ll discuss that then.”

“A few years! You might as well just say you want to break up with me now, Harry. In a few years you’ll likely have forgotten all about me.” Ginny was crying now, Harry wasn’t far off joining her.

“I’ll never forget about you. Never. But this isn’t some kids’ book, most people don’t end up marrying their high school sweetheart.”

“Tell you what. If neither of us is married by forty, we’ll get married then.” Ginny tried to smile through the tears trickling freely down her face.

Harry moved forward and took her in his arms, holding her as tight as he possibly could. “You’re destined for far greater things than me, Ginny. You’ll go on and be brilliant and I’ll just be a footnote in your autobiography. I might have defeated a Dark Lord, but I’m just an ordinary bloke really.”

Despite his tears, Harry couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of relief that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he had a feeling that Ginny probably felt it too.

***

Wings, white and beautiful, beating in time to their own rhythm.

***

“Probationer Potter, could you step into my office for a moment, please?” Great, the morning was getting off to a good start. Being called into Matron’s office before he’d even taken his coat off could only mean one thing – it obviously wasn’t worth taking his coat off! He knew he’d got off too lightly with Sister Vanyarsfeld on Boxing Day.

As they approached the office Harry could hear people talking inside.

“… I’m really not happy about this; he’s not ready. I have plenty of other, qualified, staff who would be able to meet your needs far better.”

“Nevertheless, Sister, I… Mr Potter, how pleasant to see you again.”

He was glad to see Sister Vanyarsfeld was present in the office too, he liked to think she might be on his side, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to see the other woman who was sitting there.

“Mrs Malfoy. Uh, good morning. Sister Vanyarsfeld.” He greeted them both, looking to Sister Vanyarsfeld for any hint of what might be going on. The Sister didn’t look too happy and Harry got the distinct impression that they had all been talking about him for the last few days.

“Right, let’s get down to business,” said Matron, sitting down behind her huge desk. “Potter, sit down. Sister Vanyarsfeld has given me to understand that you have been a frequent visitor to our Veela patient, is this correct?”

“Yes, Matron – but I was only trying to help, I didn’t mean…”

“What you did or didn’t mean is irrelevant, Potter,” Matron cut in firmly, “Sister runs her ward as she sees fit, whatever rules may have been breached will be dealt with by her.”

“Yes, Matron.”

“Now then let’s cut straight to the chase. Mrs Malfoy would like to hire you.”

“You’re sacking me?”

“No, Potter, and you really must learn not to interrupt. I’m sure you are aware that a work placement outside of the hospital is a standard requirement for final year students.”

“But I’m not in my final year, I haven’t even completed my first rotation yet.”

“Yes, thank you, Potter. I am well aware of that. However, I think an exception may be made in this case. You will be able to return to St Mungo’s to finish your training once this… assignment is… complete.”

“I’m not going to Malfoy Manor. The last time I was in Malfoy Manor I was held prisoner by Death Eaters. My best friend was tortured and another friend was killed. You can’t seriously expect me to go back there!”

“I can and I do. The war is over, it is time to put it behind us and move on.”

“I have moved on. The question is, have they? Lucius Malfoy has tried to kill me on more than one occasion and I’m fairly sure Draco Malfoy wouldn’t object to seeing me dead either!”

“I assure you, Mr Potter,” Narcissa Malfoy said, raising a well-plucked eyebrow, “no deliberate harm shall come to you when you are in my house, you have my word. You may as well know that my son is gravely ill – in fact, he is dying. I need someone to take care of him, and I believe that you are the best person for that job.”

“As much as I hate to disagree with you, Mrs Malfoy, I really don’t see that I am the best person for the job. Draco hates me; he’s hated me from the moment we met when we were eleven. Having me there to witness his illness would most likely only distress him. You’d be far better off with an experienced nurse.”

“On the contrary, Mr Potter. I have reason to believe that my son does not hate you. You are the one person who has always managed to draw a response from him, even in his current condition. It has to be you.”

“What do you mean, ‘even in his current condition’? What’s wrong with Malfoy?”

“He is suffering from the Veela Sickness.”

“What, like Bird?” Harry looked at Sister Vanyarsfeld in confusion.

“Yes, Harry,” she responded, “exactly like ‘Bird’.”

“You mean…” she nodded.

Harry felt the bottom suddenly drop out of his world. He really couldn’t put his finger on why he felt so strongly affected by the realisation that his Bird, his friend, and Draco Malfoy, his long-time antagonist, were one and the same. He felt betrayed; betrayed by Sister Vanyarsfeld, betrayed by the Malfoys, and worst of all, betrayed by Bird. He knew he was being silly, it wasn’t like Bird was able to speak, able to tell him who he was, but he had spent so many years being tormented by Draco Malfoy that he felt like he was back at school, and the Slytherin had just got one over on him – again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Malfoy, I hope you find someone who will be able to help you with your son, but that person will not be me. Now, if I still have a job to go to, I would like to get back to my ward.”

“No, Mr Potter, it is I who am sorry. I had hoped not to have to do this, but you leave me with little alternative. I would like to remind you that you owe me a life debt. I am now calling that debt in. You will come to my house and look after my son. You will, to the best of your abilities, attempt to restore him to health, and failing that, you will make it possible for him to die with as much peace and dignity as possible in the comfort of his own home. Do we have an understanding?”

“Mrs Malfoy, I really must protest!” cut in Sister Vanyarsfeld.

“Yes, thank you, Sister. Your concerns have been noted. Several times.”

“As I see it, you leave me with little choice,” said Harry, bitterly.

“Very well. I expect to see you this afternoon, I shall arrange transport to take you and my son to Wiltshire. You had best bring any luggage you will need with you.”

Sensing he was being dismissed, Harry rose to leave. Sister Vanyarsfeld left with him and imparted as much advice as possible on the way back to the ward.

***

The Veela cut a rather pathetic figure as Harry entered the room. He was huddled up in the chair by the window, his wings hanging limply around him like a tattered old cloak as he gazed despondently at the dismal grey sky and the rain drizzling down. Not even the muggle Christmas lights could make London look cheerful on this grey December day. He looked up as Harry shut the door, his eyes seeming to light up as he straightened in his chair. Harry tried desperately to harden his heart towards him, telling himself over and over not to forget that this was Draco Malfoy, but Voldemort himself would have taken pity at the hopeful look on the Veela’s face.

“Hi, Bird,” he smiled, then remembering, “Draco.”

Draco visibly twitched at the sound of his name on Harry’s lips. The light seemed to die in his eyes as he studied Harry’s face. Harry looked away.

“Has anyone told you that you are going home today? We need to get your stuff together.” Harry started to collect together everything that belonged to Draco. It didn’t take him long. When he was done he placed it all in a carrier bag and finally he looked back at the Veela. “Is that everything?” he asked. Draco nodded.

As Harry helped Draco to rise from the chair and put a cloak on, he noticed the new fingerless gloves the other man was wearing and couldn’t help but smile. “Come on then, Bird, let’s get you home. It’s been a while since I saw Malfoy Manor, I hope I get a rather more friendly welcome this time.” Draco stopped so suddenly that Harry stumbled. He looked at his charge and grinned. “Did your mother not tell you that I was coming too? She seems to think I’m a good influence on you or something – must be my Gryffindor nature bringing out the best in you.”

***

Harry kept one arm securely around the Veela’s waist as they made their way out of the ward and through the hospital. Draco wasn’t strong enough to walk far on his own. All eyes were on them; a man turned fully Veela was quite a sight to see, and the majority of the hospital’s staff, patients and visitors couldn’t look enough. Draco kept his head down and his face burrowed into Harry, trusting the other man to get him to their destination.

Outside there was a car waiting for them as Draco was too weak for travelling by floo or apparating. The car was a large black Bentley, and if Harry was surprised at the Malfoys owning a muggle vehicle, it was nothing to his surprise at the driver, who jumped out to open the door, his chauffeur’s hat balanced precariously between his green, bat-like ears.

“Blinky is getting the door for you, Master Malfoy. We is pleased to have you coming home!” the house elf squeaked before being silenced by a look from Narcissa.

“Remember, Harry, you can always floo me if you need any help and you need to check in with the hospital at least once a week anyway.” Sister Vanyarsfeld was still rattling off instructions at him like he was a child going off to Hogwarts for the first time. “Good luck!”

Harry was familiar enough with Wizards by now not to be surprised at the Tardis-like effect of the car, which was far bigger inside than out. He settled back into his seat and allowed Draco to rest against him.

The car journey seemed to go on forever, although in actual fact it only took about an hour and a half. Draco had fallen asleep somewhere on the M4, which was probably for the best. Harry and Narcissa did not speak for the entire journey.

When the house loomed into sight, he suddenly found himself wishing that the journey was much longer as memories assailed him of his last visit there. Narcissa spoke for the first time since Matron’s office that morning as she gently shook Draco awake.

“We’re nearly home, darling, I know how you like to see the drive up to the house when you’ve been away.”

Draco sleepily lifted his head and gazed out of the window as his home loomed into view. Harry found it strange that a sight which filled him with so much dread should make the Veela so happy. He looked up to see Narcissa watching Draco with a soft smile on her face, she looked up when she felt Harry’s eyes on her and shrugged.

“We never thought we’d be able to have him home again,” she said softly, “we never thought he’d see this again.” Harry made no reply, not knowing what to say

When the car finally pulled up at the house and everyone got out, Harry had to keep telling himself that Bellatrix LeStrange was not going to appear from nowhere and Luna was not locked in the dungeon – probably. The problem was that he then had to tell himself that he was perfectly fine with the fact that he would be living in a house with a dungeon. A dungeon where he had once been held hostage. A squeeze to his hand made him look at Draco and he could swear he could see understanding in those grey eyes, but he quickly dismissed that thought – he was putting his own wishes onto a man who probably never felt empathy in his life.

They had barely got a few steps into the house before an old face came into view on the stairs.

“Draco? Is that my son?”

Lucius Malfoy seemed to have aged twenty years in six. He was gaunt; his clothes hung off him and his hair was limp around his face, which now showed signs of wrinkles. Lucius had spent the bare minimum amount of time in Azkaban after the war, but that couldn’t account for this sudden aging.

Lucius hobbled down the stairs, his cane actually being used as a walking stick these days. He threw his arms around his son, and Harry was surprised to see Draco embrace his father in return. Lucius barely acknowledged Harry’s existence, and Harry was perfectly happy to keep it that way – let the Malfoys treat him as the hired help, he only had to put up with it for a short while until… yeah, well, until, probably best not to dwell on that. Or on the way his chest tightened at the thought of Draco dying.

***

The house elves had helped him to run Draco a bath and get him bathed and now the Veela was installed back in his own bed in his own room. Harry left Draco with his dinner, knowing that he didn’t like to eat in front of other people, and went looking for something to eat for himself. Both of the senior Malfoys seemed to have already eaten by the time Harry found his way down stairs. That was fine with Harry, he’d really rather not eat with them anyway; he ate in the kitchen with the house elves and enjoyed every mouthful all the more for their absence.

After he had checked on Draco, Harry realised that he had no idea where his own room was, so he trudged back down to the kitchen to ask one of the house elves.

“Mistress is not telling us to make up a room for Master Harry Potter,” squeaked the elf, wringing her hands, “we has not got a room ready.”

“I only need a bed,” replied Harry, who was so tired he didn’t even care if it had sheets on it.

“But, if we is letting you sleep in one of the beds without the mistress’s permission then she will be very cross. Mistress is telling Dappy that Master Potter is to stay with Master Malfoy!”

“Oh, right. I didn’t realise that I’d have to be on constant duty. Oh well, can I at least have some blankets and pillows then if I’m to sleep on the sofa?”

“Yes, Master Harry Potter, Dappy is getting you some bedding at once. Dappy is sorry for not thinking of it earlier and will iron her ears at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“No!”

“You is not wanting bedding?”

“No, I is not wan—, I mean, I am not – I don’t want you to iron your ears, or any other part of yourself or hurt yourself in any other way. The bedding would still be nice though, please.”

“Right away, Master Potter.” And with that the house elf disappeared.

The blankets were already waiting for him when he arrived back in Draco’s room. The sofa was hard and too short even for him and his feet dangled off the end, but it also seemed to have some sort of anti-transfiguration charm on it, probably because it was some sort of expensive heirloom. Sighing, Harry hunkered down and made the best of it

***

Blond. The hair is the palest, silkiest blond imaginable. Like spun moonlight as he throws his head back in joy.

***

Draco was awake before Harry the next morning. Harry knew that, because when he awoke with a crick in his neck and a sore back there was a pair of intense grey eyes watching him.

“Morning,” he yawned, attempting to stretch out his back and groaning in pain. He rolled onto his side and sat up, massaging his lower back with one hand and his neck with the other. Draco cocked his head to one side and studied him intensely.

“Sorry for invading your space like this, the house elves wouldn’t give me my own room. I don’t suppose I could use that massive bath of yours could I?” Harry suddenly realised that he was only wearing his pants and pulled the blanket around himself. Draco shrugged and nodded, so Harry made his way to the bathroom.

At breakfast that morning, which Draco took in his room and Harry spent with the family, he was introduced to the Malfoys’ youngest son. Scorpius was four and looked exactly like Harry imagined Draco would have looked at that age. He was a very polite little boy and seemed to take an instant shine to Harry.

With the exception of meals, which he spent in the dining room with the Malfoys, Harry spent his days with Draco. It was strange. In the hospital Harry’s favourite part of the day had been the time he had spent talking to the Veela. Now that he had all day to spend in Draco’s company he could barely think of a single thing to say to him. He supposed it made a big difference just knowing that it was Draco Malfoy he was talking to.

***

Everyone was asleep when Harry fell out of bed a few nights later, or rather, fell off the sofa. All he had tried to do was turn over, forgetting where he was sleeping, and before he knew it he was lying on the floor. Deciding that the floor was at least as comfortable as the sofa he decided to stay there.

When Harry awoke next morning, he was somewhat disorientated. He was lying in a bed, a proper, big soft, luxurious bed with some sort of strange feather blanket over him. And there was an arm around his waist. And a head on his shoulder.

Had he got laid last night? Surely not? He hadn’t gone out and done that sort of thing for years. In fact, he hadn’t had a one-off since that morning he found himself in bed with a— yes, well, probably best not to dwell on that!

Gingerly, he opened his eyes. The head resting on his shoulder had very pale blond hair. Harry actually found himself hoping he was somehow in Draco’s bed, because the alternatives didn’t bear thinking about – there were far too many blondes in this house!

Yes, yes, of course it was Draco, that wasn’t a feather blanket was it? Who the hell had feather blankets? Mind you, Draco wasn’t the only Veela in the family, was he? Both of his parents had to be, at least mostly. Lucius definitely had a touch of the Veelas about him. Please, Merlin, don’t let it be Lucius. He was sure he could feel a beak…

Harry hadn’t been drinking; he knew that. And he hadn’t taken anything… no, wait, he had taken some muggle pain killers for his back because casting healing charms on one’s own back was a near impossibility. Surely painkillers wouldn’t make him go mad, sleep with a someone and then forget all about it? In his experience it took an unhealthy cocktail of drugs and drink to make that happen – or some pretty good potions, courtesy of Blaise Zabini

Harry began to realise that whether he was in bed with his patient or his employer, he really ought to move. The trouble was that he didn’t want to. The bed was comfortable against his tortured back and the Veela was warm snuggled up against him. Harry closed his eyes and let himself pretend, just for a moment, that this was normal, that he had every right to lie here with this warm body in his arms. Sighing, he made a move to rise, but the arm around his waist tightened and he suddenly found himself looking into the sleepy eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Um, morning, Draco.” Harry really didn’t know what else to say. A vague little memory said ‘morning, lover’ in a husky voice from the dark recesses of his brain.

Draco let go uncertainly, never looking away. Harry sat up and his eyes fell on the sofa and the pile of blankets on the floor.

“I fell out of bed,” he said, stupidly. The Veela nodded in agreement. “How did I get up here?” Draco barely had the strength to move himself, let alone Harry. The Veela pointed to the bedside table where a familiar wand lay. “Oh, right. Er, thanks.” Draco nodded again. Harry got up and padded into the bathroom.

***

Harry’s back protested when he so much as looked at the sofa that night. He couldn’t help wondering if Draco would object to sharing his bed again. Glancing over at the bed, he realised that his thoughts must have been obvious, because the Veela pulled back the covers next to him. Well aware that he was seriously overstepping the patient/nurse boundaries, Harry climbed into the bed.

“Thanks,” he felt he really should say something after all.

***

They come together, mixed cries of love and desire, unspoken promises of eternity.

***

The biggest shock came on the fifth morning he awoke in Draco’s bed. They had been lying facing each other, Draco’s wing curled over both of them, and the first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was the face of Draco Malfoy. Not the face of Bird, which he had become used to, but the angelic, perfect, human face of Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t even consider the face pointy now, not after the beak.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there studying that face, the face that had laughed with malice all those times as its owner got Harry and his friends into trouble, the face that had cried in Myrtle’s bathroom, the face that had looked so scared in Voldemort’s presence. He realised that he didn’t really know Draco at all. He sort of knew Bird and he knew about the spoilt bully he had gone to school with, but he didn’t actually know Draco.

Eventually the grey eyes fluttered open.

“Morning, Draco,” Harry smiled at him. There was no reply. “Aren’t you going to answer me?” A confused frown creased Draco’s brow and he opened his mouth but no sound came out. He put his hands, his normal, talon-free hands, to his face, feeling it like it wasn’t his own. He suddenly jumped up and ran to the mirror. The most enormous grin broke out on his face as he caught sight of his reflection and then he suddenly ran back to Harry and flung his arms round him laughing. Harry couldn’t help but laugh back. The wings were still there, but without the beak and the talons Draco looked rather like a fallen angel instead of a broken bird.

Draco managed to dress himself that morning, intent on going down for breakfast. He had long since been wearing clothes designed to accommodate the wings, but the talons had made it impossible for him to put them on without help and often left his clothing in tatters.

As Harry opened the door to the breakfast room, the snide voice of Lucius greeted him.

“Ah, Mr Potter, up at last. Glad to know we are paying you to laze about in bed all day. Breakfast is nearly fini—” he trailed off as he saw his son follow Harry into the room. “Draco?”

There was a slight crash as Narcissa dropped her fork and moved to go to her son, but Scorpius was faster.

“Papa!” squealed the little boy, flinging his arms around Draco’s legs and holding on for all he was worth. Harry threw a confused look at Narcissa.

“I’ll explain later, Mr Potter,” she murmured as she swept past him and planted a kiss on Draco’s cheek. “It’s good to see you looking more like your old self, darling,” she said to Draco quietly, and Harry suddenly realised that that cold display of affection was probably the most emotion he’d seen her display since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry and Narcissa managed to get Scorpius untangled from Draco long enough to get him seated, at which point the little boy scrambled into Draco’s lap and refused to get down.

“I think he’d afraid that if he lets go, you will disappear again,” Lucius observed. “I won’t ask what has brought about this remarkable transformation, I have a strong feeling that I won’t like the answer. It’s good to have you back.”

Draco nodded in reply.

“Do you have nothing to say to us, Draco?” Narcissa inquired. “It’s been so long since I heard your voice…”

Draco opened his mouth but no sound came out.

“He hasn’t said a word so far,” Harry said, retreating into his nurse’s role, “I’m hoping that it’s just lack of practice, but I think we should get Healer Adamson over to for a check up.” Draco shook his head at this suggestion. “It’s for the best, Draco. I’m not even a qualified nurse, let alone a healer. I’d be happier if someone who knew what they were doing checked on you.”

Draco looked a little sulky for a few seconds, but the joy of being with his family and able to eat properly soon put the smile back on his face.

***

Healer Adamson wasted no time at all in coming over to Malfoy Manor and Draco promised to behave and let the healer examine him.

Harry waited outside and was surprised to find Narcissa keeping him company.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Potter. I believe it is your influence that has brought this about.”

“I think being at home helped. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did Draco end up at St Mungo’s in the first place? I mean, you obviously wanted him home with you, and it’s not like we could do much to help him there.”

“We hoped they might be able to. We couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t bear to be touched, we couldn’t feed him or anything. And then there was Scorpius.”

“Surely Draco wouldn’t have hurt Scorpius?”

“No, of course not. But Scorpius didn’t recognise ‘the monster upstairs’ as his father, I think he’d convinced himself that the monster had eaten Draco or something. It got so he wouldn’t eat or sleep, neither of them would, so we thought it might be best if Draco went somewhere where he could be looked after.”

“Oh, I see. So, why did you bring him back?”

“Draco is my son, Mr Potter. I love him more than life itself – I thought you might have realised that by now. I couldn’t bear to seem him in that place, so lost and forlorn. When I was told that he was responding to one of the nurses, I just wanted to have him home. I hoped that… well, perhaps that is for a later date.”

“I don’t understand how Draco’s mate could have abandoned him like that. Who could do something so cruel?” Harry said.

“Who indeed, Mr Potter,” answered Narcissa, giving Harry a funny look.

“As a matter of fact,” she continued after a few minuets, “my father did it to my mother.” Harry was a bit stunned. Why would the previously uncommunicative Narcissa Malfoy suddenly start telling him her family secrets? “It was quite a scandal at the time, of course; he left his wife and two small children to run off with a Veela. I believe it was probably my grandfather who bullied him into coming back, but of course, when he did he had another daughter. Mama raised me as one of her own; I never found out about my real mother until I got married. Now that I have to watch my son go this, I realise how she must have died.”

Harry couldn’t think of a single thing to say that didn’t sound trite, so they lapsed back into their former familiar silence until the Healer emerged.

“Ah! Mrs Malfoy, Nurse Potter, excellent! Well, this certainly is a turn up for the books, what? I’m assuming the wife has put in a appearance? Has old Lucius got her chained up in the dungeon now?”

“Healer Adamson, you and Lucius may be old school friends, but I really recommend that you don’t let him hear you saying such things,” said Narcissa, coolly.

“Sorry old girl, no offence meant. So, I take it she hasn’t shown up then? Well, how extraordinary! I have never heard of anyone recovering from Veela sickness before if the spouse didn’t return!”

“So he is definitely recovering then?” Harry asked.

“Well of course he is, Potter! That much should be obvious even to a nurse!” Healer Adamson was a pompous arse.

“But you don’t know why?”

“No. I would have thought you might have been able to shed some light on that one, young Potter.”

“What about his voice? Why can’t he speak? And what about the wings, will they go too?”

“One step at a time, honestly, young people today, you give them one miracle and they want ten more, what? I should imagine the voice will come back with time. He hasn’t exactly been able to use it for over a year. The wings should hopefully go in time too, providing the recovery keeps on this course.”

“Well, thank you very much for your time, Healer Adamson. Can I persuade you to stay for coffee? I’m sure Lucius would be delighted to see you.”

“That would be most enjoyable – lead the way! Nurse Potter, do you think you could see about getting your patient some fresh clothing? Good man!” Healer Adamson gave Harry a hearty thump on the back before trotting off down the corridor after Narcissa. Harry was quite glad not to be expected to sit through coffee with the man. He went in to check on Draco instead.

***

Harry felt awkward when he went to bed that night. It was bad enough that he had been sharing a bed with a patient when said patient looked like a giant bird, let alone when he looked like a really rather attractive man. Harry stopped his thoughts there – he did not just think of Draco Malfoy as attractive! Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy, how could he possibly be attractive? He was a man! Harry wasn’t attracted to men! Well there was that one time that… no, best not to dwell on that.

Deciding that he should just carry on as normal, mainly because that sofa was just so damn uncomfortable, Harry climbed into bed beside Draco. What he really hadn’t been expecting was for Draco to lean over and kiss him before turning out the light and snuggling up beside him. Nope, he definitely hadn’t been expecting that one at all!

***

Maybe he was just trying to show his gratitude? That one rang rather hollow in Harry’s ears. Maybe he thought that Harry expected some kind of return… no, surely not. Maybe it was just a gesture of friendship – an act of making peace between them? Or maybe, maybe Draco was just making the most of having lips again? No, that one sounded ludicrous even to Harry’s sleep-deprived mind. He rolled over and Draco curled up behind him.

Hell’s teeth! It was three in the morning and he couldn’t go to sleep because he’d been kissed by a man who was sharing a bed with him! This was ridiculous – it wasn’t exactly like he’d never been kissed before! He’d been quite the playboy after the war, he’d done a damn sight more than kiss quite a lot of women! Quite a lot of women and one m… no, don’t go there.

But then, it wasn’t even as though kissing a man should freak him out like this, was it? He’d been kissed by men before. He was a Quidditch player after all, teammates would often plant an exuberant kiss on their Seeker if he won them a game and nobody thought anything of it. And he was friends with Seamus; when Seamus had a few drinks inside him he was liable to kiss everyone in the vicinity, regardless of gender. Harry didn’t consider himself homophobic or anything like that, he’d never had a problem with Charlie Weasley or Ernie McMillan after all. He didn’t even notice when Draco sometimes got an erection when Harry was helping to bathe him; it was just a perfectly normal reaction to stimulus – wasn’t it?

So why the hell did one little innocent kiss freak him out so much?

***

Watching Draco with Scorpius was a revelation. The man clearly doted on his son and Harry could see nothing of the haughty schoolboy who had tried to make his life hell. He couldn’t lose the feeling that this Draco was someone he should have been friends with.

“It does the heart good to see, doesn’t it?” Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard Lucius approaching.

“Uh, yes, I suppose so,” he replied warily.

“It hurts, Mr Potter, to see one’s child in pain. Perhaps even more so for a Veela than a human. I don’t know if I could have survived his death. Thank you.” Lucius obviously found the words difficult to say.

“So, why did you tell me that Scorpius was yours?”

Lucius was quiet for a moment before replying, “He is so young, we thought it might be better if he didn’t remember his father, if we brought him up as our own. We were wrong to do so, I see that now.”

They watched the two playing for a while longer before Harry plucked up the courage to ask another question that had been bothering him.

“If you are mostly Veela, what was all that pureblood crap about?”

“Originally, Mr Potter, being pureblood referred to how much Veela blood you had in your veins, not how much Wizard. Of course, Veela never mated with Muggles or half bloods, and most old pureblood families have Veela ancestry because it was quite the done thing back then. Even the Potters and the Weasleys, I believe. Over the centuries the pureblood cause became about Wizards vs. Mudbloods, but some of us stayed true. Some families, such as my own, deliberately bred with other purebloods, so the Veela strain is particularly strong. I myself am far more Veela than human, and I am not in anyway ashamed of that fact.”

“Right. I never knew that.”

After another stretch of silence, Lucius spoke again. “My son is very fond of you, Mr Potter. I should have seen it before really. He was always obsessed with you, even from that first day in Diagon Alley when he didn’t know who you were. Of course, as I mentioned just now, the Potters have Veela blood in them too, although not as much as the Malfoys. Probably enough to be a Veela’s mate, though.”

“What? Mr Malfoy, if you are implying what I think you are implying, then it’s an impossibility. I think I would have remembered if I had bonded with a Veela, especially a male Veela. Especially Draco, we weren’t exactly friends before all this, you know.”

“You are now though?”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

“What do you know about Veela bonding ceremonies?”

“Nothing, I assume it is a bit like a wedding.”

“Yes, it can be – for an arranged match. Most Veela matches are arranged these days of course, to stop the Veela sickness from occurring. Veela sickness only comes about with the loss of a true mate, or sometimes a child. Consummation is all that is needed for a Veela bond to take place in reality of course; the rest is formality. Have you ever had intercourse with my son?”

“What! No, of course not,” Harry choked out, completely caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. “I may not be snow white, Mr Malfoy, but I don’t usually tend to sleep with men.”

“Only usually?”

“Yes, usually. There may have been one time… Besides, Draco’s mate is a woman – Scorpius is proof of that! I am definitely not capable of giving birth, and I would definitely have remembered that no matter how many drugs I took.”

“Of course.”

Harry assumed the conversation was done and made to leave the room – discussing his sex life with Lucius Malfoy was not his idea of fun.

“Were you aware, Mr Potter,” Lucius said just as Harry reached the door, “that originally all Veela were hermaphrodites? It was only interbreeding with Wizards that changed that.”

“Yes, I had heard that. I am Draco’s nurse, however, so I know that he is very much male. I don’t know if you are trying to trap me into bonding with your son or something, but you are barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh yes, true hermaphrodites are very rare amongst Veela these days, most are female. Draco is male, but it is possible that he could have some female reproductive organs. You cannot conceive a child, Mr Potter, and most of the time for Draco it would be an impossibility too, but during the magic of a true mate bonding, anything can happen. I will leave you to think on that.” Lucius swept past Harry and out the door, leaving him feeling very confused.

***

Could it be true? Could he have actually been so out of his head that he had bonded with a Veela and not even realised it?

Suppressing a sigh, Harry admitted to himself that yes, it could very easily be true. He couldn’t remember half the things he got up to in the couple of years after the war. And there was that one morning…

It would explain so much if it were true. It would explain why Draco seemed to be getting better, why Harry felt such a connection with him, why Draco had kissed him – Draco thought his mate had come back to him. Oh god, this was awful!

And then there was the child, Scorpius. Was he Harry’s son? If Harry was Draco’s mate, as Lucius had implied, then Scorpius was Harry’s son. He had a son. Possibly.

If all this was true though, then surely Draco would have told him? Demanded child support? Tried to get Harry back? Surely Harry had had a right to know? Would the other man really rather die than be mated to Harry? Or was he really that proud? Being a Malfoy, the answer was probably yes.

What should he do? What if Lucius was just playing some sort of cruel joke on him?

Draco did have a scar though. Well, he had lots of scars and as the person who helped to wash and dress him, Harry had seen them all. There was the scar that Harry himself had caused during sixth year, but there was also the smaller, neater scar across his abdomen. The sort of scar that was could have been caused by a caesarean section.

He could save Draco’s life. If there was one thing he was very sure of, the though of Draco dying pained him. He couldn’t let it happen.

And there was that one morning. And the dream – a hallucination, or possibly a memory, of an angel, sitting astride him with his wings spread out and his head thrown back, riding him for all he was worth. He’d always assumed it was a substance-induced dream. God, if that were true, if he could have that again when he was sober…

It looked like he wouldn’t be leading that normal life he wanted after all. At least Ginny might get a laugh out of that. If she didn’t kill him first.

Taking all of his famed courage, he went in search of Draco.

***

“Draco, am I your mate?” No, he couldn’t just come out with it like that.

“Draco, am I the cowardly swine who went and left you to die?”

“Draco, don’t laugh at me, but your father said…”

“Draco… Draco why didn’t you tell me? Am I that bad that you’d rather be dead?”

“Draco, is Scorpius my son?”

“Draco, was it you? That night?”

The Veela in question was sitting in the library reading, and Harry was pacing up and down outside muttering to himself. Deciding that he was getting nowhere, he opened the door and went in. Draco looked up and smiled, putting down his book.

“Um, hi. Uh, look, Draco, I sort of need to talk to you…” Harry trailed off. This was going even worse than it had outside.

“I’ve been talking to your father. Look, Draco, after the war I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of.” The Veela flinched and Harry hurried on quickly, “I sort of slept around a bit, well, a lot,” Draco flinched again, suddenly looking very miserable, “and the thing is, I don’t really remember a lot of it – your old friend Blaise did a mean line in potions and other stuff specifically designed to enable you to forget and have a good time…”

Harry stopped. He was making such a balls up of this. Draco looked mortified. Harry looked away from him and ploughed on, unsure whether he was making things better or digging a deeper hole.

“The thing is, most of those two years are a blur. I know I got my NEWTS but that was mostly down to Hermione. I remember most of my twentieth birthday – right up to the club and seeing Blaise. The rest is hazy. I remember waking up in bed with a man, and getting freaked out and running away…” Here he took a deep breath.

“The thing is, Draco, that I’m not proud of myself. I’m not proud of myself for sleeping around, I’m not proud of myself for taking drugs, and I’m not proud of myself for running out on someone like that. But it’s in the past and there is nothing I can do to change that. I do have a say in the future though.

“I might be completely wrong here and you might be about to laugh your arse off at me, but I don’t think I am. If that was you that morning, that night, then I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should never have treated you like that. I know that we were never friends at school, in fact, that might be the understatement of the year, but I’ve grown to really like you in the past few months and if I could be your mate, then I would be honoured. If you and I created a bond that night, particularly if you and I created Scorpius that night, then at least I did something I can be proud of.”

Finally, Harry raised his eyes and looked at Draco. The Veela was just staring at him.

“Oh god, I got it all wrong didn’t I? I’m not your mate and Scorpius isn’t my son and now you think I’m a total moron.” He put his head in his hands and was surprised when he suddenly heard a hoarse whisper.

“No.”

“What?”

Draco opened his mouth, but the effort of speaking was evidently too much.

“No, I’m not your mate?” Draco shook his head, but Harry wasn’t sure if that meant he was or he wasn’t. “Am I your mate, Draco?”

It was a single nod, barely there if you weren’t looking for it, but there nevertheless.

“And Scorpius is my son?” The nod came again. “Oh god, Draco! You should have told me! I have a son! What if I had gone to America with Ginny? What if you had died? Scorpius would have been raised thinking his grandparents were his parents for Christ’s sake! And I would never have even known he existed. How could you do that?”

Harry took a deep breath to try and clam himself down. This conversation could wait, he wasn’t here to yell at Draco.

“I really didn’t know. Can you ever forgive me?” This time Draco looked at him and when the nod came it was definite, and when Draco leaned over and kissed him, that was definite too. And Harry kissed him back.

***

The angel moves forward and kisses him on the lips, gentle and slow now the coupling is over. They sleep.

***

Harry and Draco didn’t rush into reconfirming their bond; it was all still too new and Draco wasn’t really strong enough. If the older Malfoys guessed what was going on, they didn’t say anything, but then Harry thought they’d rather suspected all along, and that was why Narcissa had forced him to come here.

Telling the Weasleys had not gone particularly well, Ginny had taken it far better than her parents or Ron. George’s sudden decision to check into rehab had helped take the heat off Harry though. Luna had simply given him that Luna smile and Neville was still Neville. Harry had taken a fair amount of good-natured ribbing when he had gone back to work, but he had survived worse.

It was not without some trepidation that Harry finally found himself in bed and naked with Draco Malfoy. They had not gone far past the kissing and touching stage of their relationship, but it very much seemed that Draco was finally ready to take things further.

It was strange really; Harry was the sexually experienced one in the relationship – Draco was practically a virgin – and yet Draco was the one being gentle with Harry, doing his best to soothe and relax him. Harry thought he could get used to this, as the Veela kissed his way down his body. He might have died and gone to heaven when Draco actually took him in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but notice that his dick didn’t have any problem with being attracted to another bloke.

It had been a while since Harry had a really good blowjob, and if he had time to think he would have been thoroughly ashamed of the noises he was making, not to mention the speed with which he came. He rolled onto his side and kissed Draco when he was finished. He was quite surprised when, after snogging him quite thoroughly, Draco snuggled up behind him with one arm thrown around his waist and his nose pressed to Harry’s neck. Was this all he wanted? Harry had rather assumed there would be more.

The Veela continued to nuzzle Harry’s neck, kissing him down one shoulder and back again while his finger traced circles around Harry’s bellybutton and then down his hip. Harry was so relaxed that he barely noticed when that hand started tracing patterns on his backside, although he did notice when a stray finger brushed over his arsehole, but then Draco kissed him and made shushing noises and Harry let him continue.

Harry let Draco reposition him, moving one leg forward and up and continuing to trace his patterns down Harry’s thigh, all the while continuing to nibble his way down Harry’s back. It was a decidedly odd feeling when he felt Draco’s finger enter him, and he couldn’t help tensing up slightly. Somehow, when Harry had thought all this through so carefully, he hadn’t seen himself as taking this role in the relationship. He’d assumed he’d be the one on top, just as he evidently had been last time. His train of thought derailed as Draco had obviously found some lube somewhere and was busy working a second finger into him.

It wasn’t a completely unpleasant feeling as Draco finally pushed his way inside Harry. He felt stretched and full – it did hurt, quite a lot actually, but not nearly so much as he had always been led to believe. They were still lying on their sides, Draco moulded completely to Harry’s back and fucking him so slowly and gently that they were barely two separate entities. His wandering hand found Harry’s prick and coaxed it back to hardness, and his lips never once stopped kissing whatever part of Harry they could reach.

Harry couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He was letting Draco Malfoy make love to him. What sort of weird alternative reality was he in that led to him lying in Draco Malfoy’s bed, their bed, allowing a man he had once hated to bugger him? He wasn’t even hating it! It felt – nice. It felt good to be so close to another person, to trust them enough to let them do, that, to feel loved. And then, when Draco moved just so, it felt so much more than nice; nice didn’t even begin to do it justice.

He didn’t really know what surprised him more, when he actually came with Draco still inside him, or when he felt the other man come at the same time. Or maybe, just maybe, it was when he finally heard Draco Malfoy’s voice as he whispered into Harry’s hair.

“I love you, Harry.”

Or then again, maybe it was when he heard his own voice whispering back.

“I love you too, Bird.”

As he rolled over and Draco took his usual position with his head resting on Harry’s chest, he reflected on his new life. He may not have the nice normal life that Neville and Luna had, he may not have a wife and 2.4 children and a cottage in Godric’s Hollow, but he did have a partner, even if they were both male and one of them was mostly Veela, and he did have a child.

All in all, if he couldn’t have an ordinary life, he was more than happy to have a life more or less ordinary.

A Life More (or Less) Ordinary part 1/2

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 12:52:06 GMT

Title: A Life More (or less) Ordinary
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: Hard R/NC17
Warning(s): Slash! Features some fairly vanilla sex between 2 consenting male adults. Mentions of MPreg. Some swearing.
Beta: thesamanthahope
Prompt: Writer's choice Prompt No.4. for do_me_veela

Harry finds a broken Veela and nurses her/him back to health, only to discover it is someone rather familiar... The Veela should be quite vicious if anyone except Harry tries to help it, full Veela mode, wings, beak etc, the reason for this is up to the author. Harry is, of course, completely clueless.

Summary: Harry is working at St Mungo’s as a student nurse and finds himself becoming a bit too attached to one of the patients – a dying Veela who won’t let anyone close.
Author’s Notes: This fic was subjected to a very fast beta read at the last minute by the wonderful Samantha Hope, who I really can’t thank enough. I apologise for anyremaining mistakes, they are mine and mine alone. Oh, and there are probably more clichés than you can shake a magic stick at :D

Disclaimer: This piece of art or fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

He awoke with the Hangover from Hell. He wasn’t a hundred per cent sure if he was feeling sick in his head or if his headache originated from his stomach the only thing he knew for sure was that moving was a very bad idea, it made the room spin in a very unpleasant way. Or maybe ingesting anything given to him by Zabini had been the bad idea

Lying back down and closing his eyes, he became aware of another presence in the bed. He didn’t know who the other person was, come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely sure where the bed was or how he’d come to be in it, but that wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him these days. His brain was only able to form one coherent thought, ‘this has got to stop’. He felt disgusted with himself, he knew that getting wrecked and sleeping around was not good and not really him, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Every night there was a party, every night there was a pretty girl or two, or three, hanging off his arm, every night he ended up going home with one of them – or two, or three.

There was a groan from beside him as the other occupant of the bed shifted. A foot poked out from under the covers, and he was a little disturbed by the fact that it seemed a little – masculine. Come to think of it, the whole room seemed a little masculine, now that he had his eyes open. The room definitely smelt of sex. Cautiously, so as not to wake his bed mate, he reached over to pull back the covers but a male arm came out from under the cover and hooked itself around his waist and a man’s voice said, “Morning, lover.” He didn’t even take one glance, he wasn’t even aware of moving, but somehow he’d lunged for his jeans, which were lying on the floor, grabbed his wand and apparated out of there, still naked, with his jeans still clutched in his hand and to hell with the rest of his clothes. As soon as he appeared in his living room he vomited, unsure whether it was his foolhardy apparition or the fact he seemed to have shagged a bloke that had caused the remnants of last night’s potions to his system this way. He did a quick vitals check to make sure he hadn’t splinched himself and made a beeline for the shower.

That was it, no more staying up all night getting ratted. No more one-night stands. He was turning over a new leaf. He’d get married, just like he was supposed to. He never, ever needed to tell anyone of this, he never, ever needed to think of this ever again, it never, ever happened! He’d never even considered sleeping with a man before, could he really have drunk enough alcohol to turn him gay? Could alcohol do that?

Maybe he should swear off booze, and women, and definitely men! Go for a life more – ordinary. Just one woman, a new leaf, new start – get a career, get married, have lots and lots of kids and never, ever acknowledge last night ever again.

***

Five years later

Harry was currently running along behind Matron Thursten, the formidable Matron of St Mungo’s, desperately trying to keep up and listen to all she had to say and remember it. Today was his first day as Junior Probationer Potter. Ron had been having a great time telling everyone that Harry was on probation, like he’d been in prison or something; that is when he wasn’t having great fun telling everyone that Harry was going to be a big girly MediWitch and wear a dress like Madam Pomfrey’s. Harry hadn’t needed to argue with Ron on the subject, both Ginny and Hermione had taken great exception to Ron’s remarks and told him off in no uncertain terms. That didn’t work now, however, both girls were away leading their own lives, Hermione was doing a post-doctorate at Cambridge University and Ginny was in America fronting up the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes operation. Amazingly enough, Harry and Ginny were still together, although the long-distance relationship had proven difficult. Someday, when every city in America, or possible the whole world, had its own Wheezes franchise, Ginny would return home and they’d get married and raise a family; until then, there was always long-distance floo.

Harry’s unexpected decision to abandon his Auror training and go into MediWizardry came when, two-years in, he’d realised that he wanted to help people, not just chase criminals all his life. He’d started over and taken his new training far more seriously, he’d taken his exams and he’d done pretty well without Hermione’s help, and now he had to get his practical experience. People, including Hermione, kept asking him why he didn’t become a Healer, telling him that he could do it if he applied himself, but they never seemed to understand that he was doing exactly what he wanted. Healers were all high-fliers and they helped people and saved their lives, but that wasn’t the way he wanted to help; he wanted to think of people as people rather than cases. He actually wanted to be a MediWizard, or nurse as it was called these days due to both pro-muggle relations and the fact that the job had grown to incorporate muggle nursing techniques – meaning Harry would be a qualified nurse in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds when finished his training. Ginny seemed to be the only person who understood this, she loved him and would be happy whatever he did so long as it made him happy.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry narrowly missed crashing into the probationer in front of him as they all suddenly stopped. To his horror, he suddenly realised that he hadn’t heard a word that Matron had said for the last ten minutes.

“Right then, any questions?” Matron looked around, daring any of the new recruits to say a word. Harry dearly hoped that she hadn’t assigned wards yet or he’d be stuffed, she didn’t look like the sort of woman who would understand that he hadn’t been listening, she might throw him out of St Mungo’s on his first day!

Matron raised an eyebrow, “Nobody? Good. Now then, your ward assignments, these will work on rotation, obviously, as you need to get experience in all areas of the hospital,” and with that she rattled off a list of names and wards so fast that Harry barely caught, “Potter, Magical Beings,” and tried not to groan. Of all the wards, that was the one he wanted to work on least – Magical Beings was a new category brought in by the Ministry since the war to distinguish Magical Beings such as Centaurs, Veela, Werewolves, Vampires etc from Magical Creatures, such a kneazles, crups, unicorns, flobberworms etc etc. They tended to be notoriously touchy around Wizards, who had treated them appallingly for centuries, and a lot of Magical Beings were still so weary around Wizards that they still preferred to seek help from their own communities, but the newest ward at St Mungo’s still had its fair share of work, and it was often dangerous.

The probationers trailed off for lunch and Harry tagged along behind them. They were the same group he’d done his initial training with, but he was a few years older than them due to his change of direction, and the only bloke in the group. Most of them were in awe of him anyway so he’d never really fitted in. Not that he needed to now, they were all going off to their own wards.

***

Sister (let’s get this straight, my name is not funny) Vanyarsfeld, a no-nonsense witch from Cape Town, had been talking at Harry for a good fifteen minutes now – he wasn’t to get in the way, he wasn’t to interact with the patients, he wasn’t to use his wand, in fact, he was to deposit his wand in the Sister’s office each morning when he arrived and pick it up on his way out each night. Sister (no smirking) Vanyarsfeld had no time for lazy, freeloading celebrities, Probationer (full of himself) Potter would just have to pull his weight like everybody else and as the new boy, all the worst tasks that nobody else wanted would come to him.

Harry stood and listened dutifully, it was nothing more than he’d expected; the lecturers on his first day at college had expected him to be lazy, why should things change now? And of course he would be changing beds and emptying bedpans on his first day, they were hardly going to let him deliver triplets, were they now?

Realistic expectations aside, he found himself sighing as he found himself remaking the same bed for the fourth time. He knew how to make a bed, Aunt Petunia had made sure he knew how to make a bed before he was eight years old, they had been shown how to do it again at nursing college, yet still he didn’t seem to be doing it to Sister Vanyarsfeld’s exacting standards.

“Do it again, Potter,” came the clipped tones as she walked past. If Harry were in a less charitable frame of mind he would think she was trying to piss him off.

By the end of the day he was fuming; he’d be judged incapable of making beds, scrubbing floors, sorting linens, running errands and making tea and a whole host of other menial tasks. As he was given his wand back, he was promised more of the same the next day until he ‘got it right’. He went home to his cold empty flat and made himself beans on toast because he couldn’t be bothered to make anything else. He sneaked off and had a bath so that he wouldn’t have to answer to floo to his friends trying to find out how his first day had gone.

***

The second and third days progressed pretty much the same as the first, although he had indeed now added bedpan emptying to his list of chores. The other nurses were eager to pile whatever unwanted jobs onto him that they could get away with and Sister Vanyarsfeld kept a strict eye on him to make sure he didn’t try to shirk any of the tasks he’d been given.

After a few weeks, once he had gained confidence and (somehow) got the approval of Sister Vanyarsfeld, he started to enjoy himself. There seemed to be more male nurses on this ward than most, possibly due to the nature of the ward and the brute strength sometimes needed when dealing with super-human patients. He was soon recruited to the Monday night Quidditch team and made friends with the teams beaters, Tim and Alfie – two hulking great blokes made in the true beater mould, like Crabbe and Goyle, and to be honest he had been rather intimidated by them when he first met them. They were both senior nurses and tended to work with the more difficult patients, although they could be surprisingly gentle with them when required.

Now that he was getting more used to the ward and the patients, Harry found himself becoming more aware of his surroundings. He learnt that Vampires and Werewolves always went on opposite sides of the ward. He learnt that Succubi needed to go in a separate room away from all the other patients. He knew that a grassy room was always kept empty for Centaurs, even though no Centaur had ever graced St Mungo’s with its presence. He also knew that there was another side room that no one was allowed in except for Sister Vanyarsfeld and some of the more senior nurses. Harry found himself drawn to this room, he knew there was a patient inside because he’d heard them screeching – screeching being the only word he could attach to the unearthly noise emanating from the room. He also heard various thumps and bangs and, on one occasion, he saw Alfie leave the room with a very broken nose, which was promptly fixed by the Sister before the both went back into the room and shut the door.

The other nurses on the ward had tried to guess what sort of patient was in the room; rabid Werewolf was the top guess, although it didn’t seem tied to the full moon. Another favourite was some sort of Giant, which Harry supposed could be possible with the use of Wizard space. A less common theory, prompted by the unearthly screeching, was that the room contained a rabid Veela, but nobody had any proof that there even could be such a thing.

Harry discovered that there was indeed a Veela on the Friday of his third week. A full-blooded Veela had been rushed into the ward to deliver twins, she had been sent down from Maternity when she had turned violent on them. There seemed to be very few staff at St Mungo’s that the pregnant Veela would allow near her, but to his delight Harry seemed to be one of the lucky ones. After the babies were born (and Harry had actually been allowed to hold them!) the mother asked about her ‘poor cousin’, whose presence she could feel in the locked room.

***

“… and the little babies actually had little wings when they were born!” Harry enthused to the Weasley family over dinner that night, “They are just the cutest things you have ever seen! And I got to hold them! Veela almost never let Wizards touch their newborns!”

“Harry, mate, stop! You sound like a bloody girl,” grumbled Ron from beside him.

“Wait, wings? On a baby? That’s just plain wrong! Fleur’s kids don’t have wings, do they?” slurred George.

“Wings? Is that really true? I mean, I’ve heard about it, obviously, but I always thought it was just one of those silly things that people say,” Percy put in.

“Of course eet is true,” exclaimed Fleur, clearly a little offended, “Zees babies are pure blooded Veela! Any child with enough Veela blood in eet will be born wiz wings. I am just under half Veela myself, I was not born with wings, and my babies are less than quarter Veela so they didn’t have wings either. My mother did, and my cousin, zee wings retract after a day or so, eet is perfectly normal, eet is not disgusting!”

“Seriously, it’s not,” said Harry quickly, trying to keep the peace, “it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Harry, I’m really starting to worry about you, are you sure that doing a girl’s job isn’t turning you into one?”

“Ron, wake up and join the 21st century will you? Nursing is not a girl’s job,” snapped Harry, who was getting heartily sick of Ron making the same old comments.

“Yeah it is,” said Ron cheerfully, “you can call yourself a MediWizard or a Nurse or whatever the ‘PC’ name for it is this week, but at the end of the day, you’re still a MediWitch, Madam Potter.” Ron had never really forgiven Harry for abandoning him in Auror training, even though he seemed to be doing a lot better now than he ever had as Harry’s sidekick.

“Yeah, whatever, Ron,” sighed Harry.

“So, Harry,” said Molly, ever the peace keeper, “do you think you might be tempted to go in for Midwifery?”

“Yeah,” muttered Ron, “go and stare up women’s skirts all day, Ginny will love that!” Everyone ignored him, except for George who sniggered into his beer.

“I don’t really know, Molly,” replied Harry, “I mean, it really was an amazing experience today, but I think I need to try some other areas before I decide to specialise. I mean, I really enjoy working in the department I’m in now too. It’s definitely made me want children of my own though!” At this statement, Ron nearly choked on his casserole.

“Oh honestly, Ron! You’ll have children of your own soon enough too,” said his mother, “Hermione won’t be studying forever you know.”

“Not bloody likely!” Ron exclaimed, earning himself a wrap across the knuckles, although it wasn’t clear whether he was talking about having a baby or Hermione not studying.

“Actually, Fleur,” said Harry, trying to change the conversation again, “do you know why there might be a Veela kept in a room by herself? I mean, she seems violent, so I suppose that could explain the isolation, but not even the staff are allowed in.”

“Harry, I am part Veela, this does not mean I automatically understand the problems of every Veela on zee planet! How should I know what is wrong wiz her?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t know much about Veela, you’re the only one I know.”

“Well, a lot of Veela don’t trust Wizards and they don’t like to be touched by anyone ozer zan zeir mate – ah, I do ’ope zee poor thing has not lost her True Mate!”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, Veela mate for life, but pure Veela have a predestined True Mate. Most Veela do not actually bond wiz zeir True Mate because if one of zem dies zen so does zee ozer, so for zee sake of zee Veela population most Veela have had arranged marriages ever since zee Veela wars of zee fifth century. Zis makes it unlikely zat your Veela has zee Veela sickness.”

“Bet you wish you hadn’t slept through seven years of History of Magic now, don’t you?” sniggered Ron.

“Yeah, ’cause ikle Ronnie here was an Outstanding history student!” laughed George.

“And ikle Georgie here left school without getting any NEWTs at all!” said Percy, earning himself a glare from at least half the table.

“Yeah, and yet I’m still doing better than any of you sorry lot!” George hit back sullenly

“It’s like this, Harry,” interrupted Bill, glaring at his brothers, “Wizards have always been attracted to Veela, but at that time Veela wouldn’t even look at anyone who wasn’t their mate. Wizards don’t usually like to be told ‘no’, and we usually like to get what we want, so some of the more unscrupulous among us tried to force Veela to bond with them. Of course, Veela aren’t so delicate as they look and so the result was many deaths, both Veela and Wizard. The trouble with that is that for every Veela who died, their mate died too so Veela numbers swooped drastically low.

“There were some Veela who hadn’t yet bonded but their intended mates had been killed. In an effort to increase numbers these Veela were mated together – an unforeseen advantage being that now if one of them was killed, the other didn’t follow. After this Veela started deliberately stopping their offspring from mating with their True Mate, and Veela numbers increased dramatically. Veela are supremely faithful to their partners and would never take another as a lover, even if the other were their true mate.

“Sometime later, in a bid to end the fighting with Wizards, some Veela were mated with Wizards, hence the present situation where most old Pureblood families have some Veela blood in them.”

“Yeah,” piped up Ron, “like that little slapper, Malfoy! Typical blimin’ Veela, slept his way around half the school and probably all the Death Eaters!”

“RONALD WEASLEY! How dare you say such a thing!” But the wrath of Molly Weasley was cut short by her daughter-in-law.

“Zat is an outrageous lie! ’ow dare you! Veela do not sleep around! Were you not listening to Bill? Veela are undyingly loyal to their mates! This Malfoy can not ’ave been Veela, ’e must have been an incubus or sumzing.” Fleur’s eyes were blazing and Harry was sure that if she were more than half Veela she would have sprouted wings by now.

“Actually, we have no proof that Malfoy slept around or that he was Veela. He was just skinny and very blond and we didn’t like him and the rumours started from there,” Harry said quickly.

“You called ’im Veela because you didn’t like ’im?!” Fleur didn’t seem any happier.

“No, uh, well, we didn’t actually start the rumour,” Harry tried to backtrack.

“’e is unlikely to be Veela,” sniffed Fleur, “Zeez days male Veela are very rare, Zis is why a lot of old pureblood names ’ave died out, if zay have too many Veela bloods zen zay have no male heirs. I ’ave ’ad enough, Bill, we should be going ’ome,” commanded Fleur, rising from her seat.

“No, wait, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Fleur!” Harry rose too.

“And what about ’im?” Fleur nodded at Ron who coloured and did an impression of a goldfish.

“Ronald, if you don’t apologise to Fleur this instant, you will be the one to leave,” said Molly irritably.

“But, Mum! I live here!” Ron looked aghast.

“Yes, well, you’d better say you’re sorry then!”

Ron mumbled something at Fleur that would probably pass for an apology and everyone went back to their dinner. Harry couldn’t help thinking about the strange Veela locked away on her own back in the hospital though.

***

Smooth, perfect, ivory skin. Elegant lines, beautifully proportioned – perfection.

***

Harry finally got his wish to see the Veela just over a week later. Sister Vanyarsfeld had been called away to a departmental meeting and Harry had been left with strict instructions to do a detailed stock take of the potions cupboard, which was conveniently located next to the Veela’s room. He was halfway through counting bottles of emergency Wolfsbane when Tim came racing out of the room looking highly agitated.

“Where’s Fanny? Vanyarsfeld? Quickly!”

“She had to go to a meeting.” Harry replied, jumping up. Tim gave him a quick appraising look before replying.

“Never mind, you’ll do! Come with me, hurry up.” And with that he ran back into the room, clearly expecting Harry to follow him. Harry, never one to pass up an opportunity, did just that.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the Veela’s room, but soon enough he made out the prone form of Alfie on the floor. Back beside the wall he could just make out another figure huddled in on itself with what could only be a pair of wings held out in front like a protective shield. Tim already had his wand drawn and was holding it in a defensive pose between Harry and the Veela.

“Ok Harry, I need you to get Alfie out of here,” Tim whispered, presumably trying not to incur the Veela’s wrath. “Take him back into the main ward and get someone, anyone to see to him, and get someone to get hold of Fanny, then I need you to come back in here and help me with him,” Tim gestured at the Veela. Harry nodded, processing on some level that, despite what Fleur had said, the Veela was in fact male. Harry had no time to ponder on this new bit of knowledge though, maybe he could ask Tim about it later.

He went quickly and quietly over to Alfie and attempted to hoist him up. Harry was no weakling, but Alfie had to be at least six stone heavier and about a foot taller than he was, he found himself struggling and nearly dropped his colleague straight away.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim hissed in disbelief, “for Christ’s sake, use your wand and levitate him the hell out of here!”

“I’m still on probation,” Harry whispered back, “Sister Vanyarsfeld has my wand. Shall I get someone else?”

“No! I’ll get in enough trouble for letting you in here let alone anyone else. Use Alfie’s, I’m sure he won’t mind on this occasion, and don’t worry about Fanny, I’ll tell her it was me!”

Harry shrugged and picked up the fallen wand; it felt strange in his hand, but not too unfriendly. He clumsily levitated the fallen MediWizard out of the room, rattling off Tim’s instructions to the first nurse he saw, and then he ran back in.

The Veela was no longer huddled in the corner, instead he had moved away from the wall, his wings beating furiously behind him and his hands clutching at his head – vicious talons at the end of his fingers were tearing at the skin of his face. A pained scream coming from the Veela’s beak; now that he was actually seeing the poor creature, Harry realised that ‘scream’ actually defined the sound much better than ‘screech’. It seemed to be working itself up into a full-blown panic and Tim was doing his best to calm him down both with spells and words, although neither seemed to be doing much good.

Still clutching Alfie’s wand, Harry ran through possible spell in his head that might impede the Veela without actually hurting it. Making a snap decision, he quickly cast a lumos spell, issuing a sudden bright light from the end of his wand. The patient dropped to the floor, covering his eyes, with another cry of pain. As the light flared away, Harry stepped forward without thinking.

“Shit! I’m so sorry! It’s ok, mate, we’re not here to hurt you, I promise. I’m really sorry about the light there, it wasn’t supposed to be quite that bright, this isn’t my wand and I’m not used to it.” Harry was surprised to suddenly find himself looking into a beautiful pair of slate-grey eyes that seemed so full of sadness and pain that it actually took his breath away. The Veela offered him a plaintive little cry in response and Harry found himself reaching out to the patient, seeing him now as more of a frightened, injured bird than the threat he had seemed mere minutes ago. He put out his hand to touch the Veela’s arm and let him know that he was not alone, but at that moment everything went wrong again. The door burst open and both Harry and the Veela jumped.

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” the clipped vowels of Sister Vanyarsfeld rang through the room.

Harry twisted round to face his boss at the same time as the Veela brought his wings back up in a defensive stance. Harry heard rather than felt his forearm snap as the powerful wing knocked it out of the way. He cried out and pulled his arm towards his chest causing a sharp to shoot up his arm. The bird-like creature before him pulled in on itself again, huddling down in a ball on the floor and covering itself with its wings, rocking back and forth and making a terrible moaning sound.

“Probationer Potter, go and get that arm seen to, I’ll deal with you later. Nurse Byrne, help me get the patient back on the bed.” Sister Vanyarsfeld took control and ushered Harry out of the room.

Back out on the ward he found Alfie, pretty much where he had left him, looking groggy but awake whilst Matilda, a junior nurse, finished healing the bruise on his temple. Harry went over to them and handed Alfie his wand back.

“Here, hope you don’t mind me using this, Tim thought it would be ok.”

“Hmm, do I mind someone using my wand to get my unconscious carcass out of a room with an insane Veela? Owwww,” Alfie groaned as Matilda trod on his toe in her eagerness to listen in. “I reckon I’ll forgive you mate.”

“An insane Veela? Is that what’s in the room? Is that safe?” Matilda questioned eagerly.

“Um, no, actually, not insane. I’m just being unfair because it got the better of me. I’m really not allowed to talk about this, Nurse Butterworth. Thanks for fixing me up, but I’m sure there are patients who need your attention, particularly with so many of the nursing staff out of action at the moment.” Alfie did his best to put Matilda off but she wasn’t going that easily.

“Oh, Harry! What have you done to your poor arm! Here, let me heal it for you.” Matilda moved towards him with her wand at the ready, but Harry’s bad experiences of letting incompetents fix broken arms made him nervous about letting her near it.

Fortunately, he was saved at that moment from having to endure Matilda’s ministrations by the re-emergence of Sister Vanyarsfeld and Tim. The Sister soon put Matilda back to work on the ward and had Harry’s broken arm mended before he could so much as blink. By the look on her face though, Harry thought he might have rejoiced at her arrival too soon. At her command he followed her to her office with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely she wasn’t going to fire him? Surely he wasn’t going to be a giant failure at this too, after all the effort he’d put into getting this far?

“Wait here,” she told him curtly before disappearing into her office with Tim.

Harry sat down and awaited his fate with his head in his hands. He glanced up when a large body dropped into the chair beside him.

“Fanny’s bark is far worse than her bite you know,” Alfie commented.

“Huh? Oh, Sister Vanyarsfeld?”

“That’s right, old Fanny Arse Felt.” Alfie laughed at Harry’s bemused expression, “Surely you didn’t miss that one? Honestly, student nurses just aren’t what they used to be in my day.”

“I just thought her name was actually Fanny.” Harry could feel himself blushing.

“Just as well you never called her that to her face then, she’d have had your guts for garters. She’s not a bad old stick though.”

“Hmm, I wonder if it’s too late to get back into the Auror programme?”

“You aren’t going to give up after one little setback? I certainly never took ‘The Boy Who Lived’ for a quitter!”

“Don’t call me that! And I may not have any choice if Sister Vanyarsfeld kicks me out.”

“Why would she go and do a thing like that?”

“She hates me,” Harry said gloomily.

“Whatever gave you that impression? You’re her blue-eyed boy! I’ve never seen her be as nice to a Probationer as she is to you.”

“But she’s about twenty million times harder on me than she is on anyone else, even Matilda!”

“She’s just trying to push you. Matilda is content to just be a MediWitch. You could be an exceptional nurse, if you apply yourself.”

Harry had never been particularly good at taking compliments, so he decided to change the subject.

“Does he do that often? The Veela I mean.”

“What, knock me out? Nah, not so much. I don’t know what was up with him today, he’s usually one of my favourites. Doesn’t like being touched much and reacts badly to strangers, but otherwise he’s fine.”

“I’ve heard him screaming before. And I saw you with a broken nose last week.”

“He’s just scared, and in pain. He lashes out sometimes, but he doesn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I thought you didn’t get male Veela? What’s wrong with him any way?”

“Of course you get male Veela, how else do you think you get purebloods? They are quite rare though. And as for what’s wrong with him, it’s not really my place to say.” Alfie looked so sad for a moment that Harry felt bad about questioning him and they fell into silence. Harry was lost in thought and he had almost forgotten why he was sitting there when the door opened and Tim came out, signalling for Harry to go in.

Sister Vanyarsfeld was sitting behind her desk filling out paper work. He stood in front of her and waited for her to finish. Harry was nervous again now, despite what Alfie had said to him in the corridor. What if he did get thrown out on his ear? He really didn’t want to start Auror training again, he wanted to be a nurse; he’d put so much effort into this, and taken so much stick for pursuing it, how could he possibly let it go now?

She finished writing and looked up at him.

“Well, Probationer Potter. Tell me, do you think that being the Hero of the Wizarding World means you can disobey my express instructions?”

“No, Sister.”

“No? And did I or did I not tell you to do an inventory of the Potions cupboard?”

“You did, Sister.”

“And did I or did I not tell you that under no circumstances were you to enter that private room?”

“You did, Sister.”

“So, please tell me, Probationer, why exactly did you see fit to leave the Potions cupboard, unlocked I might add, and enter the private room? And, furthermore, why did you think you were now entitled to use a wand?”

“I was trying to help, Sister.”

“Go on.”

“Senior Staff Nurse Byrne requested my assistance. You were not on the ward and he is the next in charge. It seemed urgent so I ran in to help him. When I got there Staff Nurse Jenkins was lying unconscious on the floor. I tried to move him, but he is a big man and I couldn’t do it on my own. Tim, I mean, Staff Nurse Byrne, told me to use Alfie’s wand and get him out quickly so I did. I then got Matilda to see to Alfie and send word to you while I went back to try and help Tim.”

“I see. Rules are there for a reason, Mr Potter. I don’t let junior staff deal with dangerous patients for a very good reason, as I hope your broken arm has proved. Running into a situation that you don’t understand is dangerous, you are very lucky that it wasn’t worse.”

“I’m sorry, Sister.”

“Very well, apology accepted. Against all the odds, you actually did very well today, Potter. I can’t let your flagrant display of insubordination go unpunished however. Once you have finished your inventory of the Potions, which you will have to start again to make sure that nothing went missing while the cupboard was left unlocked, I want you to start helping out with the Veela. You will apologise for nearly blinding him, and you will help me to feed him and change his sheets. From now on you will be one of his regular carers. He doesn’t usually take kindly to new faces, but as you have already barged your way in there it is too late to stop it.” She signed her name to the bottom of the parchment she had been working on and looked back up at him.

“Well, what are you still doing here? Those potions won’t sort themselves. Oh, and Potter, could you tell Healer Adamson that I want him to take a look at the Veela please.”

Harry left the office feeling relieved and unsure whether he had just been punished or rewarded.

***

Sorting out the Potions cupboard took a long time – Sister Vanyarsfeld kept finding other little jobs for him to do, always making sure he remembered to lock the cupboard when he left it. When he finally finished he still had to go and help with his new patient.

Harry was quite unprepared for the sight that met him when he entered the room again. The pitifully thin figure on the bed looked almost like a rag doll that had been thrown down by spoilt child. The Veela’s wings were hunched up over it, as though to protect it from passing eyes, but they were so ragged themselves that they did the job poorly. As though the sight of this weren’t bad enough, Harry then caught sight of a shackle, chaining each skeletal arm to the bed frame.

“Why has he been chained?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself.

“I’d have thought that you of all people wouldn’t need to ask that question, Potter. The patient is unpredictable; sometimes he has to be restrained. In this case it is not just for our benefit, he became somewhat distressed after the incident earlier; if he had not been restrained he would have done himself an injury.” Sister Vanyarsfeld replied as she levitated the patient slightly so that she could change the sheet beneath him. Harry couldn’t help but notice the scratches up the Veela’s arms and legs, no doubt caused by the talons.

They worked in silence then and the Veela did not acknowledge their presence in any way, nevertheless, Harry was sure he could feel those grey eyes on him from somewhere behind the wings. As he stepped out to retrieve the patient’s supper, Sister Vanyarsfeld released the Veela’s hands from the bed and admonished him not to try and harm himself if he didn’t want to be restrained again.

“Come on, Potter, we must leave him to it now. He’ll not eat whilst we’re here.”

They left the room and Harry decided that he might as well ask the question he’d been itching to ask all afternoon.

“Sister? What’s wrong with him? The Veela, I mean.” She gave him a long, hard look before signalling him into her office once more.

“Now, Potter, what I’m going to tell you is information personal to the patient and his family. It is not for public entertainment and you shall not repeat a word of it, do I make myself clear? As you will be one of his carers, I think it would indeed be prudent to let you know a little of his story. Our Veela is suffering from what is known as the Veela Sickness. Have you heard of it?”

“Where Veela sicken and die if their mates die? Yes, I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was meant to happen quickly?”

“In the scenario you have just given, yes. If a Pureblood Veela is mated to their true mate and said mate dies then they will usually follow in a matter of days, unless there are young, in which case the remaining parent will usually linger on until the child is old enough to fend for itself.

“However, it only takes a very small number of Veela genes for a Wizard to be destined as a Veela’s true mate. It is a one-way bond, though; the Wizard will likely feel only the slightest pull to their mate whereas the Veela will feel it just as strongly as if the mate were pure Veela.

“It has been known for Wizards to abandon their Veela mates after bonding with them; this also brings on the Veela sickness, only far worse. Because the mate hasn’t died the Veela will hang onto life for as long as possible. They are unable to understand the concept of their mate willingly leaving them, so they hang on, waiting for them to come back. Every time something happens to make the Veela realise that their mate will not come back it is like a physical pain. In the end their harpy form, which is physically stronger, is the only way of coping with the pain.”

“So, our Veela has been abandoned by his mate? And he is dying slowly and painfully of a broken heart?”

“Put bluntly, yes, I am afraid so, Potter.”

“What sort of a heartless cow was he married to? Does she even know what she’s done to him? Surely nobody would do a thing like that if they knew! What’s his name, anyway?”

“I’m afraid that is confidential, Potter. His family is very influential, they don’t want this getting out.”

“Oh really? And what about his family? Don’t they care? How could they leave him here like this?”

“It is not our place to meddle in the affairs of families, Harry. I’m sure they would have done everything in their power to make their son happy, he’s only here because they were worried he was becoming a danger to their other son, who is only four years old. They visit as often as they can. Our job is to make this as painless as possible for all involved.”

The hot tears pricked his eyes and he felt like an idiot. Here he was, standing in the office of a Nurse he very much wanted to impress, and he was crying over a person he had only just met. He felt so useless.

“I think you should go home, Potter. No, no arguments. It’s been a long, traumatic day and you should have finished over two hours ago. You’ll be no good to me if you are too tired to function tomorrow. Go home and get some rest.”

***

Harry’s day was not quite over yet. He finally got home, wanting nothing more than something hot to eat, a bath, and bed, but before he had even taken his coat off he heard his floo whoosh into life. Standing out in the hallway he could hear his fiancée’s voice calling his name. He’d been supposed to call her tonight and he had completely and utterly forgotten about it.

He felt guilty. New York was a long way away; he should be missing Ginny and wanting to talk to her, not skulking around in his own home hoping she couldn’t detect his presence. He crept up the stairs, deciding to skip dinner. He would call Ginny tomorrow, claiming that he’d been at work late and missed her call; it was very nearly true after all. She would probably shout at him a bit but hopefully forgive him.

***

Lips hard and demanding, tongues battling for dominance. The kisses are rushed, frantic, needy, intense.

***

A few weeks after the Veela incident, Harry had been helping with the patients’ breakfast at the end of a night shift when he suddenly realised that his watch had dropped off. It was an old watch belonging to Sirius that Harry had found at Grimmauld Place with an engraving on the back reading:

Dogbreath, happy birthday, stop making me late. Prongs.

The watch’s strap was mostly broken but Harry had been unwilling to get a new one, and now he had lost it. He searched the ward, he attempted to accio it, he checked everywhere he’d been that shift – nothing. Finally, in an act of desperation, he decided to sneak in and check the Veela’s room.

Although the Veela had shown no more signs of violence after that first day, there still had to be two members of staff present if anyone went into his room. Harry usually made sure he was one of them.

He cracked open the door and saw the Veela lying facedown on the bed as usual. Harry crept forward and proceeded to look under the bed for the watch, without success. Straightening, he nearly jumped out of his skin and gave a very unmanly squeal as he saw a pair of grey eyes watching him. The patient looked more like a bird than ever with his head cocked to one side. Harry quickly collected himself and decided it would be rude not to speak.

“Um, hi. Sorry, uh, you startled me. I mean, I don’t normally go around sounding like a girl like that…” he trailed off, embarrassed. The Veela looked for all the world like it was laughing at him, although he didn’t see how that was possible for a person with a beak instead of a mouth.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen a watch lying around? I’ve lost one, it belonged to my Godfather, a present from my Father, it’s sort of important to me – they’re both dead you see, it’s one of the few things I have left to remind me of them. My own fault really, I should have got the strap mended.” Harry knew he was babbling, but he didn’t seem able to stop himself. The Veela didn’t say anything, Harry assumed that talking would be nearly as impossible as smiling if one happened to have a beak for a mouth.

Slowly, as though he didn’t really want to be doing this, the Veela held out one taloned hand. Harry hesitated before reaching out to the patient, remembering what had happened last time, but when he did he discovered he was being handed his watch. He couldn’t contain the massive grin that broke across his face as he offered his thanks.

Having got what he came in for, Harry thought he’d better leave – he couldn’t think of a good excuse for staying in his patient’s private room where he was definitely not supposed to be. As he made to leave, he was stopped by a plaintive sound emerging from the Veela and a hand on his arm. Having finished his shift he decided he could stay for a bit – after all, he reasoned to himself, this must be a very lonely existence, so he pulled up a chair and chattered away inanely for over an hour. Finally he remembered that it was his turn to floo Ginny this morning and made his excuses, promising to come back and visit again.

It became a regular thing; Harry sneaking into the Veela’s room at the end of his shift. He would chatter away about goings on in the hospital, or in the Wizarding World in general, sometimes he would read items from The Daily Prophet, he would even read out the Quidditch scores because, after all, who didn’t like Quidditch?

The Veela didn’t seem to object to Harry’s presence, so he kept coming, sometimes popping in on his break or even before his shift if he had time. He knew it was silly of him to consider the Veela as a friend, he was a patient, but Harry couldn’t help it – it was probably all in his imagination but he just felt that they clicked somehow. Harry, for want of anything better to call him, not knowing his real name, had started calling him ‘Bird’. As far as he could tell, the Veela didn’t object to that either. In fact, the only time the Veela ever did object was every time Harry tried to leave.

***

Two bodies, coming together in heat and sweat and perfection.

***

Christmas came far too quickly that year. Harry should have felt more excited – Ginny was coming home for the holidays and he hadn’t seen his fiancée for nearly eighteen months, but all he could think was that it had all arrived too soon. He’d hardly done any shopping, he’d not put any decorations up and he just didn’t have time in his busy schedule for Christmas. To make matters worse, the whole hospital would be running on a skeleton staff as most people wanted Christmas off, and as one of the most junior members of staff, Harry would be working.

The party was in full swing by the time Harry got to the Burrow, but it wasn’t very long before his arms were full of shrieking redhead.

“HARRY! OH MY GOD, HARRY’S HERE! It’s just so amazing to see you,” George shrieked in an unconvincing American accent before planting a big sloppy kiss right on Harry’s mouth and collapsing into a fit of giggles on the sofa with Ron.

“Hilarious, guys, missed you too. Where’s Gin?”

“With tonic!” George slurred, rattling his drink.

“Er, George, mate, that’s firewhisky, and you are funnier when you’re sober. So, where’s Ginny?”

“Oh, she’s around somewhere. Christ, anyone would think you hadn’t seen her for a year and a half or something! Anyway, we never get to see you these days either!”

“Sorry, George, got to work, you know how it is,” Harry replied easily. George worked harder than anyone he knew. He also partied harder than anyone he knew, like he was trying to fill every hour of his day with work and alcohol so that he didn’t have time to think about Fred. Harry resolved once more to try and help his friend. He was pulled out of his musings about George by the arrival of Ginny.

“HARRY!” she shrieked, flinging herself into his arms in a manner so like George that Harry had to fight the urge to laugh out loud along with her brothers. “What? What did I say? Why are you all laughing at me? Harry?” Ginny was sounding cross now. Harry thought that growing up with six older brothers, two of them being Fred and George, should have meant that Ginny was used to being teased and laughed at, but she wasn’t, she hated it. He took her by the arm and led her away from George and Ron, who were now drunkenly trying to high-five and missing.

“It’s really good to see you, Gin, how’re you doing?” Harry hugged her.

“Jeez, Harry, you know how I’m doing, we floo most nights,” laughed Ginny in her new American accent.

“Mmm, but it’s not the same, I miss you.”

“I sure hope so! Now stop talking and kiss me.”

“Ugh, will you two stop making me want to throw up!” Ron was back, apparently having left George to create mischief somewhere else.

“Aww, come on Ronniekins, let me say hello to my fiancée. I haven’t seen him in ages. Anyway, where’s Hermione, I thought she was coming tonight?” responded Ginny.

“Some sort of last minute Uni thing, had to give a talk, couldn’t get away,” replied Ron, bitterly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mate. It would have been nice to see her,” Harry said honestly.

“Hey! There’s only one girl you are gonna to want to see tonight.” Ginny swatted his arm playfully. “Hermione’s promised to come over at Christmas, so I’ll still get to see her before I go back.”

“Hey! You only just got here, no talk of going back yet.” Harry hugged her to him again.

“Hmm, but you’re not the only bird in Harry’s life, is she Harry?” Ron asked with a smirk.

“What?” Ginny didn’t look amused.

“Oh did Harry not tell you? There’s this bird at work…” Ron trailed off as he dodged Harry trying to smack him around the head.

“Harry? What’s he talking about?”

“He’s just trying to be funny, Gin. There is a ‘bird’ at work, but he is a patient; a Veela”

“Um, yeah, I think I remember you saying something about that. Why is Ron bringing it up though?”

“Because he’s drunk, and a little odd, probably. Come on, lets go and find Charlie, he’s home too, right?”

It turned out to be a pleasant enough evening, although he found he couldn’t relax in Ginny’s company in the same way he used to He couldn’t help feeling that she had changed somewhat, but he knew he was being ridiculous. In the end he put it down to the fact that he was tired and he’d probably been looking forward to her coming home a bit too much, if such a thing were possible.

***

The creature of light sits astride him, impaling himself over and over, wings outstretched either side.

***

As Christmas drew nearer, Harry found his workload getting heavier. The holiday season didn’t mean that people didn’t get sick; if anything there were more sickness bugs flying around than ever, but at the same time everyone wanted time off. There seemed to be a particularly nasty case of muggle flu that was somehow affecting werewolves quite badly. The Magical beings department was inundated with cases, and being the new boy, Harry was member of staff least likely to get time off.

The week before and the week of Christmas, Harry found himself working the night shift, which had Ginny understandably upset.

“But Harry,” she protested, “I’ve come all the way from America to see you! It’s not like you didn’t know I was coming home, couldn’t you have gotten some vacation before now?”

“It’s not that easy, Ginny. It’s Christmas, I’d have had to have booked any holiday at least a year ago, and I’ve only been working at St Mungo’s for just over three months.” Harry was trying to be reasonable, but this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation over the last few days and he was tired of having to make excuses for something he had no control over.

“Can’t you take unpaid leave? It’s not like you really need the money.”

“No, Ginny, we’ve been over this! I’m part of a team, we all need to pull our weight or it’s not fair on everyone else. If I suddenly pull out of working now then someone else, someone who also probably has plans for Christmas and who did book in advance, will have to cover for me. I can’t do that, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Well, what about being fair to me?”

“Gin, come on! Now you’re the one who’s not being fair,” Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead where he could feel a headache coming. “I just spent the whole weekend with you and all of today, tonight I have to go to work, why don’t you catch up with some of your friends or go and spend some time with Molly or something.

“It’s true! Jeez, Harry, I’ve been away for nearly two years; am I not allowed to spend time with my fiancée? Maybe it’s time you stopped thinking about everyone else in the world and took a little time for yourself, Harry!”

“You’ve been away for just under eighteen months, not two years so stop exaggerating! And while we’re at it, drop the phoney accent. And furthermore, it was your choice to move away, Gin, so you can hardly blame me for the fact that we’ve not seen each other in all that time. And lastly, this is my career we’re talking about. You don’t actually want me to think about myself, you want me to think about you.”

“You’re only a MediWizard, Harry. It’s not like the world will fall apart if you take some time off work!”

“Only a MediWizard? What happened to ‘I’ll stand by you whatever job you want to do’? What happened to ‘I think nursing is a very noble profession’? And by the way, in the modern world we call it ‘nursing’.”

“Ok, fine, nurse then. But really, Harry, it’s not even like you’re fully qualified. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss you if you took a few days off. They’d understand; you’re Harry Potter, after all.”

“I’m going to work, I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t you walk away from me, Harry Potter! You know what, I’m beginning to think that you just don’t want to spend any time with me! I’m beginning to think you don’t care about anything except for that god-damn hospital!”

“I’ll be late. Bye.”

***

Harry was indeed late for work thanks to his argument with Ginny and he missed his usual pre-shift visit with the Veela. He didn’t get to see the patient at all until about halfway through his shift when he and Tim went to pick up the dinner tray. When they entered the room there was no sign of its inhabitant, which was unusual as the Veela rarely moved from the bed.

“Bird? You in here?” Harry called out softly.

“He’s down here!” Tim said, crouching down beside the bed. “Hey, mate, what’s wrong? What are you doing down there?”

“What’s wrong, Bird? Are you hurt?” Harry put a hand out and lightly stroked a wing, ignoring the startled gasp from Tim. The Veela looked up at him for a moment before putting a clawed hand out to touch Harry’s face as though trying to make sure he was real. “Are you hurt?” Harry asked again. The Veela shook his head.

“Tell you what, why don’t I give these sheets a quick change whilst I’m here and the bed is free?” Tim moved away from the other two. “No, you stay there, Harry, I can manage this on my own.” The look in Tim’s eyes said he would talk to Harry later.

“I wish you could tell me what’s wrong, Bird,” Harry sighed, “Has something happened over the weekend? I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you, life was conspiring against me.” The Veela just looked at him. Harry chattered away inanely till Tim was finished.

“Come on then, let’s get you back into bed, I’m supposed to be working here. I’ll come and see you later, ok?” Harry helped manoeuvre his patient back into the freshly made bed and followed Tim out of the room.

As soon as they were outside, Tim pulled Harry to one side.

“Harry, are you mental? He could have had your arm off for touching him like that, and you’d have been the one in the wrong!”

“Yeah, but he didn’t, did he?”

“No, no, he didn’t. In fact, he seemed happy about it, which is even weirder. Most Veela don’t like to be touched by anyone except their mates, especially when said mate is not around. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Yeah, I’m mated to a Veela, didn’t you know?” Harry said sarcastically.

“Well, it would be one explanation,” Tim replied seriously.

“It’s obviously escaped your notice, but we’re both male.”

“I don’t think that matters where Veela are concerned. Before they started mating with Wizards they were all hermaphrodites anyway. They don’t have the same concept of gender as we do.”

“Yeah? Well I’m a Wizard, and I do.”

“Two blokes being together isn’t exactly unheard of in Wizarding culture either though, is it?”

“I’m not gay, Tim. I have a fiancée, who just so happens to be a woman. I like women, as the Daily Prophet is so fond of pointing out. I think I’d know if I’d somehow managed to get myself mated to a male Veela!”

“So you’ve never – experimented?”

“What, with a different species?” A guilty pang shot through Harry, but he pushed it away.

“With the same sex. Don’t forget that he doesn’t normally look like that. As a man he was probably very good looking.”

“Oh, and maybe I just didn’t notice that he wasn’t a woman? His wife left him, Tim, you know that as well as I do.”

“So, what explanation can you give me for his behaviour just now?”

“Well, I might have been sneaking in to see him sometimes, after work and so on. I guess we’ve sort of become friends.”

“Friends? With a psychotic Veela? You really are mental.”

“I’m not! And he’s not psychotic. He’s just scared and lonely – I’ve been keeping him company sometimes. He trusts me.”

“If it’s all so fine, you won’t mind me telling Fanny about this?”

“No! Please, Tim, she’ll stop me seeing him. I’m not hurting anyone, honestly.”

“Ok, fine. But I’ll be keeping my eye on you! And when Fanny does find out, and believe me she will, I knew nothing about this, ok?”

“Ok. Thanks, Tim”

***

Harry spent a good couple of hours chatting to ‘Bird’ after his shift. He was in no rush to get home and have another argument with Ginny and, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he liked spending time in the Veela’s company.

There was something different about their meeting now. The encounter earlier in the night felt as though it had somehow brought them closer together. Harry had tried to explain it to Tim as the Veela trusting him, but in truth he trusted the Veela too. He found himself telling Bird things that he didn’t tell anyone, not even Ron or Hermione.

He told him about the war, about dying, about his parents, about his godfather. He told about the expectations that had been piled on him since he was eleven years old, and about how they just increased after his victory. He explained why he had gone into Auror training, and why he had dropped out; why he had taken up nursing, much to everyone’s disgust. It was easy to talk to the Veela, he couldn’t answer back or judge him. It was more than that though; Harry was sure that the understanding in those beautiful eyes wasn’t imagined any more than the fact that the Veela had taken hold of his hand and not let go.

“I wish you could talk to me, Bird. I wish you could tell me how you came to be here. I wish I could listen to you like you listen to me.”

The only thing Harry didn’t talk about that Tuesday morning was the thing playing most on his mind. He didn’t talk about Ginny. He didn’t talk about his reservations about his up and coming marriage, his fears that she’d changed, or his even greater fears that she hadn’t. He couldn’t talk about that, not yet, not here. He’d been looking forward to her coming home too much to let it go yet.

***

They move together as one. One an angel, the other a mere mortal, a man. Wild magic crackles around the room like electricity.

***

Christmas day went well enough, at least to begin with. Ginny had spent the past few days acting as though everything was fine, and Harry was happy to go along with that. Harry finished his shift at 8 o’clock and went to wish his Bird a merry Christmas before going home for some much-needed sleep before lunch.

Christmas dinner was excellent, as Molly’s dinners always were, and the company was good, Harry could honestly say that he enjoyed himself. Afterwards, when Molly had banished all men from her kitchen and most people had gone visiting or to the pub, Harry found himself sitting with Arthur in the Weasleys’ comfortable sitting room, both men pretending they weren’t trying not to fall asleep.

“So, Harry,” said Arthur in his best ‘making friendly conversation’ voice, “When are you thinking of joining our little Ginny out in the Americas?”

“Uh, I don’t really know, Arthur – it depends when I can get time off work.”

“Ah yes, work. You certainly do work hard, Harry. When do you become a full-fledged MediWizard then?”

“Nurse. I’ve got a while to go yet, but I think I’m getting along alright.”

“And then will you be able to work anywhere, or will you need to do more training?”

“Well, I’ll be on rotation around each ward until I qualify, but if I want to specialise then I would need to do more training, yes.”

“Yes, but will you be able to work in America, or would you need to retrain over there?”

“I don’t know, actually, I’ve never looked into it.”

“Oh. Right.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Harry was just starting to doze off when Arthur spoke again.

“So, er, are you not planning on sticking with the nursing thing then?”

Harry opened one eye and looked at him. “Why would I not stick with it?”

“Well, when you go and join Ginny in New York.”

“Oh, yes, well, I’ll probably have to see about getting some holiday when I finish this rotation, but I’m sure I’ll be able to pick up where I left off when I get back.”

“What about later on though, when the two of you are living over there?”

“When we’re what!?”

“Ah, have I said something I shouldn’t have? Oh dear.”

“Arthur,” Harry sighed, “would you please tell me what Ginny’s been saying.”

“Um, I don’t really think it’s my place to, Harry.”

“No, no, it’s Ginny’s place to tell me, but then Ginny should really have told me this before she told you, so you’d better tell me, hadn’t you.”

“I really think I’ve said too much already.”

“I really think you’ve not said enough.”

“Oh dear, I really didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Arthur!”

Arthur sighed. “Very well then. Ginny told us that the business in the Americas was doing so well that it would be easiest to run operations from there rather than here and that the two of you would be moving over there permanently.”

Harry was quiet for a moment as he processed this information.

“Thank you for telling me, Arthur. This is the first I’ve heard of it. I wonder when Ginny was planning on letting me know that I was moving to the States.”

“I dare say I’ve just got the wrong end of the stick, Harry. I think she just misses you.”

“Yes, maybe you’re right. Look, I need to get some fresh air Arthur, I might see you later, ok?” Harry jumped up without waiting for a response and left the room.

***

Part 2

The Fire Dance

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 15:33:53 GMT

Title: The Fire Dance
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Fire!
Beta: No beta, sorry, feel free to shout out for mistakes..
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I don’t own anything so please don’t sue Sue..
Summary: A ministry Thanksgiving function takes a fiery twist.

Short one-shot – Birthday fic for tmkline, Happy Birthday Missy! :D

He didn’t need an enchanted mirror to tell him he was gorgeous, it was obvious to anyone with eyes; let’s face it, the mirror would have been enchanted just by looking at him. His designer robes hugged his trim form in all the right places, synched in at the waist and flaring out perfectly over his hips so it swished when he moved. The steely blue-grey set off his eyes like it had been specially chosen, which of course, it had. His hair was loose about his face in that seemingly effortless way, which took ages and a lot of charms to get it looking that good; not that he really needed it, he’d look good if he’d been stranded in the desert for a month.

His shoes were Gucci, of course. He’d never tell his father that he preferred muggle-made shoes, but then, he’d never tell his father that he preferred Bordeaux to Beaujolais or that he preferred men to women or Quadpot to Quidditch; and it wasn’t like he was planning on buying shoes from Marks & Spencer or anything like that, but for Draco only the best would do, and these were the best. He also had a muggle-made wristwatch from Cartier and several muggle suits, all from top designers of course. Draco was willing to turn a blind eye to the origin of these clothes; just so long as he remained top of Wizard GQ’s best-dressed list he didn’t care.

He gave a twirl and inspected him self one last time before setting off to the party the Ministry were throwing for something called ‘Thanksgiving’. He didn’t know much about it, a party was a party as far as he was concerned, but there were some American dignitaries over and so the Ministry were out to impress them. He had overheard some of his colleagues talking about what they were wearing, most of them seemed to think Stetsons and cowboy boots were necessary, along with checked shirts and tassels, but Draco didn’t care, if that was dressing ‘American’ then he wasn’t going to bother – that look was so five years ago! He didn’t like to dress badly at the best of times, let alone at a function, and definitely not when Potter was likely to be there. If anyone questioned him he would tell them he was simply a ‘well-dressed American’, surely they didn’t all dress like something out of the Wild West anymore?

Upon reaching the ministry, his worst fears were confirmed, it looked like the Battle of the OK Corral had come to London – there were rather English Cowboys everywhere. It was quite a sight to behold, Draco would have found it amusing if it weren’t so culturally embarrassing – Percy Weasley was a particularly bad cowboy, apparently having come straight from the office, armed with a briefcase and a copy of the Daily Profit, the Wizarding version of the Financial Times. In fact, just about the only people who hadn’t come dressed as an American stereotype were the Americans themselves, along with a couple of muggle-borns and himself.

Sighing, Draco made his way over to the bar and decided to choose a different way of showing solidarity with the Americans. A few FireBourbons later, and everything started to take on the funny side of tragic, as opposed to the just plain tragic side. He still couldn’t see Potter, he’d better bloody well be coming, it wasn’t like Draco could be seen out in the same robe more than once and this one was far too good to waste!

He moved out to the dance floor, which had been set up for after dinner. Dancing after eating a large meal seemed like a particularly stupid idea to Draco so he decided to get things moving along and danced a few dances with some girls who’d been eyeing him up, he had appearances to keep up after all. His ‘date’ finally arrived nearly forty minutes after he did; and people said he spent a long time getting ready! He was quite sure that Pansy’s face and breasts weren’t quite as late as the rest of her, having arrived several minutes in advance, after the application of several inches of make up and a push-up bra that had to have charms on it. She wasn’t dressed as a cowgirl, he had threatened to have her kicked out as a gatecrasher if she did, but she wasn’t exactly tasteful either; Pansy was one of those people who thought that if you threw enough money at an outfit and it had enough designer labels on it then it had to be good.

Draco and Pansy spent a fun half-hour criticising the rest of the guests before the dinner gong went. Going through to the dining area, where a highly impressive spread was being laid out, Draco was feeling more and more cross. Potter was the Ministry Golden Boy, all his cronies were here (Weasel even had a Stars & Stripes waistcoat on) and more importantly, Draco was here, he had to be here so where the hell was he? This was just not on!

He was so busy sulking that he barely noticed the excellent food he consumed, barely paid any attention to the, frankly dreadful, entertainment, barely even noticed the pained expression on the faces of the Americans as Thanksgiving was ruined for them forever. He didn’t even listen to Pansy’s highly amusing running commentary on how lame everything was. He didn’t really perk up at all till the highlight of the evening’s entertainment came on at just about the time that everyone was trying to convince themselves that they could manage pudding if they waited a few minutes.

As the lights dimmed, the diners gasped as an enchanted flame streaked around the walls of the room. The first of the performers ran onto the stage in glittery face paint and a sparkly costume with her flame-coloured hair streaming out behind her. She was making some strange kind of whooping noise, like she thought it was a necessary part of the act. The second ran on from the other side in the same manner, the flames, which were now dancing across the ceiling, gave the impression that her hair was the same colour as the other girls, but he soon realised that it was more like the silver of his own hair. The first girl pointed her wand in the air and a hoop of fire appeared in the air, which the second girl proceeded to leap through. As more dancers came on, the flames multiplied and the dancers became more daring. They continued in this manner for a while, each time performing more and more complicated acrobatics through smaller and smaller rings of fire to music of the same name as flames continued to dance around the room..

Despite himself, Draco found he was taking an interest. Fire was something which inexplicably turned him on, even though he knew these girls had to be using charms to protect themselves or their loose hair would have caught fire a while back. Now, if only one of the performers could have been a fit bloke, it just might have made up for Potter’s absence.

A fit bloke like that one.

The man from Draco’s wet dreams ran onto the stage where the two girls were now juggling fireballs between them, he leapt through the fire and for a moment it seemed as though his whole being was aflame before the fire surrounding him died out. The flames had danced over midnight hair on his head and the trim muscles of his upper body, which was covered in nothing more than the same sparkly greasepaint that covered the faces of all the performers. Brandishing a stick, the man proceeded to spear one of the fireballs currently travelling between the dancers. He held the torch aloft before tipping back his head and swallowing the flame whole. The main thoughts that ran through Draco’s head were not clean at all, but let’s just say he had plans for that gag reflex.

The man grinned as he brought the extinguished torch out of his mouth and speared another fireball. This time he sent the fire racing towards the crowd, like a dragon belching flame at its prey. There was a gasp from the audience as some of them pointlessly tried to move backwards away from the flame, which had gone by the time it reached them. He then threw the flaming stick high into the air and joined in the juggling before catching it again, at the non-lit end, single handed and once more put the fire in his mouth.

The dance renewed itself more intensely now, and Draco gasped as he suddenly recognised it and realised what they were doing – he hoped they realised the significance themselves. This was an ancient tribal dance, not American like the rest of the evening, but Celtic, pagan, and dangerous. If it was being done properly, then the control over the flames was all down to the dance and the protection charms, over the dancers at least, would be minimal; but the real danger was not in the flames, the real danger was in the purpose of the dance. Someone in this room would find themselves permanently bound to someone else before the dance could end, before the flames would go out, and commitment was one of the most dangerous words going as far as Draco was concerned – what idiot had allowed this? This magic was so old that most people didn’t understand it anymore, Draco happened to have done his PHD thesis on ancient tribal magic, but he was fairly sure the rest of the room thought it was just ‘entertainment’.

Draco looked back at the perfect male specimen at the centre of the dance, and lamented the waste. The dancer wasn’t just the only man in the dance, he was the focus of it, he would be one half of the newly forged couple and Draco would never get his hands on him – it galled him that a man like that should be wasted on a woman!

A flame shot out of the dance towards the American Minister for Magic and a few screams erupted from the watching diners. The flame stopped just short of the Minister and, in a burst of sparks, transformed into a rose. Draco held his breath, if the minister took that rose she would find herself bound to his dancer and that would be a political disaster! The dance-binding would be sealed with the acceptance of a flame or a kiss, he had assumed that the bonding would take place between the dancers, rather than trying to trick the audience into it! As the Minister tentatively reached out her hand Draco opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the rose burst into a shower of coloured sparks like a firework; fortunately it seemed enough charms were in place to stop the Ministers from being burnt.

The Dance continued and picked up pace. A few more flames shot out different watchers, the flames taking a different guise each time and bursting into fireworks before they could be touched. Draco almost wasn’t surprised when a fiery Chinese dragon flew out towards him, but he did hold his breath when he saw that the male performer was making his way towards the table, his brilliant green eyes never leaving Draco’s face. Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes. When he came to an abrupt stop right in front of him, he held out his arm and the fire-dragon curled itself around it.

“Take it,” the man said in Potter’s voice, “it won’t harm you.” But Draco could feel the heat coming off it, it was real fire alright. “I need you to trust me, Draco.”

“Do you understand the significance of this?” He whispered back.

The man nodded, “Of course I do, I have read your thesis you know, you made me. This wasn’t easy to arrange.”

The whole hall was watching them. “Why?” He had to ask.

“You’ll keep us secret forever if you have your way, how else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“What if I say no? You’ll still have to bind yourself to someone.”

“I will,” Harry nodded, “that’s your choice, Ginny will happily have me, she’s been trying for years.” Draco glanced over at the redheaded dancer.

“You’d just give up everything and marry her because I said no? Are you out of your mind Potter?”

“The question is, will you give up everything we have, just because you are too scared to say yes?”

“That is hardly fair on her.”

“Since when did you care so much about Ginny?”

“I don’t…”

“Well then, take the fire and she’ll never even know she was in danger.”

Tentatively, Draco put his hand out towards the fireball, it was hot to the touch, but bearable if you accepted the dance. The dragon curled around his own arm as well as Potter’s, now that he had it, he really didn’t know what to do next. Harry took the problem from him though, by bending down and kissing him full on the mouth as the Dragon erupted into a multicoloured shower around them and the ancient magic sealed the spell. The kiss was hot, literally. Draco could taste the fire on Potter’s lips and then on his own but he couldn’t stop kissing him, why would he?

When they finally came up for breath, Draco realised that they were the only source of light in the room, the rest of the fire having died down to embers, and everyone was watching them. Potter looked round and laughed, before tugging Draco’s hand and leading him out of the hall. The faces that they passed ranged from gob-smacked to outraged, Granger looked like she might pass out, the Weasel looked like he might explode and Ginny looked like she would cry and Neville was grinning broadly. The blonde dancer, who looked a lot like Luna on closer inspection winked at him. As soon as they left the room the shouting started, but they ignored it and ran on until they reached the apparition point.

“I notice it was only me you outed there, Potter,” Draco groused, “Nobody knew it was you.”

“Not at all, the people who matter to me already know I’m gay, and they all knew it was me in the Dance.” Harry apparated them to his flat as he spoke. “Besides, the bonding certificate will be in the registry office on Monday morning, I think people will know then.”

“So, Malfoy, or should I call you Potter now? No cowboy suit? I’m disappointed.”

“Definitely still Malfoy, I’m far too pretty to be a Potter. And I’ll have you know that these robes were the best money can buy!”

“Well, that may be so,” Harry gave him an appreciative once over, “I particularly like the scorch mark on the sleeve in the shape of a dragon. But I really can’t wait to get you out of them.”

Veela Fest

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 11:09:32 GMT

banner art by dirty_darella

Claim your Veela prompts here!

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 23:16:54 GMT

How big should an LJ header be?

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 17:07:39 GMT

Dear Flist,

Do any of you know what dimesions a regular LJ header should be? Please help the LJ-challenged.

Love Sue

Coming in from the Cold – Chapter 12 WIP

Sat, 01 Nov 2008 17:58:39 GMT

Coming in from the Cold – Chapter 11 WIP

Sat, 01 Nov 2008 17:56:06 GMT

Title: Coming in from the Cold
Rating: M, for now
Warnings: Adult language. OoCness
Beta: No beta, sorry, feel free to shout out for mistakes, or let me know if you’d be up for the challenge.
Disclaimer: Of course I don’t own anything, I make no money from this, they’d only pay me to stop writing anyway!
Summary: In a fit of altruism, Draco Malfoy decides to help a homeless squib one Christmas. Bringing the stranger into his home and his life, Draco soon discovers that the man has no memories and no idea who he is and sets out to help him fix his life, inadvertently fixing his own along the way.
Chapter summary: Edward’s world becomes a little more odd

From the top
previous chapter

Chapter 11: Strange New World – 2 January

Edward’s POV

What’s the story, morning glory? I’m sure that’s like a song or something that I remember. When I was young. I must remember something because my dick seems to have woken up before me today, and it hasn’t done that for as long as I can remember, not that that says much, that song was probably out then. I’m lying here next to a very fit bloke and I’m as hard as Liverpool Docks. That should be a good thing, except that he’d probably run a mile because I’m a mess and he’s only here because, well, I’m not sure really but sure as hell not for this. Am I even gay? Why didn’t I know this? Apparently I am, or that’s what my cock and my imagination have ganged up on me to say.

I have to have a shower, a cold one. Hopefully he’ll be gone by the time I come back. Or at least woody here will have.

***

Don’t you just love it when you walk into a room and everyone stops talking and stares at you? I mean, for f’k’s sake, I actually managed to find the breakfast room all by myself today without any help from little green men or imaginary men in paintings or anything, and now I wish I hadn’t bothered. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m determined to eat as much as possible before I leave, I wouldn’t bother. I think I’ll eat them out of house and home, just out of badness.

“Good morning, family! How are we all today?” No, it wasn’t me, I didn’t say that. Blondie said that, he’s just walked in behind me, he probably has trouble finding the place too.

“Good morning,” random muttered responses all amounting to pretty much the same thing.

“Edward, how are you today?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Great, now he’s wincing at me; what have I said wrong now? It’s like living with a feking English teacher.

“Have you had any thoughts about what you want to do when you leave here?” Wow, that was abrupt and to the point, all week pussy-footing around and then he suddenly just blurts it out! Oh bollocks, is he going to chuck me out now? I haven’t eaten yet, better snag some of that bacon double quick.

“Hey, it’s ok, leave some food for everyone else! I’m not kicking you out in the snow or anything, I just might be able to get you a job, if you’re interested.”

A job? Me? I don’t know if I’ve ever had a job, who the hell would ever want to employ me? Doing what? I don’t have any skills, I don’t even know if I went to school, let alone what I might have learnt there!

“Doing what?” I ask

“Just odd jobs, helping out the Groundsman and the Caretaker at the school where I work, maybe helping me out with collecting ingredients, that sort of thing. It wouldn’t pay much, but it comes with room and board.” School? See, he is an English teacher! Told you! Whoever you might be. He sounds kinds kinda keen for me to do this, why? Is this some sort of a trap so they can lock me up again?

“Why would anyone give me a job?”

“Well, you’d have to go and see the Headmistress today for an interview, and then you’d only be on trial to see if you’re any good, but surely it’s better than nothing? I have to go back to work tomorrow, so you can’t really stay here much longer, and we’ve all got to know you now so I can’t just kick you out now can I?”

“Ok, well… I’ll think about it.”

“Right, well, don’t think too long, she wants to see you after lunch today, so that’s probably about oneish.” He sounds a little put out, maybe I was supposed to be more grateful?

“Where is it?”

“Hogwarts, Scotland, up in the Highlands.” What the fuck? How in the bloody hell am I supposed to get up to sodding Scotland by lunchtime?

“How the fu-, er, how the sodding he-, no, how the heck am I supposed to get to Scotland?”

“It’s ok, I’ll take you. We can get lunch in Hogsmead, maybe get you some clothes too.”

“Where? We’ll never get ther—” The Shrew cuts me off before I get any further.

“Draco, no. It’s the New Year Witch’s Institute Luncheon today, you know that! You’re baby sitting.”

“Oh for goodness sake, Pans, it’s only the WI, I’m sure you don’t have to be there!”

“That’s just typical, Draco, belittle my interests!”

“Actually, Draco dear, I think you’ll find we do need Pansy, I absolutely insist on it.” You’d think the Shrew would look happy that the Ice Queen is sticking up for her, but she just looks even more pissed off.

“Fine!” Blondie throws his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture.

“Daddy could take both Edward and me with him,” pipes up Sco—, whatshecalled.

“Why, Scorpius, darling, what would you want to go to that horrible smelly school for? And surely Daddy has told you by now that it’s ‘Edward and I’, not ‘Edward and me’,” the shrew answers, casting a smug look at blondie.

“No,” the kid shakes his head, “it’s Edward and me, and I want to go.”

Blondie snorts coffee out of his nose; it’s the most human thing I’ve ever seen him do. “At least there is no doubt that he’s my son. Classic snobs error there, Pans.” He reaches over and ruffles the boy’s hair. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Scorp, you can come with Edward and me.” He looks at his wife and starts laughing again. The little boy nods enthusiastically, wriggling about in his seat with his mouth full. That reminds me, I must make sure I eat this food.

***

I’m not sure about this, I don’t want to go to bloody Scotland! It’s miles away from… from everywhere else! And it’s cold! Everyone knows Scotland is cold!

“Ok, I’ll go first. Ideally I’d go last but I can’t do both and I’m not letting Scorpius go through to the Three Broomsticks alone so I’ll just have to go first. Now, Edward, listen carefully then do what I do, you too Scorp. This is Floo powder, you have to throw it into the fire, say where you want to go and then step into it, ok?”

“Wait, step into the fire? Are you nuts?”

“It’s fine, Edward, don’t worry about it. We do this all the time. Now, Scorpius has done this before, but I don’t want him left on his own on either side so I’ll go first and then you can send him through. Will you be alright going last?” I nod, what else can I do? I’m not standing in the fire though, he can sod right off if he thinks I’m doing that. I’m not putting the kid in the fire either!

“Ok, you only need a handful,” he’s taken a handful of ash, “and then, in your clearest voice, say ‘Three Broomsticks’, ok?” We both nod. Blondie throws the ash into the fire, which lights up green, and calls out “Three Broomsticks”, and then he vanishes.

“What!” I run forward, “Where did he go?”

“The Three Broomsticks of course, silly.” The boy tries to reach into the pot by the fire and nearly tips it over. I hand it down to him without thinking and before I can stop him he is throwing another handful of ash into the fire and shouting “Three Broomsticks”. I guess I have to do that too then? Is this some sort of trick? Are they hiding somewhere laughing at me?

A head is sticking out of the fire now. “Come on, Edward! We haven’t got all day and we need to get you something more suitable to wear!” Blondie’s voice comes out of the disembodied head. I think those eggs must have been bad at breakfast. “Please, Edward, don’t make me come back for you, I can’t leave Scorpius on his own. Just trust me, ok?”

I take a deep breath and follow them.

***

I’m sitting on the floor of a pub coughing my guts up with ash in my eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry everyone, he’s a squib.” Blondie was saying to the rest of the pub. “Come on, Edward, lets go and get you cleaned up, then we’ll get some robes and then we’ll hopefully have time for some lunch before we have to see Minerva.” He saunters off towards the door of the pub so, not knowing what else to do, I follow him. I’m not really sure where the pub came from to be honest, it’s like they have some sort of a secret door in their fireplace with a pub behind it.

I’m in some sort of village, I thought the ,mansion was in the middle of nowhere, but there seems to be a small village right next to it. Mind you, I can’t seem to see the house anymore.

Before I know what’s happening, he’d managed to bundle me into what can only be a barber’s shop and he’s muttering about getting me a haircut and shave, I try to back out.

“Please, Edward? You want to impress Minerva, don’t you?”

‘No’, I think, ‘I don’t want to impress Minerva, I don’t really care about impressing girls.’ Another treacherous little part of my brain is thinking, ‘I do want to impress you though.’ I tell all parts of my brain to shut up and try looking mutinous instead but soon find my self with my head in a basin anyway.

“I’m just taking Scorpius to the sweet shop across the way, please let them make you look presentable.”

By the time they come back both my hair and my beard have been trimmed and they’ve even cleaned the ash off my face from earlier.

“Very nice indeed.” I’d prefer to have that reaction from Blondie if he didn’t have this sort of squinty, narrowed eye look about him – I guess I’m just kidding myself really, what would a man like that ever want with a fuck-up like me? Hell, where is all this even coming from? I don’t need anyone. And he’s married. Ok, not happily married, but still married all the same.

“Come on then, robes!” He nods thanks to the barber after handing him some money and strides out of the shop. I mutter thanks and follow, that’s all I seem to do these days, follow. Like some stupid puppy or something.

There is a girl outside who is looking at me funny, why does everyone always look at me funny? Do I have an extra head?

“Hello Malfoy, who’s your friend?”

“Granger.”

“Weasley. Uness you are trying to tell me that he is called Granger, which I somehow doubt.”

“Sorry, Mrs Weasley. What brings you to Hogsmead?”

“I’ve just bought some new robes, Hogsmead is quieter than Diagon Alley and I have a lunch appointment to see Professor McGonagall.”

“Ah, you got the lunch appointment did you? We’re just after. This is my son, Scorpius, and my… lodger, Edward.”

“Please to meet you.” She shakes my hand but continues to give me a funny look before bending down and making a fuss of Scorpius.

“Well, Gr— Mrs Weasley, as pleasant as this has been, we really must be getting on.”

“Quite, as must I. — Look, Malfoy, I’m really sorry about Ron and Harry the other night, Ron’s only an arse like that when he’s with Harry, he’s really not that bad most of the time.”

“It’s alright, Mrs Weasley, it’s not like I blame you for the way your husband behaves.”

“Please, I know we’re not friends but could you call me Hermione? Mrs Weasley is my mother-in-law. And I know you can’t blame me for Ron, but he’s really not like that usually.”

“H— Hermione, no offence but your husband has acted like that to me since we were eight-years old, I hardly expect that to change now.”

“I don’t remember you being a saint, exactly.”

“Yes, well, some of us grew up. Although just to go against that slightly, he started it. Good day to you, Mrs Weasley.”

“Lord Malfoy.” She seems to be smirking.

“Ok, you win – Hermione.” He’s smirking back

“Draco.” She has quite a nice smile actually, friendly. She turns it on Scorpius and me before hurrying off.

Blondie (Drago? It really would look better if I knew his name I guess) looks at me. “Robes?”

“If you say so.”

“I really do.”

***

I am wearing a dress.

I am wearing a fucking dress!

I can’t go outside wearing this! I’ll get beaten to a pulp!

“I’m not wearing this!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I mean I’m not going to wear this. I look like a twat. A twat in a dress.”

“It’s not a dress, it’s robes. I’m wearing robes. You look very smart, like someone going for a job interview. And can you please watch your language in front of my son?”

“No, I’ve seen people going for job interviews, they wear suits, even the women. This is a dress. This is fancy dress.”

“They are hardly fancy, they are just plain, smart, work-robes. We’ll get you some more practical clothes for actual work but you have to look smart for the interview, I keep telling you this.”

“But…”

“No, no more buts, you’re getting the robes.”

“I look like a twa-a—, a twit! Who’s going to give me a job dressed like this?”

“A witch is going to give you a job dressed like that – hopefully. It’s a Wizarding school, you have to dress like a wizard, even if you aren’t one.”

“Oh shut up! You are not going on about that wizard thing again, it’s bullshit!”

“What did I just say about watching your mouth? You can’t talk like that in front of Scorpius, you can’t talk like that at your interview, and, if you get the job, you can’t talk like that in front of the students! Furthermore, if Wizards and magic are such bull – whatever – as you say, then how did you manage to travel from Wiltshire to the highlands of Scotland in seconds by floo? How did you watch me teach my son to fly? How we have house elves cooking your food? How did I do this?” And he suddenly waves his stick, or wand, I guess, at me and suddenly I really am wearing a dress, and it has flowers on it and it’s pink.

“Oh, Lord Malfoy! Please, I really must ask you not to transfigure the garments before they have been purchased!” The sales assistant is looking like he might be ill.

“I’m terribly sorry, here,” Drago waves his wand again and suddenly the ‘robes’ I’m wearing don’t seem so bad. It was probably just some sort of trick or illusion anyway.

***

Hmm, this school seems to be in a castle! A really nice castle too, not some crappy falling down ruin but a proper castle with turrets and battlements and… stuff.

I’ve just spent the last hour and a bit getting lectured on Wizards and what to say in interviews, and I’m still wearing the ‘robes’. I guess if I just humour these weirdos I might at least get a job out of it and then I can get a bit of money and then maybe I can get a proper job somewhere else and they can all just carry on believing that they are wizards.

Mind you though, if you’re a rich bastard you can believe whatever the hell you like, and if you’re going to play at being witches and wizards you might as well do it in a place like this!

The biggest man I have ever seen in my life has just opened the gates for us, and guess what – he’s giving me a funny look! There’s him looking like a big hairy giant, and quite frankly his hair is way worse than mine was even before it got the chop, and he has the cheek to look at me like I’m odd! Mind you, I am wearing a dress.

“Alright there, Malfoy? This the new bloke is it? I’m Hagrid, ‘ere, you don’t ‘alf look familiar now don’t you? What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“This is Edward, Hagrid. We’re just off to see Minerva, and then hopefully he’ll be helping you and Filch out.” Drapo digs me in the ribs, probably for being rude, part of the lecture over lunch was about not being rude to someone called Minerva, but this guy doesn’t look like he’s called Minerva.

“Right then, well, I’ll be seeing you I s’pose, I got to get off, we got a baby unicorn due and it’s looking like a breech birth but obviously I’m going to have trouble convincing them to let me near. Still, got ta be done.” The giant strides off looking more like a bear than a man.

“Unicorns?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever.”

“Get used to it, you’re going to be helping him out.”

As we approach the castle proper I’m getting a better idea of the shear size of this place – I’m talking huge, no wonder they need extra staff!

Inside is unbelievable, the entrance hall is just cavernous with these massive staircases leading off it and another giant set of doors. Drapo leads the way up the stairs, carrying Scorpius and telling me to watch out every now and then for stairs that he says are dodgy. He points various things out along the way and tells a few little anecdotes until eventually we reach a hideous-ugly statue of a gargoyle-type-thing and he just stops, for no apparent reason whatsoever and I walk straight into him.

“It looks like Minerva is still busy, we’ll just have to wait here for her.” Is he loopy enough for this ‘Minerva’ to actually be the gargoyle? Why do the gorgeous ones have to be completely barking?

“When I was a student the old headmaster always had the password to these rooms set as a sweet, but Minerva usually goes for some word in Gaelic so even if you can guess what the word is you probably can’t pronounce it right.”

Even as he speaks the gargoyle stretches and suddenly steps to one side. The frizzy-haired woman we met earlier emerges from behind the statue.

“Ah, you three again!” She smiles, “Bad luck, Draco, Minerva has just agreed to let me use the Hogwarts Library for a research project I’m doing this term for my Post-Doc – it looks like you’ll have to put up with me for a while!”

“I suppose I can live with that, so long as you leave your husband and his moronic friend at home.”

“I can do that – it was hard enough getting those two into the library when we were at school, let alone now that they don’t have to. Still, I’d best not hold you up any longer, I believe you have an interview to get to. It was nice to meet you, Edward – are you sure we haven’t met before? You really remind me of someone and I can’t for the life of me think who.”

“Erm, I’m not sure, I don’t think so…”

“Edward has a few problems with his memory, I have Millicent on the case.”

“Ah. Well I’ll see you around I guess. Bye Scorpius.” She waves and hurries off down the hall. The strange thing is, I’m sure I should know her too. The hideous statue suddenly speaks to us with the voice of a cross Scottish woman.

“Mr Malfoy, are you coming up or no? I don’t have all day you know!”

“Sorry Minerva, we’re on our way!” Drabo says to the statue which steps aside to let us pass. At the top of another winding staircase, Drabo hands little Drabo to me and knocks on the big wooden door.

“Come.”

“Good afternoon, Minerva. You look better today.”

“Always the charmer, eh Malfoy?”

“I do my best. This is Edward.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr –?”

Oh bugger, is she talking to me? Mr what? I look around the room for inspiration.”

“Um, Hat?” Beside me I can sense Drado rolling his eyes. That really is the skankiest hat I’ve ever seen, I hope nobody ever puts it on, it would probably give them nits.

“I must apologise for Edward, Minerva. He’s actually suffering from Amnesia and we don’t really know his name…” I can apologise for my self, I don’t need some stuck-up blond git to do it for me!

“Amnesia? Professor Malfoy, yesterday you told me he was, and I quote, ‘a little absent minded’, which is it to be?”

“Well yes, fair enough, you got me. He has little or no long-term memory and he has trouble retaining new memories. We have no idea of his background or his name. He seems to name himself after the first thing he sees, his first name came from a bag of King Edward potatoes.”

“And is he quite alright to work in a school full of children, Mr Malfoy?”

“I have complete faith in him. As you can see, I trust him with my own son.” Little Drado is really far too big to be carried, but now would probably be a bad time to put him down.

“Well, Mr Hat, what can you tell me about yourself? I suppose asking about your previous employment would be pointless?”

“Um, yeah.” I get the feeling she wanted a longer answer there. “Um, I was living by the bookstore, Drado made me dinner and then took me in. I’ve been living with his family. I think I’m safe to be with children, I wouldn’t like, hurt them or anything.”

“There you go.”

“Why did you ‘make him dinner’ and take him in?”

“I do volunteer work at a homeless shelter. I realised he was a squib when a couple of Dementors showed up and he freaked. I decided to help him. He’s a good bloke, he just needs a break.”

“Well, Mr Hat, I place my trust in Professor Malfoy here, and he seems to place his trust in you. I will give you one month’s probation under the strict supervision of ‘Drado’, I will be watching you, if I find I have misplaced my trust you will leave and so will he. Are we all happy with that?” So now I might lose him his job if I fuck up? I glance over at Drado. He looks at me and nods.

“That sounds fine, headmistress. I assure you, you won’t be let down.” I’m sure a couple of portraits seem to be nodding, although most of them appear to be asleep. Why would anyone buy a whole load of paintings where the subjects seem to be sleeping off hangovers? There is even one of an old sleeping Wizard with half-moon glasses and magenta robes who seems to have spilt red wine down his long white beard.

“Well then, that will be all for now. I’ll see you when term starts. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is. Good afternoon.”

We descend the stairs again, I have a feeling I just landed a job! How in the name of hell did I manage that?

***

Molly is waiting for us when we get back to the mansion. She looks kinda pissed off. I wonder what I’ve done wrong now.

“Mills, hello. Judging from your expression, you still hate me?” Dado says. Hmm, maybe it’s not me she’s hacked off with.

“Off course I don’t hate you, Dray, why should I possibly hate you?”

“Hmm, well your face says you are lying, as does the fact you just called me ‘dray’, which you know is guaranteed to make me snub you in public.”

“Ok, fine. You have completely ignored everything I’ve said, haven’t you? Oh, don’t try the innocent look with me, Draco, I doesn’t suit you! Pansy told me where you’ve been all day.”

“Hogwarts? I work there.”

“Yes, and apparently so does he,” she gestures at me, “despite the fact that you know bugger all about him!”

“Well, if it is alright with McGonagall, why should you have a problem with it?”

“Minerva McGonagall is a good person and a fine head-teacher, but she is Dumbledore’s disciple through and through – give every underdog a chance, hire people based on a hunch. She’s a Gryffindor and you played her like one, and you bloody know it.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, those tendencies of hers got me a job, and nothing bad came of it. Everyone else was prepared to write me off as a Death Eater, McGonagall gave me a chance. Why shouldn’t I give Edward a chance?”

“And have you thought that through? What if he’s a Death Eater and he just doesn’t know it yet? What if he’s a Death Eater and he does know it and he’s just playing at the whole amnesia thing to gain your trust? Just because the war is long finished, doesn’t mean those wankers aren’t still out there!”

“I don’t know that, Mill, but to be fair you could secretly be a Death Eater! I could, Pansy could, even bloody Potter could – you can never tell these things! Sometimes you just have to give people the benefit of the doubt. If Edward here does turn out to be up to no good, no offence, Edward, then surely he is better off under the beady eyes of Minerva McGonagall than being let loose back on the streets, and if he isn’t then he deserves this chance!”

“Fine, but I shall be keeping an eye on both of you. I’m sorry, Edward, I know it isn’t fair of me to suspect you like this, but when you lived through a war where you had good reason to suspect your closest friends you can’t help but be wary.” I nod, although I have no idea what she’d talking about. They think I might be up to no good, I might be, I don’t bloody know do I?

“I have some glasses for you to try, I couldn’t get you booked in for an eye-correction problem for a good long while I’m afraid, but hopefully these should do in the interim.” Mill takes me over to the table and takes out several pairs of glasses.

“I’m just taking Scorp outside to play Seekers, it’s my last afternoon with him before I go back.” Dado and little Dado go out, Mill starts waving glasses at me.

***

That was an eventful day. Hell, who am I kidding, it’s been an eventful week! What I can remember of it. Looks I won’t be living here anymore after today, but surprisingly I’m not going to some skanky hostel either, I think I might just play this one out afterall, see where it leads.

I won’t miss getting lost in this place, although there looks like being plenty of opportunity to get lost in the new place. You’d have thought having these stupid glasses on might make it easier but so far I just keep bloody well walking into things! I only hope I can get unlost before I have to leave or I may be wondering around here until the Shrew finds me and kills me stone dead with a bolt of green light from her magic fairy wand. Oh god, I’m getting as mad as them, killed with a bolt of green lightning from a stick indeed!

Talk of the devil and he will appear, or she will anyway. The Shrew is standing over by the window smoking a fag staring intently at something. I can probably get out again without her seeing me.

“It looks like you’ve won then, congratulations.” Toooo slow.

“Huh?”

“Draco.” I move closer, I can now see what she is staring at, Draco is showing little Draco how to fly a broomstick – I seriously can’t believe I just thought that!

“He’s like the sun, everyone gathers to him like moths, in need of all the heat and light he gives out, and he barely even notices most of us. I spend every day with that child, I wipe his nose, make sure he’s fed, clothed, washed, I read him his bedtime story and I do everything else for him while his bloody father swans off to that school, and yet Scorpius never looks at me with such adoration in his eyes. And if you think this is bad, you should have seen him when we were at school, everything revolved around Draco Malfoy.

“The stupid thing is, I try so hard to hate him, but I love him, I’ve always loved him, he’s my best friend, and now I have him and he’ll still never be mine, and here’s you, known him a week, and he’s yours, putty in your hand.” She stubs out her cigarette on the window sill and looks at me through the reflection in the window.

“Just remember this, if you hurt him, I will hunt you down and make you re-evaluate the word pain, you will wish you had never been born, you will wish your parents had never been born and when I am finished you will thank me for my mercy, do I make myself clear?” I nod, what else can I do? I don’t doubt her for a second.

She gives me a curt nod in return and leaves me to watch the two blond figures making patterns in the sky.

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