hd_hols (hd_hols) wrote in hd_holidays,


Author: shantismurf
Recipient: olimakiella
Title: Under the Influence
Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Oliver, past Draco/Astoria, hints of underage Albus/Scorpius if you squint
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 10,569...how did that happen?
Genre: Post-DH, only epilogue-compliant in vague bits and pieces. This is the only instance of the word "Ginny" in the piece.
Warnings: mentions of past mpreg, misuse of dairy products, and poorly worded Portuguese...oh and just a smidge of blatant fangirling for the lovely sarasgirl. This is essentially 10k of porn with very little plot and lots of Sparkly Things (no vampires, promise!). Oh, and, if you have a wild imagination and delicate sensibilities you might catch a hint of dub-con, but it really isn't, honest! *thus ends the longest, most pointless warning ever*
Summary: Albus and Scorpius scheme to get their newly divorced fathers together
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: Dear olimakiella, I am so very happy to have gotten your prompt. Once I can tell you who I am I will send you a message, but in a weird way I totally owe you this, so I am so so delighted to be the one to complete your gift! This erstwhile bit of fluff was originally conceived as a 2011 hd_owlpost for the lovely hpfangirl71, but life imploded and I was only able to finish the first half. (It was only supposed to be 3k long too!) It has haunted me ever since, and this was the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation. It was like you read my mind with your request. Your prompt was just what I needed to finally fit in the smut that never quite worked in the first draft! Hooray! I already had the glowing orb and wandless spell you asked for, and a candelabra was a natural fit. I even threw in some rude fairy lights. I do hope this pleases!

This simply would not have been completed without the tireless efforts of A, who provided a much-needed sounding board and stern POV enforcement, as well as the cheerleading and guidance of my own Divine Ms M! Eternal thanks to you, my lovelies!

Final thanks go to the mods of this amazing fest who have provided a space to share some of the very best fic in all of h/d fandom. Though the fest is ending, your tireless work has given us joy that will live on and on!


Harry trudged up the walk to Malfoy Manor -- the last place he ever expected to be on Christmas Eve. “Quit dragging your feet, Al. You’re the one who wanted to be here!” he called back to his lagging son.

Albus was in his fourth year at Hogwarts and gangly as a new colt. A fresh growth spurt had him tripping and shuffling down the walk, several yards behind his father. Harry was still feeling a bit of shock from looking his son straight in the eyes when he’d come home for the hols. Normally he’d have written about it in an owl to Oliver straight away, but their correspondence was a little strained since Oliver had taken up with that young Brazilian Seeker and told Harry he officially wanted a divorce.

They hadn’t had a real marriage for years. Oliver had his international coaching career, and Harry had Al. The separation had been good for all of them. After the war Harry had been at loose ends when he had tumbled into bed with Oliver Wood, who had cut quite a fine figure in his professional Keeper leathers. Their whirlwind relationship was all sex and Quidditch and sex and travel and more sex until Harry discovered yet another new wonderful fact about the Wizarding world that no one had thought to mention to him: Wizards can, occasionally, get knocked up. Of course, it takes an especially powerful wizard and only happens once every fifty to hundred years or so, but long odds and peculiar circumstances were rather Harry’s forte, then and now.

Harry had been showing promise as the reserve Seeker for Puddlemere United, where Oliver had been Keeper, when he inexplicably fainted during practice and was given the happy, albeit incredibly unexpected, news by the team’s Mediwizard. Their little surprise precipitated a shotgun wedding and the effective end of Harry’s professional Quidditch career.

It never really bothered Harry all that much. He’d always dreamed of family, just not in quite exactly this way, and didn’t bat an eye over the decision to stay home when Al was a baby. Oliver never seemed to be able to let go of the possibility of Harry coming back to play professionally. It had been one of many sources of constant strife in their relationship until they came to the separate-but-together arrangement that had worked for everyone for over ten years. Well, until Oliver found his little Brazilian boy toy, but it had been so long-since over between them that Harry hadn’t really had a problem giving him the divorce.

Albus hadn’t seemed shocked at all by the revelation. In fact, he’d seemed relieved more than anything. Harry knew Al was especially aware of how solitary Harry's life was. Over the years Al had concocted a number of schemes to try to get his fathers back together, but he finally seemed to have accepted that they were better apart and had given up his tricks, at least in that respect.

Albus Josef Potter-Wood was the son of two tried-and-true Gryffindors, but he was as Slytherin as they come. Harry had really wanted to name him Albus Severus, and at the time he and Oliver had fought like alley cats over it. Oliver had stubbornly insisted no son of his would ever be named after a grease ball like Severus Snape, no matter how much of a hero the man had been. Harry just thought it ironic now that Al was so utterly at home in Snape's House. Harry had only gained the right to choose Al’s first name by using the argument that he was carrying the damned kid, so he should get to say what they called him. Otherwise he would have been saddled with Josef Wronski Potter-Wood, and no child deserved that.

Albus was the light of Harry’s life, and he would have been proud of his son no matter what House he’d been sorted into. He had comforted a distraught Albus on the day after his Sorting with the story of his own Sorting and the Hat’s initial choice for him. Perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise that his son ended up in Slytherin, after all.

Often shy and quiet, Al had flourished there and made several friends, but none so close as Scorpius Malfoy. At first it had been only at Hogwarts they’d seen one another, but after that first summer apart the two seemed practically bonded at the hip. Over the years Astoria had regularly brought Scorpius over to visit at the Potter-Wood townhouse in London, and Al had stayed over at the Manor just as often. Somehow, Harry had avoided having to actually go to the Manor himself up until this point.

Albus had been at his most persuasive, but he also seemed genuinely concerned for the Malfoy men, rattling around in the big Manor alone at Christmas after what Harry knew to have been a trying time for their family. The Prophet had reported for weeks on the untimely death of both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in a terrible Portkey accident that had occurred just as Draco and Astoria's divorce was finalised.

Harry could sympathise, both with the loss and with the burden of Christmas as a single parent. Although he couldn't exactly picture the Malfoy he worked with on his occasional Ministry contracts - cool, professional, intelligent, and unexpectedly appealing in those severe black robes - moping at any time, regardless of the burdens of the previous year.

Halfway up the drive Albus finally caught up from his stargazing, but Harry was too deep in his own musing over his last encounter with Unspeakable Malfoy to notice. On his first job last spring Harry had been agitated and flustered the whole week -- and not at all in the way he'd anticipated when he’d learned his Department of Mysteries liaison was to be Draco Malfoy. Having all that dry wit and sharp grey gaze focussed on him, but devoid of the familiar malice, had by turns distracted and aroused him all week. By the end they found themselves having a perfectly amicable and possibly even flirtatious discussion on the merits of wine versus ale over a cuppa in the Ministry canteen.

Harry clutched the bag holding a bottle of fine vintage elf wine for Draco and a more mysterious dark green package for Scorpius as they stepped into the portico at the Manor’s entrance. He had a feeling the contents of the latter would most likely appear in a sternly-worded letter from the Headmistress later in the term, but he couldn’t bring himself to stifle the boys’ mischief completely. After all, he’d enabled a fair bit of mischief already by giving Albus both the Marauder’s Map and his Invisibility Cloak when he’d first left for Hogwarts.

Al scuffed his feet impatiently and Harry took a deep breath, shaking off his woolgathering. He lifted his hand to raise the ornate knocker surrounded by a massive holly wreath, but the door swung open before he could even touch the ring. Harry was left with his hand in mid-air, gaping at the sight that greeted him.


Potter always was a dramatic sod.

Draco had listened to Scorpius’ accounts of the Potter-Wood household over the years and gathered that, while certainly not the attention-seeking arse he had been at school, Potter was still as boyishly exuberant as always. Scorpius was always on about the “projects” they worked on at his friend’s house, usually with the help or encouragement of Potter; projects that often had them skirting the edge of the Secrecy Statute or popping in to St. Mungo’s for burn paste and bandages. Draco’s shock at hearing that the Potter-Wood spawn had been sorted Slytherin lasted only so long as the fallout from their first such adventure.

It was therefore not terribly surprising, then, when Scorpius returned from Hogwarts with the tale that Potter was beside himself with grief over his recent divorce from his husband of almost fifteen years. Draco was sure that Scorpius was at least mildly inflating the truth so that he might be allowed to spend even more time with his best friend, but the notion of Potter dramatically moping about was really no stretch for Draco.

It was a testament to his love for his son -- and his surprisingly deep affection for his son’s shadow Albus -- that he consented to host the (now solely) Potters for Christmas Eve. Oh, Draco didn’t buy his son’s story that the two had nowhere else to go. Potter was still inexplicably fond of the Weasel horde and surely they would have taken him and his son in for the holidays. It’s not as if Draco wanted to spend Christmas with a bunch of raucous gingers being all chummy and jolly and “happy families.” Of course not. Draco wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Not even Potter. Not that they were exactly enemies anymore.

When Draco had seen Potter's name on that first Ministry contract he had thought it a joke. Then, he’d thought perhaps Potter was finally cashing in on the famous name that could still draw excited whispers even after all these years. Once the project was complete, though, he was forced to admit respect for the peculiar skills of the Boy Who Refused to Grow Up. They’d quickly established a professional rapport and Draco had discovered that his childish drive to goad Potter in their school days had turned to delight in discomfiting him with a quirk of the eyebrow or a subtle innuendo. Potter had such delicious reactions. It didn't hurt that he had retained much of his professional Quidditch form and was still unbearably fit. And now, apparently, single.

A chime from the ward that announced approaching guests resounded in his head. Draco took a moment to run his fingers once around his high collar and down the tiny silver buttons decorating the casual-but-stylish dove gray linen lounging robe that he had taken particular care in selecting that evening. It perfectly complemented his soft, flattering trousers that he knew clung in all the right places. At least, that's what his dressing mirror had assured him.

He took a moment to fix his expression into a smile of genuine welcome, with just a dash of his infamous smirk, and grandly swung open both of the Manor's massive front doors. He was greeted with a slightly pink-cheeked and fashionably rumpled Harry Potter, hand raised and gaping like fish on his stoop, with a decidedly lanky-looking Albus hovering behind. Draco was well pleased to see the flummoxed reaction of his prey…er, guest.

“Happy Christmas! Harry, you’re looking...well," he chuckled. "And Albus, that’s quite a growth spurt you’ve had. Please, do come in.” Draco swept his arm back, ushering them inside. “It's family tradition to give the house-elves the night off on Christmas Eve, so if I could take your coats we’ll -”

Draco was interrupted by a horrendous cacophony of stomping and thumping that quickly resolved itself into the flailing form of his dear son barrelling down the main staircase, waving his arms like a maniac. Scorpius leapt off the third-to-last step and skidded to a halt, sliding the ornate entry hall rug a few feet as he stumbled up to and hugged his best friend, turning to his friend’s father with equal enthusiasm. “Happy Christmas!”

“Scorpius Abraxas Malfoy, do we really need to discuss your stomping about like a herd of wild Erumpents yet again? You’re just lucky we moved that vase.” Draco’s scolding was somewhat undermined by the smile twitching his lips.

"Ha ha, Father. Wasn't me who broke the vase when you showed me the charm for sliding down the banister!"

"Ahem. Yes, well, regardless, we have company. Please do attempt to display some of the manners I've attempted to beat into you, yes?" Draco reached out and scuffed the back of his son's blond head affectionately.

"Yes, Father," Scorpius grinned. He turned to grab Al's hand. "Come on! I got that modified fairy light charm working, the one Flitwick taught me!"

"Dad, can I?" Albus pleaded with his father, even as Scorpius tugged him down the hall.

"Yes, yes go!" Harry shooed the boys away. "But show me that charm later!" He chuckled as they took off in a flurry of squeaking trainers. "Malfoy, er, so, um...thank you for having us."

Draco’s eyes followed after the retreating teens. "Dinner in twenty minutes!" he called out before returning Harry’s polite smile. "Yes, of course. And please, it's Christmas. Call me Draco." He flashed another genuinely warm smile -- just as much to see if it would throw his old schoolmate for second time as it had at the door. It did.

"Oh, yes. Draco." Harry blinked rapidly. "Um, well, then it’s ‘Harry’, of course."

"Harry, may I have your coat?"

"Didn't think you were that fond of wool pea-coats but if you really want it, it's all yours," Harry flashed a cheeky grin as he unwound his striped scarf and slipped said pea-coat off to reveal a fine cashmere jumper in pea green that did fabulous things for his eyes, not to mention his shoulders.

"I'll restrain myself, somehow," Draco said dryly as he swished his wand and the outer garments settled themselves neatly on the closet rack. Turning, he led Harry down the hall the boys had stomped down earlier. "Care for a drink? I've got a few bottles of that Yuletide Ale Neville's put out at the Leaky and it's quite good."

Harry looked surprised. "I rather thought you'd be drinking some of that fine wine or maybe Firewhiskey," he said, waving the bag in his hand about vaguely.

Draco spied the garish gift bag that Pott--Harry was flailing about and just barely refrained from recoiling in horror at being presented with a Muggle wine bottle bag adorned with a pattern of vintage-looking corks and wine glasses. “Ah, er, well I have those if you'd prefer, but I find a nice, thick ale on a cold night rather hits the spot.” He deftly avoided the gift bag and ushered Harry into a comfortable sitting room tastefully decorated in earth tones, dark wood and leather.

"Yeah, Neville's outdone himself this year. Ale sounds good. Oh and, er, this is for you. Maybe you can drink it later." Harry set his offering on the sideboard next to Draco’s elbow, then held up the thin dark package he’d brought for Scorpius. "This one's Al's doing, though I have a feeling we'll hear about it one way or another, whatever it is."

Draco tapped each bottle of ale with his wand, activating the charm that Vanished the cap and Transfigured the bottle into a tall pint glass with a perfect pour of frothy amber liquid. He handed one over to Harry, smirking at the idea of what mischief their boys might have planned for the coming term. "Yes, there's been a disturbing lack of frantic firecalls from the Headmistress this term. I fear they are planning something nefarious."

A comfortable silence settled as they sipped away the foam on their pints. “So, erm,” Harry frowned into his drink, “you, uh...how, er...how are you holding up?”

“‘Holding up?’ Well, I admit it’s inconvenient to have the house-elves off, but we are perfectly capable of functioning for a night without them.” Draco gave him another warm smile. He knew full well what Harry was referring to, but he rather liked to see him fumble a bit in his earnest way. The lovely flush that came to his cheeks when he was flustered was just a bonus.

“I have to admit I’m a bit surprised there’s a Malfoy family tradition that involves treating house-elves like sentient beings, but no, erm...that’s not what I meant. You’ve...well, you’ve had a rough year, yeah?”

“Yes, the DoM has been particularly hectic recently.” Draco sighed a bit dramatically. “Shame you haven’t been around on any more contracts. We’re too backlogged to get back into the experimental stuff right now.”

“I wondered where you’d hid the old Malfoy,” Harry bit off as he took an irritated sip of the very tasty ale. “Now you’re acting more like the same old prat I remember.”

Draco just laughed and secretly savoured the high spots of colour on Harry’s cheeks and the indignant sparkle in his eye. “Honestly, Harry, needling you never gets old!” He sobered. “I appreciate the sentiment, though, however misplaced it may be. It’s been a complicated year, certainly, but not that bad overall.”

“Not that...” Harry sputtered. “Have you been Obliviated?”

“Look, since you, of all people, are unlikely to be chatting up any former Death Eaters any time soon, I’ll ease your concerns a bit. My parents have emigrated to Argentina under new identities. Certain former...associates...of my father made a few attempts on their lives last year. The DoM staged a Portkey accident and handled all the paperwork to re-establish them. Father was never really accepted back into British Wizarding society after the war, you know, and Mother has a lovely tropical garden now, from what I hear. They’re as happy as can be down there.” Draco polished off his ale and set the glass back on the sideboard while Harry gaped. “Tori is there now, actually. They planned some shopping trip or another.” Draco waved his hand vaguely and grinned again. “I’m sure I’ll get the bill, if anything.”

“She...” Harry’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “She’s there, with your parents? You’re not...?”

“Oh, we’re not married any more, but she and Mother have always got on like houses afire. Our marriage contract was just for the fifteen years; standard Pureblood terms. It worked out rather well for both of us.” He was having a difficult time not laughing outright at the delightfully gobsmacked expression on Harry’s face.

Draco patted his guest's shoulder companionably, and felt a little thrill as his hand lingered on those firm muscles just a bit as he passed. “Come on. If you’re done there we’ll get the boys and start dinner.”


The night continued to be a series of not entirely unpleasant surprises for Harry in regards to Draco Malfoy. The man who had been cool as a cucumber at the Ministry had become a warm and entertaining father and host. Harry was especially impressed by the easy camaraderie between Draco and Al. There were few adults who could coax more than five words from his son in normal circumstances, but Al chattered on with Draco about the latest broom models and looked at the man as if he'd hung the moon and stars.

Just as Harry'd begun to suspect, Al showed no evidence of the abundant empathy he'd expressed earlier for the poor, grieving Malfoys. Ah well. He could never seem to find it in himself to be too harsh with Al when his scheming was, at heart, always with the goal of helping someone less fortunate, or protecting someone he cared about. He was the consummate Gryffindor in Syltherin clothing, not completely unlike his father, or his namesake for that matter.

Dinner at Malfoy Manor was also a pleasant surprise for Harry. He had imagined enduring a cold cavernous formal dining room with a seven course meal of incomprehensible food, but he was delighted when Draco led them to a candelabra-lit room with a tastefully decorated table just the right size to seat four. A shimmering silver Christmas tree sat in the corner under a charmed sprinkle of drifting snow.

Harry was drawn to the tiny fairies flickering and glowing as they skittered among the tree’s branches. Their tittering giggles chimed in the air as they made snow fairy imprints on the laden boughs. Harry couldn’t help laughing as he was struck by one of the tiny snowballs the fairies were lobbing at each other and, apparently, unsuspecting passers-by.

A hearty Christmas dinner was laid out on a groaning sideboard, complete with a huge roast turkey, Brussels sprouts with chestnuts, sage stuffing, and cranberry sauce. There was even a domed and steaming Christmas pudding just waiting for a careful Incendio to burn away the brandy, as well as supposedly, the bad luck and evil spirits. Everything shimmered under Warming and Preservation Charms which lent a cosy glow to the little dining room.

Harry hadn't loaded his plate anywhere near the proportions consumed by either teen, but he still pushed back from the table with a little groan when he'd licked the last morsel of pudding and hard sauce off his spoon. "I don't know how I'm going to make it to the Burrow tomorrow after all this!"

"You're sure you don't want a little more pudding?" Harry had noticed the intense way Draco had stared at him as he ate his dessert. He hoped Draco didn't think he had bad manners for moaning and licking at his cutlery. Since he was offering more Harry thought he couldn’t mind too much.

Harry looked wistfully at the sticky, sauce-covered confection, but shook his head and patted his middle. "I'm going to be running every day for the next year just to work off tonight and tomorrow."

"I'll have another."

"Yes, me too, please."

"Good Godric, child, where do you put it all?” Harry grinned indulgently at his lanky son. “I can remember Ron and me eating a lot in school but you two make me fear for the Hogwarts pantry." He passed the dessert over to the boys, who scraped at the last of it onto their plates and dug in.

"It's a shame you two are still hungry." Draco drawled, with an exaggerated yawn as he glanced to the ornate grandfather clock in the corner. "We might not have time for presents."

"I'm done!"

"Me too!"

Harry and Draco shared an indulgent smile as the boys scarfed a few more bites and bolted from the table.


Draco led them to yet another cosy room outfitted with the dazzling tree that he had carefully decorated just that morning. He had coaxed the fairies to scatter glimmering gold powder as they scampered from branch to branch, leaving a glowing blanket scattered across the boughs and dusting the floor below in an elegant carpet. He had no idea how the elves would clean it all up, but it certainly made a pretty picture.

The small sitting room was filled with a massive overstuffed green velvet couch and matching wingback chairs sat around a sweeping fireplace made from the brilliant green marble that his great-great-great grandfather Horatio Rexus Malfoy had personally imported from Udaipur, India. The crackling flames paled in comparison to the blinking fairy lights the boys had charmed to twinkle all over the greenery-bedecked mantle. The colourful lights gleamed off every surface in the low-lit room. Draco was pleased to see that the overall effect was warm and almost...romantic.

The boys thundered into the room and flopped down on the floor in front of the fireplace as their fathers followed at a morecivilized pace. Scorpius flicked his wand at the mantle and the once-sedate fairies began to buzz and quiver, flying up into the air to form the letters of...well, a rather rude message. Draco wasn’t even aware his son knew that word. It must be the influence of that Irish Muggleborn the boys had befriended. The charm faded and the fairies drifted back to their perches on the mantle, looking rather disgruntled.

“Are you sure Flitwick taught you that charm and not my Uncle George?”

“Ha! Where do you think your Uncle George learned to make such fabulous tricks?”

“Okay, boys, enough harassing of the fairies.” Draco settled on the couch and Summoned two of the wrapped packages from beneath the tree, handing one to Harry and the other down to Albus.

“Oh, Draco, you didn’t need to...”

“Harry, please, what kind of host would I be? And, anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to give that to you for ages.”

Al had already activated the Charmed wrapping paper on his small package to reveal a gleaming astrolabe with swirling mother of pearl inlaid on its silver face. “Sweet! We just learned how to use one of these in class. Thanks Mister Malfoy!” he exclaimed, green eyes shining as he ran his slender fingers over the fine scrollwork.

Draco was pleased the gift was so timely. He knew that Albus shared Scorpius’ fascination with the stars. He had narrowly decided between either the astrolabe or a pair of gloves with a Warming Charm, since the two of them seemed to spend most of their free time at Hogwarts up on the Astronomy Tower late at night. He imagined Potter's infamous Cloak came in handy up there for avoiding all the amorous couples.

Draco turned to Harry just as his fingers gently stroked the glimmering golden bow on his gift. Even though he must have been expecting it, he still jumped a bit as the Charm activated and the ribbon puffed into a fizzing shower of sparks. The wrapping paper elegantly folded back upon itself, peeling to the side to reveal a beautifully carved wooden box. Harry held the box up to admire the detail as the hinged lid popped slightly open.

Draco’s breath caught as he heard a soft hiss from the box. When Harry answered in his own silky susurration of Parsletongue Draco had to suppress the urge to close his eyes and savour the flowing sound. It was just as good as the last time he’d heard it: when Harry had deciphered the password on an artefact they’d been examining for the Department.

Harry dipped his fingers into the box and a silvery head appeared, sniffing with a flicking tongue before winding its way up to curl into his upturned palm. The slender metal snake was no more than a foot long, and its intricately enamelled scales gleamed in the dappled light. Harry continued to have a trilling, hissing conversation with the little animate statue. He was utterly lost to the rest of the room until he suddenly looked up at Draco with wide, glowing eyes and a joyful smile stretching his full, pink lips.

“She says she’s mine! But I can’t...Draco, it’s just too much...” his voice trailed off as he stroked the jewel-bright scales.

The heat that had been building in Draco's belly burst messily in his chest when Harry looked at him with that expression of shocked delight. He took a moment to compose himself, but the other man was so engrossed in his new familiar that he likely did not notice. "Yes, well, who else would she go to? There hasn't been a Parsletongue in the Malfoy family, by birth or marriage, for over two hundred years."

"Was that Ignatius Polemus Malfoy, Father?"

"Yes, Scorpius. Well done." He nodded to his son proudly. "The trait was relatively common at the time, and Ignatius had this familiar crafted when his dear pet snake passed away. I honestly doubt the skill exists to craft another. I can lend you his journals if you'd like, Harry."

Harry was still a tad leery of the journals of other Parslemouths, but the little serpent weaving happily on his hand was too precious not to want to learn more about. "Well, I suppose." He looked up with surprise. "But this is a family heirloom, then! Draco, really..."

"Now Harry, if you protest again I will be most insulted. Too many 'heirlooms' go mouldering away in boxes somewhere in this Manor. I've already passed quite a few of the less savoury artefacts on to the DoM. Don't worry, there are plenty left for future generations to sift through."

"It's wicked sick, Dad!" Albus had scooted over to his father's knee and was gently petting the delicate coils wound between the fingers of Harry's broad hand.

Draco wrinkled his brow as he leaned forward to determine what might be wrong with the snake. Surely it couldn't actually fall ill. Harry just waved him off. "He means 'cool'," he clarified. "Oh, hey Al, didn't you bring another gift for Scorp?"

Draco snorted softly as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "There's nothing wrong with Scorpius." He grumbled under his breath. He hated that nickname. Harry just chuckled good naturedly and patted his shoulder, leaving a warmth that seemed to linger on Draco’s skin.

Al snatched up the flat dark package they had brought and pressed it into Scorpius' hands. "Here! Open it!" Scorpius tore back the dark wrapping and held up the glossy magazine with a picture of a dark-skinned chaser darting back and forth over the cover. The glittering words Quiddio Semanal were emblazoned at the top and at the bottom letters flashed: Miguel: Caçador Super Rápido!! Albus looked over his shoulder. "It's a subscription to the Brazilian Quidditch magazine! I found a translation charm that works pretty well, but you can get a lot just from the pictures!"

"Cool, thanks Al. Now I can stop stealing yours." Scorpius smirked back at his friend.

"Yeah, Paolo said he can get me as many subscriptions as I want."

Draco watched as Harry grimaced over his son's casual mention of his ex-husband's new lover. Oliver Wood was as dense as his surname implied if he couldn't see that Harry was worth ten of any other man, especially some young upstart named "Paolo."

"Here, Al." Harry pulled a tiny brown-wrapped box from his pocket and enlarged it with a flick of his wand. "I've got one more for you here. You'll get your other presents at the Burrow."

Al tore back the plain brown wrapping as a whirring sound rose from the package like the hyperactive fluttering of a giant snitch. The glowing orb that slowly levitated from the open box and into his waiting palm was much like a large wingless snitch. It was covered in a series of jewelled nubs set into intricate grooves that ran all over the sphere.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed. "It's way bigger than your last model!" He looked proudly up at his dad, green eyes glowing with glee. Draco was struck yet again with Al's uncanny resemblance to his father, although Harry had had little cause to look that purely joyful at Al's age.

Harry just nodded and got down off the couch to sit next to his son, budging the young man's long legs out of the way and looking a bit like a gleeful child himself. "Yeah, this one's got twenty layers!" He touched a large green gem on the top and the nubs began to pulse in a seemingly random pattern. "If you can get it solved before end of term we'll see about that new Firebolt Flash you've been eyeing."

Al's eyes grew big as saucers, and he instantly focused his attention on the flashing gems. Draco watched the lights flash red, blue, green, green, red, blue...

"Pfft! Seriously, Dad." Al began tapping gems in sequence. "I'll have that Flash before Easter!"

He completed the series and all of the gems twinkled merrily. A tiny trumpeting "Ta-da!" sounded and the layer of gems and grooves seemed to melt and dissolve away, leaving a new layer of black and white discs covering the surface of the sphere. Scorpius leaned in and poked a disc and they began flipping from white to black. The boys put their heads together, black strands mingling with blond, as they stared and prodded at the puzzle sphere.

Harry pulled himself back up to the couch with a sphinx-like smirk. "We'll see. I do have a few tricks you haven't seen, Al."

"I can see we're going to need to get you back into the DoM." Draco scooted closer and nudged Harry's side companionably. "The training sphere you made for us has only five layers and it takes recruits at least a week, if not more, to solve. It's been a useful tool for encouraging those 'critical thinking' skills Granger is always on about.”

Out of the corner of his eye Draco noticed Scorpius whisper something to Albus as the taller boy elbowed him in the ribs. His son turned away and sweetly asked, “Father, the elves left some eggnog and biscuits in the kitchen; can I, er, may I, get them?"

"Yes, thank you, Scorpius. I was just going to suggest that." Draco was surprised at his son’s uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

The boys hopped up, Al trailing closely after his shorter friend. Draco watched as they stumbled from the room, whispering and giggling. It left him wondering, as he so often did, how things might have been if that first handshake had gone differently, or if he'd perhaps been able...

He was shaken from his reverie by another hushing rush of whispered Parsletongue that raised the fine hairs on his arms and sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

“I’m sorry. I don’t imagine you much like hearing that. It seems to bother most people.” Harry stroked the smooth scales now coiled around his neck.

“On the contrary, actually. You know I rather wonder if a latent preference for Parslemouths hasn’t been inadvertently bred into some of the older pureblood lines, given past, ahem, trends. It’s something I’ve always wanted to study.”

“Oh really? Well, I don’t imagine you get much opportunity, but...if I could help you somehow, I’d be more than happy." Harry beamed at him again. "She’s really brilliant.” The twinkling lights from the fairy-lit mantle sparkled on his lenses and shone in his dark hair.

Draco found himself just a bit dazzled by the warmth in Harry’s eyes. “Yes...brilliant.”


Harry looked up as Scorpius and Al returned with two trays, one heavy with an assortment of sparkling biscuits and tiny cakes and the other bearing four hefty mugs under two visible charms. "These two are under an Age Restriction Charm so I'm assuming they're not for us," Scorpius announced rather loudly.

Draco stood and reached for the mugs, hands pausing in the air for just a moment as his brow furrowed. Then he smiled and plucked the two mugs off the tray, holding them close to his torso as he turned away. Harry idly noticed an intense look on Draco's face as he carried the mugs, but he was distracted by more important matters: sorting through the tray to find another of the pink wafer biscuits.

"Here you go, Harry." Draco handed over a blue-striped mug, meeting his eyes with a meaningful look that was somewhat lost on Harry. "Careful, the elves tend to make it a little strong." He looked a bit grim for a man serving eggnog.

Harry carefully took the mug and sniffed it. "I'll say! It smells like straight Firewhiskey and a little cream!" He took an experimental sip and coughed. "Not bad," he wheezed.

“How’s yours, Father? Don’t you think the elves could have let us try just a little Firewhiskey this year?”

“It’s not the house-elves I’m worried about.” Draco said to his son pointedly.

Scorpius chuckled weakly. “Well enjoy it then, if I can’t!” Both boys were watching Draco expectantly. Keeping his eyes on Scorpius’ over-bright smile, Draco took a slow sip from his stripy mug. Harry could tell there was something going on between them, but what exactly he didn’t know. Malfoys he shrugged mentally.

“Mmmmm,” Draco hummed, and then coughed lightly. Harry looked for a place to discreetly pour his drink out, or perhaps a distraction so he could get his wand out and Vanish some of it. The Malfoy elves certainly had a high opinion of Wizard alcohol tolerance, or perhaps they just wanted things to be extra festive.

The boys both downed their tame nog along with a handful of sugar biscuits each. Then Scorpius hopped up and grabbed at Al's sleeve. "Father got me a sweet new telescope that illuminates the constellations. Can Al and I go check out the telescope on the roof, Father?" He was practically vibrating, ready to bolt.

"May you go on the roof?" Draco replied tiredly.

Scorpius wrinkled his nose and slumped his shoulders, but dutifully corrected himself. "May Al and I go on the roof, please?" He jiggled impatiently.

"Yes, fine but no -" Scorpius grabbed Al and tore out of the room. "...running. Honestly, why do I bother?" Draco turned back to Harry. "Do you remember being in such a hurry when we were that age?"

Harry chuckled and took an absent-minded sip from his mug, then promptly sputtered at the harsh burn of alcohol and something astringent that was barely masked by the cream. When he stopped coughing he said, “Sorry, this, uh...isn’t like other eggnog I’ve had.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Don’t worry; you don’t have to drink it. Let’s take this back to the kitchen and find something a bit more worth our while.” He Levitated the glasses and trays, leading the way out into the dark hallway and towards the kitchen.

As they passed a dark corridor Harry heard a scuffling sound and looked up. “Did you hear that?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, hmm, nothing.”

The Malfoy kitchen was warm and bright, with the requisite shiny copper pots hanging from racks and a cavernous fireplace taking up one wall. The counters were mostly elf-height, with a few surfaces higher up for any taller residents who felt the need to whip up a dish. A large wooden butcher block in the center of the room was crowded with tins and spices. Despite the spacious size, Harry was reminded of his own kitchen at Grimmauld. There was something homey about it.

He leaned back against the block as Draco rummaged in the pantry, emerging with a dusty wine bottle. “This should make for a decent nightcap.” He handed it to Harry, and then raised his wand to Summon some glasses.

Wiping away the dust, Harry recognized the label. ”Hey this is the same kind I got you!”

“Then you were listening when we talked about how to pick a proper wine.”

“Are you kidding? It was the first totally normal conversation we’d had in, probably, well...ever.” He chuckled, remembering Draco’s sly looks over the little canteen table. “I was hanging on every word!” Harry took the proffered glass and sniffed at it inexpertly before taking a sip of the thick, fruity wine. He was surprised to see Draco's cheeks flush with colour at his enthusiastic outburst.

"Yes, well. We do get on rather well when we're not mortal enemies, don't we?" Draco leaned casually against the counter, propping his arm out to the side and accenting the sensual stretch of his long legs as he savoured his own glass. His smoky gaze never left Harry’s as his tongue darted out to catch the lingering sweetness on his lips.

"Hmm I don’t know if we were ever mortal enemies,” Harry slowly shifted closer, confident but measured, as if approaching a true dragon. “But yeah, we do at that." He continued to test the waters by leaning unnecessarily close when reaching around Draco to set his glass on the counter, waiting for any sign of discomfort or rejection but finding only simmering heat in his hooded gaze. His attention flicked down to Draco's plump lips, and Harry nearly groaned when Draco's pink tongue darted out to wet them again.

He was just about to close the distance when a slither of movement on his neck made him jump. A hissing "The Malfoy smells of dessssire," reached his ears.

"You recognize his family?" Harry peered down at the jewelled serpent arching up from his neck, tongue darting out to test the air.

"Of course. He is Malfoy. He is of the snake himself and sssusceptible to our tongue, though he does not understand. I will leave you to your hunt, Masssster." His little gift wound its way down his arm and coiled up into his trouser pocket, becoming a solid little lump once again.

Harry looked at Draco shrewdly. Pupils blown wide, feverish spots of colour on his sharp cheekbones and lips parted as he panted slightly...perhaps he was rather susceptible after all. Harry concentrated on the little snake in his pocket. "My gift thinks you smell good."

Draco inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as if he understood and he, too, could smell the lust in the air. Harry’s head swam as though he were the one being mesmerized by Draco's charms.

“Say that again,” Draco rasped deeply.


Draco suddenly lurched up and fastened his mouth over Harry's. Harry pushed back, pressing him into the counter. He felt like he might combust when Draco moaned loudly. Harry lost himself a bit in the back and forth of tender-fierce nipping lips and stroking tongues as the taste of sweet wine melted away and left only the taste of Draco.

He was delighted that Draco squirmed and moaned when Harry reached down to grab and knead his arse. He’d often wondered what Draco might be like in bed, but he certainly never expected him to be this vocal and responsive.

Harry hooked his hands under Draco’s thighs and spun around to hoist him up onto the low butcher block in the centre of the kitchen. Pans and canisters went flying with a clang but Harry couldn’t have cared less. Draco wound his long legs around Harry’s hips and thrust up against him, moaning deeply as his tongue thrust again into Harry’s mouth.

A clicking sound echoed across the room and Harry suddenly jerked his head back, gasping for air.

"Is this okay?" Draco asked dazedly.

Harry nodded emphatically, panting a bit. "The boys...we...how long do you...hng." What coherency Harry had possessed melted under the onslaught Draco waged against his neck.

"We have...plenty of time,” he assured between licks and nibbles. ”I think...this is, hmm yes...what they had planned." His nimble fingers were sliding under the edge of Harry’s soft jumper and running along the waistband of his trousers.

"What?" Harry squawked, eyes flying open.

Draco huffed and leaned back, smoothing his hands over Harry's chest. "They put something in our eggnog, but did a rather poor job of masking it. The stuff smelled like turpentine and nutmeg! And the elves cast a completely different Age Restriction spell. I Vanished that swill and Conjured some Firewhiskey and cream, although I’m not entirely sure I got it all. Are you feeling anything?" All the while he continued to trace distracting patterns over Harry's shoulders and down his sides.

"What?! Wait," he giggled and squirmed. "That tickles! When did you do all that? Wandlessly?" Draco nipped at his ear and hummed. “Mmm wow that’s hot. Yeah, I don’t know. Honestly I’ve rather been ‘feeling something’ all night if you follow.” He pressed forward again, pinning Draco back against the block. He ground lightly against the erection lined up against his own.

"I rather wondered when you'd...mmm...catch on."

Harry might occasionally be a little slow on the uptake, but no one could call him a laggard once he’d gotten the message. He caught Draco’s mouth again in a hot exchange of lips and tongues. This may not have been the setting Harry'd had in mind when he'd planned to make a move on Draco tonight, but now that they were here he was determined to make the most of it.

Harry reached for the row of tiny buttons that marched down the front of Draco’s fine linen robes, fumbling to finally get to some skin. Draco placed his hands over Harry’s, forcing him to squeeze Harry’s hips with his thighs to maintain balance. “Allow me,” he said in his smoky bedroom voice. He ran one finger down the buttons, whispering a lilting chant. The garment fell open neatly.

“Handy that.” Harry’s marvel at the charm lasted only so long as it took for his gaze to travel the long, lean expanse of Draco’s body, noting the delightful trail of downy soft pale hair that spread across his chest and dusted its way down below the band of Draco’s soft trousers, now prominently tented. Creamy skin, a kissable dusting of chocolate-coloured moles, and plummy pink nipples all pert and straining...Harry just wanted to eat him up from top to bottom.

“No drooling now,” Draco drawled as he leaned back against the butcher block and flexed his torso seductively.

You are worth drooling over,” Harry hissed against the skin below Draco’s dark pink nipple. Harry felt more than heard him moan and fall further back. “You're gorgeous.

Trailing his nose across Draco’s chest to nuzzle and kiss both nipples equally, Harry took in the scent of Draco’s body; the warm spice of his arousal. He did smell like desire. Unable to draw things out any longer, he pulled at the tie on Draco’s trousers and was again delighted when they fell away from his hips, not with a charm but just a clever wrapped design.

Harry groaned at all of the pale skin that was unexpectedly exposed to him. “...no pants,” he growled before dipping his head and inhaling deeply at the joint of Draco’s hip and thigh, tickling his nose with the springy soft hairs there as Draco squirmed beneath him. He again trailed his nose along Draco’s skin, this time nuzzling every glorious inch of his lovely, pink cock.

He leaned back to get another look at it. Harry did so love cock. Draco’s was particularly impressive; slender and slightly curved, it was easily the longest cock Harry had ever seen, in person at least. He wondered...then instead of wondering he engulfed Draco’s cock in his mouth as far as it would go, relaxing his throat and relishing the warm weight filling his mouth and the spongy bump against the back of his throat. He couldn’t even come close to getting it all in, but he could certainly try.

Draco cried out, burying his hands in Harry’s hair. “Oh no you don’t,” he protested, though he thrust up into Harry’s willing mouth at the same time. “You’re not getting me off that easily, Potter.”

He yanked up suddenly on Harry’s hair and reached down to whip his jumper off, taking his glasses and vest with it. As the cloth cleared his arms, Harry overbalanced. He teetered forward, nose buried in Draco's chest as his hand slid forward into something warm, soft, and sticky on a plate behind Draco. He pulled back and saw that his fingers were now covered in soft, yellow butter. Harry cast a slant-eyed gaze at his new lover’s startled expression, then looked back at his hand calculatedly.

“No...no, don’t you dare! Pott-ER!” Draco tried to scramble away but Harry had him firmly pinned.

“Come on, Draco. Don’t look a gift hippogriff in the mouth, and all.” He dove in and licked a stripe up Draco’s cock again, swirling his tongue around the tip as he trailed a slippery finger down over his balls and traced his perineum with dripping butter. “‘Sides,” he added cheekily, “I’ll clean you up.”

He followed the buttery trail with his tongue as Draco groaned, thighs falling open a little more as his head fell back against the butcher block with a thunk. Harry might have stopped to soothe him, but he wasn’t about to back away now that he was finally where he wanted to be. He continued to lave his tongue over Draco’s balls and up again, lapping the sweet salty butter along with the sweet saltiness of Draco’s leaking cock.

Harry, slid his slick fingers back until he found the furrowed flesh he’d been seeking. He delighted in the squirms and huffs he received as he teased Draco’s hole back and forth, around and down, just slipping a fingertip past the tight ring before pulling his hand away completely. Before Draco had time to protest, he replaced his buttery finger with a flicking tongue.

I'll need to put a permanent Silencing Charm on my bed, for next time, he thought to himself as Draco let out a particularly loud squeal. He nearly bucked off the low block as Harry worked him over with his tongue, worming his way inside as Draco practically sobbed his pleasure.

"In...in, Harry. I want you in!"

Heedless of his still-sticky fingers, Harry whipped his trousers open and pulled out his throbbing cock. "Yes, sir!" He eyed the angle of the current arrangement for a moment, only slightly distracted by the delicious dishevelment spread out before him, then he yanked Draco’s slim hips off the block and twirled him around to bend him over. Presented with a luscious new expanse of pert, pale flesh, Harry couldn't resist one little love-bite.

"Harry!" Draco squirmed impatiently.

“Patience, lover,” he whispered into the pink shell of Draco’s ear, plastering his fever-hot body all along the cool expanse of Draco’s back. “Good things come, and all that.” He nestled himself into the crack of Draco’s arse, reveling in the shivers elicited as he rubbed his springy chest hair over Draco’s back. Employing some judicious neck nibbling as a distraction, Harry grabbed another glop of the warm butter and pumped it over Draco’s long cock, then slid his hand back to slip two fingers in slowly.

“Oh gods, yes,” Draco groaned, thrusting back onto Harry’s hand. “No more teasing. Do it!”

Harry just chuckled as he pulled back. Time seemed to slow, almost as if he were taking a mental photograph. The image of his thick, dark cock sinking into Draco Malfoy’s gorgeous pale arse for the first time would be seared into his brain for the rest of his life.

“Oh fuck!” All his best-laid plans of careful seduction went out the window as soon as he was fully buried in Draco’s tight tight heat. It had been so long, and he was... “So...god, so tight. I don’t...I can’t...” His hips jolted with purpose, driving forward blindly. He tried to take a breath, get his bearings, but Draco was writhing underneath him, pumping himself back on Harry’s cock with abandon as he stroked his own sticky, buttery cock in time to his gyrations. Just looking up at his arched back and the wanton expression of his lovely pointy face in profile had Harry unexpectedly tumbling over the edge, his orgasm nearly blinding him as he gripped Draco’s bucking hips.

Harry fell forward, bracing himself on the butcher block to keep them from toppling to the floor. He always stayed hard for a few minutes after orgasm and he was never more grateful for it when he was able to drive forward and hit Draco’s sweet spot. Harry pinned him down, hitting the spot over and over with quick shallow jabs.

“Yes! Oh fuck! Harry, fuck!” Draco arched against Harry's weight and keened as he came.

Harry continued to plant soft kisses along Draco's shoulder as they caught their breath, then slowly disentangled. He caught Draco's hips and gently turned him, taking his lips in a long, slow kiss. Harry indulged in the languid feeling seeping through his limbs, momentarily resting his head on Draco's broad shoulder before stepping back with a smile. He thrilled just a bit when Draco gave him a little squeeze before letting go, as if he too didn’t want the moment to end.

Harry felt a tingle of magic rush over his skin from Draco’s wandless Cleaning Charm, taking the last traces of butter and bodily fluids with it. “You know, it really is hot when you do that.”

“I do aim to please.” Draco gave a little half bow, managing to look debonair even while starkers.

Harry crawled under the butcher block to retrieve his jumper, then turned to look around for his vest and glasses that had each gone flying in opposite directions. He chuckled to himself; he really hoped this wasn’t what Albus had in mind when the boys dreamed up a scheme to doctor their eggnog, not that he was really complaining.

"Hmm? Something funny down there?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that our boys seem much more effective at getting adults to do what they want than I recall being at that age."

"Well that's because you lack the subtle intricacies of the Slytherin mind, my dear Gryffindor." Draco said with mock condescension.

Harry came up from the floor as he pulled his jumper over his head, knowing there'd be no hope of straightening his hair back out at this point. "I'll have you know I've a fair bit of Slytherin in me."

"Well, not yet, but I can arrange that later if you'd like to stay the night." He could see Draco's outrageous leer even without his glasses.

Harry guffawed. "I can't believe you went there." He slipped his arms around a freshly-clothed but still wonderfully rumpled Draco's waist and pulled him close.

Draco just wagged his eyebrows lasciviously as Harry giggled. "And besides," he continued, "the elves always go overboard on Christmas morning breakfast. I think they bake in retaliation for being forced to take a day off." He leaned away to check the clock on the wall. "In fact, it's after midnight. They are likely ironing their ears somewhere, just waiting for us to clear out so they can get to work."

"Well then, let's...oh, wait, we're supposed to be at the Burrow in the morning." Harry said regretfully.

"Ah, of course." Draco pulled away slowly, not meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry grabbed Draco's hands before he could get too far. "No, I mean, the Weasleys are not ones to turn down a few extra baked goods. Why don't we bring breakfast to them?"

"Well, I suppose..." Draco said warily. "It would delight the elves to cook for so many. That is, if you think they'll accept it."

Harry looked at Draco, willing all the joy and hope he felt overflowing in his heart to shine from his eyes. "We'll make it work."


Scorpius was totally going to blow it. He was practically vibrating with his desire to bolt from the cosy sitting room. Albus was much better at hiding his impatience, but he was still sweating buckets in the room's stifling heat. It hadn’t been any problem to get both of their fathers to take the potion, and, to be fair, neither he nor Scorp really wanted to be around when it went into effect.

Scorpius’ hand felt hot and damp in Al’s as they took off. “...but no running!” Mister Malfoy’s voice trailed off as the boys darted out of the over-warm room.

Al grasped Scorpius’ arm as they cleared the doors, pulling the smaller boy next to him flat against the wall. They snuck into a side hallway and hid behind a massive armoire just as their fathers left the sitting room with the Levitated trays bouncing along behind them, heading back to the kitchen. Albus caught his breath as his dad paused briefly when Scorpius’ loafer scuffed the floor, but they passed without investigating.

Creeping up to the kitchen door, Al reached into his jeans and pulled out an Extendable Ear, feeding the long floppy end back in through the opening. With a flourish he applied an Ear Splitter attachment so they could both listen in, then presented one end to his cohort. Meanwhile, Scorpius had knelt down and rummaged through an inconspicuous bag on the floor. He came up with a shimmering mass of fabric that he swirled over both of them before jamming the Split end into his ear.

"Sweet," Albus whispered. "He didn't see it?"

Scorpius snorted softly. "He's not a house-elf, unpacking my trunk. He only searches me before I go back." He wrinkled his expressive face in annoyance.

"Dad actually searched me before we came tonight! I can't believe them sometimes!" Al huffed, remembering the trick crackers he'd had to leave behind.

The boys crept forward and nudged the door open to see the two men standing across from one another, sipping from wine glasses. They listened as the Ear clearly related a little conversation about the wine, then Al heard his father slip back into Parsletongue. When Mister Malfoy leaned in and rasped, "Say that again," Al feared that he was upset or angry. He was relieved when suddenly the two men were kissing against the counter. It seemed rather quicker, and more intense, than he’d expected, to be honest.

"How much of that 'Egg On' Nog did you give them?" Al hissed.

"The whole bottle...there wasn't much."

"That's because it's supposed to be diluted! You're supposed to put it in a whole punch bowl full of eggnog! Didn't you read the label?" Al's voice cracked as he viciously whispered, "You of all people should know to read a Wheezes label after that Pygmy Puff incident!" He poked Scorpius in the chest.

"Hey! It's not like that at all! How was I supposed to know it made them reproduce that quickly? Anyway this isn't going to hurt them; it just lowers inhibitions and makes you happy, right? If anything it'll work faster!"

“Harry,” they heard Scorpius’ father moan.

"Whoa, I'll say!" Al whispered and the boys leaned in and watched as his dad practically tackled Mister Malfoy up onto the counter, scattering canisters with a rattling clank. "Damn it, I can't see!"

"Do you really want to see that?" Scorpius asked wryly.

"Ugh, good point. At least it's -" Al broke off as another breathy moan came through the Ear and he whipped it away from his head. "Yes, definitely working. Let's just ward the door for privacy and go up to your room. I don't think we want to be around much -" another moan, audible without enhanced hearing, carried into the hall, “longer.” He reeled the long cord of the Ear in and winced when the door closed with an audible click.

Scorpius was looking a little discomfited too. "Uh, yeah. You do the Silencio, you're better at it. I'll put a Proximity Charm up so we know if they leave, in case they decide to go jump off the roof or something." They cast their charms and stepped back from the door.

Scorpius paused to grab his bag, where his Christmas present from Al was resting. "This is really cool and all, but I always steal your copy of Quiddio Semanal anyway. It's not really a subscription, is it?"

Albus chuckled. "Oh it is, but not what you think. Check this out," he tapped his wand in a quick pattern on the glossy cover. The title swirled and reformed to read Mago Quentes and the dark-skinned chaser stopped darting about and instead grinned saucily and started stripping seductively while dancing around his broomstick, until he was wearing nothing but a pair of skin-tight white briefs stretched over an impressive package. Flashing letters across the bottom read Miguel: Caçador Super Sensual!! Albus grinnedtest gleefully as his friend's jaw went slack and his grey eyes practically popped out of his head.

"You got me Brazilian porn?"

"I got you a subscription to Brazilian porn! And you can switch it back to Quidditch like this," he demonstrated with another short sequence of taps. "Although some of the pictures still act a little randy sometimes."

"That's...that's brilliant!" Scorpius wandered toward the stairs, entranced by the sexy chaser who was dressed but now wagging his bum suggestively and blowing a kiss over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it pays to have a young step-father who's trying to get on your good side." Al checked the wards on the kitchen door again, then turned to follow the other boy.

Scorpius was already half way up the stairs when he looked over his shoulder, pale eyebrow quirked in a loaded glance. "Coming?"

Albus scrambled to follow. Brazilian chasers had nothing on blond British wizards, in Al's opinion.

Tags: [fic], rated: nc-17, round: winter 2012

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →