Hugo remembered being six and sitting on Grandpa Granger’s lap, listening to his grandpa’s deep voice read aloud the stories of Winnie-the-Pooh. The stories took him to the Hundred Acre Wood, where he pretended to be Christopher Robin visiting Pooh and his other friends. The stories encouraged him to read more, and it wasn’t long before he read all the Pooh books and began to act out and create his own stories and adventures in the Hundred Acre Wood.

“Let’s play Poohsticks,” he’d say to Lily. “I’ll be Pooh.”

“Then I’ll be Tigger.” Lily would grin and bounce to the bathroom in the Burrow, wearing her tiger-striped pyjamas. Hugo would follow her wearing a bright red shirt that said “Pooh” on the front. There, in the bathroom, they used toothpicks in the tub to see whose stick would reach the finish line first. They added bubbles and food colouring to the tub to make things more exciting, and then they splashed around and had rainbow water fights. They had so much fun; they didn’t even care when they got scolded for making a huge bubbly mess. For days afterwards, Hugo found bubbles everywhere — not just in the bathroom, but in the bedroom, in the sitting room, and even in his mum’s study!

Since meeting Pooh and going on his own adventures, Hugo became a voracious reader.

At the age of eight, Roald Dahl introduced him to black comedy and satire, and Hugo devoured any and all of Dahl’s books. The supernatural and magical elements of the books didn’t faze him, not when he was surrounded by magic himself, but it was Dahl’s sense of humour and the way he portrayed the world in his satirical ways that fascinated Hugo. From Matilda to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to The BFG, he escaped the real world and joined the fictional characters on their voyages.

He even begged his parents to take him to the Wonka Factory in America, believing it to be the exact replica of the magical place in the book he’d read. He asked Uncle Harry if it were possible for a glass lift to be created as a transportation device, saying it seemed more practical than a broomstick.

But his mum tried to explain to him that the factory in the United States was a Muggle factory, and that Honeydukes’ in Hogsmeade and Uncle George’s shop in Diagon Alley were the closest he’d find to Wonka’s factory. Even Uncle Harry explained how a glass lift would make a terrible transportation device, saying it had none of the flexibility a broomstick offered.

The explanations didn’t bother him. Hugo still read and imagined anything and everything he could. Even when he read the Narnia books and Lord of the Rings trilogy by the time he was twelve, he still kept his imagination, still daydreamed and imagined the magical and the Muggle worlds he lived in to be like the ones he read in the books. Even in Hogwarts, the most magical place in wizarding Britain, Hugo found things to be too mundane for his liking, so whenever he wasn’t studying, he continued to read and lose himself in the fictional worlds books provided.

But it was the novel he read at the age of fifteen that changed his life. It was the winner of the Agrippa Literary Award that year, a book where reviews said it started off deceptively simple, but ended in a way that gripped and thrilled readers, taking them on a twisting, page-turning, rollicking adventure until its last page. Muggle-borns compared the book to the magical-realism genre, especially with novels by Gabriel Marquez Garcia. It was a book where nobody knew who the author, R.L. Tilleridge, was (rumours had it that the author had a secret-keeper), but they all praised the book for its genius storytelling and theme.

Curious, Hugo read the book, wondering what made it so special, especially when nobody knew who the mysterious author was. He approached Tilleridge’s novel with wariness, thinking it had to be some overhyped marketing tactics.

He read it three times. Three times in three days. The book made his mind hurt and made him question everything he knew of the world until then. He laughed at the humorous parts until his stomach cramped; cried at the parts that overwhelmed him with emotions, hoping nobody was around when he quickly scrubbed his eyes; and in subsequent readings, he found new concepts and realisations that would leave him numb from shock. But everything the author alluded to made perfect sense to him, and all the little nuances, the symbolisms, the allusions — they were all put together masterfully.

It was Tilleridge’s book that became a milestone in Hugo’s life. This work was what made Hugo decide to become an editor instead of a writer. After seeing such skills, he knew his own mediocre writing could never live up to the likes of Tilleridge. That was not his strength — instead his strength was to read and analyse, to find loopholes and think of alternative ideas, and he’d proven that when he worked as an editor for the Hogwarts newspaper. Now he dreamed of one day becoming Tilleridge’s editor.

And when the day arrived that Tilleridge was finally revealed to be none other than Teddy Remus Lupin, Hugo decided to do everything he could to achieve his dreams.

“You have the qualifications, but do you really think you’re capable of becoming his editor?”

Hugo blinked at that question, surprised by Luna’s seriousness. Of all the years he’d known her, he was used to seeing her with a dreamy expression. Then again, those were times when she’d been going on about some magical creatures she and her husband, Rolf, had discovered. So perhaps, with her job as the head of a successful publishing company, she took things a bit more seriously.

He selected his words carefully. “I’m capable. I may not be perfect, but for what I lack, I’ll make it up with hard work and determination.”

“Ah, hrmmm.” Luna tapped her gaudy peacock quill, complete with a glittery tip. “I should warn you that it will not be an easy job.”

“I . . . ” Hugo cleared his throat. “I don’t care if this is going to be the world’s hardest job. Even if I have to be Uncle George’s test subject to do this job, I’ll still do it. It’d be an incredible honour to be Teddy Lupin’s, or should I say, Tilleridge’s, editor. I’ve read every single book he’s written so far.” And he had. He had even bought two copies of each book, one to read and one to keep in mint condition.

Luna nodded, and the familiar dreamy smile returned as she wrote on a small parchment, making the glitter fall all over her desk. “Here are the Apparation coordinates for his place. He’ll expect you tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning.”

He accepted the parchment, puzzling over something. “That’s it? Doesn’t he need to interview me?”

“No. He leaves that sort of thing up to me. Don’t worry about it. Just go be the best editor you can be and more. Welcome aboard, Hugo.”

Once outside, Hugo carefully folded the parchment, slipped it into his pocket, and then let out a loud yell of happiness, not caring that he almost gave some poor lady a heart attack.

Feeling high and mighty, Hugo rushed home to his small flat near Baker Street, and he eagerly began his preparation for tomorrow.

Ding dong!

Hugo stepped back and shifted nervously as he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He looked around the well cared for bushes that lined the small path. It connected to a larger dirt path, and that path became two a few hundred metres away. Down one way, he could see a small town. On the other route, he saw it going into an ominous looking forest. Just looking at that forest gave Hugo the willies as he remembered that one and only time he and Lily had snuck into the Forbidden Forest, and it was there he realised just how scary gigantic spiders were and just why his dad did not like them.

Hugo suppressed a shudder and quickly looked back at the longhouse in front of him. The place had a thatched roof with a stone chimney attached to it. The longhouse wasn’t as big as some of the ones belonging to farmers, but its smaller size gave a cosy feel to it. He wondered how the inside would look.

Then he realised that nobody had come to the door. Frowning, he pressed the doorbell again.

Ding dong!

Still nobody came. Confused, and now wondering if he had even Apparated to the right place, Hugo pulled out the parchment from his pocket to re-check his coordinates. “These are right,” he muttered to himself, and he took a deep breath and tried again.

Ding dong! Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong!

Exasperated, he reached for the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked, but instead it opened with a click. There’s something familiar about the wards, he thought, as he slowly opened the door.

“Hello?” he called out. Hugo stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It was one gigantic room with one side of the place designated as the kitchen and dining area, another side as the study and sitting room with a fireplace, and the final side was walled off with a door, to which he guessed was the loo.

From the entryway, he stared at the piles of books all over the place. There were books stacked by the fireplace. In front of the unlit fireplace, two armchairs, a sofa, and a table were arranged there, and all of them had their own piles of books. One pile, on the table, was set precariously, making Hugo wonder if the slightest bump would cause an avalanche or not. The desk nearby, placed in front of a sunny window, also had stacks of books and parchments on it. There was even a huge Muggle-style entertainment system set up with a gigantic telly and video game systems.

He averted his gaze to the kitchen and dining area, and he wrinkled his nose from the sight and the terrible stench emanating from the area. In the sink, and on both the counters and the table, there were dirty dishes. He even eyed the open microwave and saw a bowl in there, and he knew that it, too, was dirty like all of its companions in the vicinity. He decided to forgo checking the loo, deeply afraid of what he may encounter in there.

Instead, he looked at the stairs in the back of the house, past beyond the kitchen area, which led to the loft. He headed over to the stairs, and he called out again, “Hello? Ted — er — Mr Lupin? Mr Tilleridge?”

There was no answer. Hugo’s brow furrowed, and he pursed his lips as he began to slowly ascend. Halfway up the stairs, he saw something from the corner of his eye. He looked and saw a huge dangling spider and a man with glasses and the most frightful, messy-looking white hair.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Forgetting that he was on the stairs, Hugo took an automatic step back and fell onto a soft cushion that appeared just in time. He landed with a loud “oof!” and while he tried to regain his breathing, he looked back up at the face that was peering over the edge of the loft’s opening.

“Oh!” Teddy, at least Hugo assumed it was Teddy masquerading as that one Muggle scientist, stared back owlishly. “Terribly sorry about that! I was digging under my bed and through my trunk for this little eight-legged fellow, so I didn’t realise the doorbell was ringing and that someone was calling for me. I thought it was just my head playing tricks on me. Good thing Harry had spelled the wards to allow friends to enter. It’s also a relief that Luna had convinced me to spell that cushion to appear in case somebody falls off these stairs. Are you all right?”

“Juh — just fine,” Hugo managed to gasp, still trying to calm his wildly beating heart. He gestured at the spider, and he shivered at its realistic appearance, which included the rather large fangs and the hairy legs. “I’m glad you found it.”

“Me, too. I needed Shelob here to give me inspiration for my next story. Now that I found it, I should get to writing some. And you are . . . ?”

“Hugo. Hugo Weasley. Your new editor?” He gathered his dignity and picked himself off the cushion. “Didn’t Luna tell you?”

“Did she? I think I heard the Floo go off, but I was trying to cook eggs at that time. But that didn’t go too well, hence those dishes down there,” Teddy explained as he came down and stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Hugo finally got a good look at the man whose books had changed his life. Teddy was just a bit shorter than he was — then again, Hugo did inherit his dad’s height and build — and aside from that hairstyle, he wasn’t a bad looking bloke. He had broad shoulders, but his body was on the lithe side. The way he carried himself gave him a sereneness that felt almost otherworldly to Hugo. When he looked into Teddy’s hazel eyes, deep within the mixture of colours, he saw a spark. He couldn’t find the exact words to describe it, but he sensed that Teddy was different. Hugo felt like all time had stopped as he continued to look into those eyes, and when Teddy began to speak, he saw the full, but chapped lips moving slowly.

“–do the dishes?”

That broke the spellbinding hold on him, and Hugo shook his head, his fringe moving along, and he blinked his eyes. “Sorry?”

“Will you do the dishes and then help me organise and put these books away?”

“Huh?” Hugo pressed his lips together, and he clenched his fists before saying, “I’m your editor, not your house elf.”

“You’re to also helping me with my writing.”

“By cleaning your place?”

Teddy took out a large notepad and summoned a quill and began to write on it. “Yes. How else can I focus and find the time otherwise?”

“You could get a house elf,” Hugo repeated, this time slowly.

“That goes against my principles.”

“Wait, what?!” Hugo’s mind went back to the stories he’d heard from his dad and Uncle Harry about his mum’s wild SPEW campaign, and he wondered if Teddy had been lured into the whole thing by his mum.

“Oh, and when you’re done, can you prepare some tea? I just realised I didn’t get my caffeine fix yet. I take milk with mine, Helio.”

“It’s Hugo, and who in Merlin’s beard would name someone ‘Helio’?”

Teddy went to his desk, and he set the notepad on top of the mess and continued to write without stopping. “I know someone with the name Prickenstein. Or was that a book title? By Bloody Mary? No matter, that’s not important.”

Prickenstein? Bloody Mary? It took every ounce of control for Hugo to not correct him. Instead, knowing that it was easier to just do the chores instead of arguing with this madman, he turned and went to do the dreaded dishes and prepare the sodding tea. All the while he cursed at how someone could use up every single dish in the cupboards to make eggs, and he began to wonder if this was really an editor’s job or not.

By the end of the second week, Hugo was exhausted. He was also amazed by Teddy’s capacity to create a mess every day. He suspected Teddy must stay up all night trashing the place instead of writing. Sometimes there were dirty clothes all over the place. Other times, the books Hugo had put away would all be back out again. Then there were always the dishes left for him to wash. Strangely enough, though, the loo was the only place in the house Teddy kept tidy. Hugo was tempted to ask about that, but then he feared that might only give Teddy the idea to mess it up, and Hugo did not want to add the loo to the many things he had to clean.

Hugo had to go see Luna before going to Teddy, so when he saw her, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Is this really an editor position?”

“What do you mean?” Luna asked while trimming some of the needles off her pet cactus, Billy. The cactus — a gift from Neville — glared at him and stuck out its tongue. Hugo gave it a look of his own.

“I haven’t edited anything yet. I’ve been–”

“Cleaning? Preparing his food? Making sure he doesn’t blow up his place with his microwave?”

Hugo nodded and then remembered something. “Is this what you meant by being a good editor and ‘more’?”

“Yes. So good of you to remember.”

“But–!”

“You know what I think an editor is supposed to be?” Luna’s face took on a serious look once more. “It’s to support their author in every shape and form. Most people believe that an editor’s job is to only correct and suggest ways to improve the author’s writing, but the strongest relationship between the editor and the author is supposed to be one of trust, mutual respect, and understanding. It’s quite similar to marriage.

“Teddy’s a brilliant writer,” she continued. “But you have to be patient and help him achieve that in his writing.”

“How on earth did he write all those great books before? How did those editors handle him?” Hugo asked with a frown.

Luna cocked her head to the side. “You think all of his books are great? You know that’s not the general consensus in the literary world? Everyone agrees that his first novel, the one that won the Agrippa Award, was a work of a genius, but the novels he wrote after all lacked the same greatness of that first book.”

“That’s not true! All of his books to date have been brilliant!” Hugo retorted. “Granted, the others after are not on the same level as the first book, but the other people are just not able to understand what each book is doing!”

“That’s your opinion, and you’re the first one I know of that thinks like that.” Luna smiled gently. “Therefore, as his editor, if you really believe in him, you can get the others to believe in him, too.”

“Huh? Why should I be the one to try and convince the others?”

“You don’t have to, but as an editor, you’re to also help produce a book that will affect our society in some way or other.”

Hugo saw her opening up her tiger-striped, rainbow-coloured notebook. This was a sure sign of dismissal. He stood up, gave one last glare to the unfriendly cactus, and turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he heard her say, “By the way, when he wrote that award-winning book, he had an excellent relationship with his editor. But that editor passed away unexpectedly, and since then, all the editors he’s had did not have what it takes to be with him. But I think you’re unlike the others, Hugo. You can make this work.”

All weekend long, Hugo thought about his conversation with Luna. He thought about Teddy’s quirky personality and his “inability” to take care of himself. After much prodding and hemming on his own, he decided that he’d support Teddy in every way he possibly could because he did want to see another great book from Teddy, and he did want to fulfil his job eventually, despite all he’d have to do. Besides, the endless amount of chores didn’t take so long to do now as he was getting used to them. He was becoming quite proficient in cleaning and cooking charms.

Despite Teddy’s absent-minded way of living, Hugo noticed that Teddy was a creature of habit in his own unique way. Every morning, when Hugo arrived at Teddy’s place, Teddy would be up and ready. Some days, Teddy opted for his natural appearance, but other days he would change his hair colour and style and his eye colour for fun. Hugo quickly got used to seeing Teddy with an orange mullet and purple eyes or some strange combination like that. Looks aside, he was always ready for whatever breakfast Hugo decided on making.

Since that first day when he had to clean up the egg disaster’s aftermath, he’d quickly learned that Teddy was not to be trusted with anything kitchen-related. Case in point, when Hugo had asked for sugar one time, Teddy had handed him salt instead, and Hugo saw that Teddy would not pay attention to what he punched on the microwave. Ergo, he decided that the only safe thing Teddy could handle was setting the table.

The few times Teddy did try to help out, he noticed Teddy preferred to do everything without magic. He asked about that one time.

“Hrm? Use magic to clean and cook? Well, this is a bit embarrassing to say, but I’m quite awful at those spells.”

“But I thought you did great in Charms?”

“No, I did great in Transfigurations. Besides, I kind of like the Muggle lifestyle. It adds something more rustic, yes?”

You mean you like it because it gives you an excuse to do a horrible job at cleaning and cooking to get someone else to do them for you? Hugo thought, but not unkindly.

That was breakfast, and then after, Teddy would do research or watch some Muggle shows to learn from them, and that was when Hugo would clean up the place and do laundry. Then he’d cook something for lunch, and they would eat it together. It was during their lunch that Teddy would initiate random conversation topics such as:

“You know how history tells us that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rivals? And they even grew apart because of their ideological differences?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it was more than ideological differences. I think Gryffindor fancied Slytherin and vice-versa.”

Hugo dropped his fork and gaped. “What?!”

“It makes sense. They both fancied each other, but they were both too tied down by societal expectations, busy creating and maintaining Hogwarts, and focussed with the whole Muggle-borns situation. All of that pretty much created unresolved sexual tensions for the two, so that further deteriorated their relationship.”

“Oh, er, that’s an interesting . . . theory?”

“Thanks! Oh, and also, you know the Stonehenge? I believe the whole thing used to be shaped like a penis . . . ”

After lunch, Teddy would do one of two things. He would blast out the wireless and write on his laptop (a gift from Harry) that was charmed to type his dictation if he wanted, or he would turn on one of his video game consoles and have them play a game of his choice. Most of the time, they played something called “Mario”, and Hugo tried to figure out the concept of a plumber going around some mushroomy place to rescue a princess from this strange dragon-turtle thing with spikes. He also noticed that Teddy was a vocal and active player.

“Jump! . . . No! You’re jumping too slow! That mushroom’s getting away from me! Blast it all! That bloody fireball!” While saying all this, Teddy jumped and moved around on the sofa. Hugo quickly learned to give Teddy plenty of space whenever they played video games.

Tea time came in mid-afternoon, and Hugo prepared tea with scones or other treats, and Teddy would have that while reading some gigantic book. It was during these moments Teddy had told Hugo to do whatever he wanted. Hugo usually opted to do some lingering chores or tasks that needed to be done. But sometimes he became bored, so he decided to just talk to Teddy.

“You know, you really have an impressive book collection.”

There was no answer — fairly typical of Teddy whenever he was drinking tea and reading a book.

Hugo, undeterred, smiled and continued, “You remind me of Matilda, except you’re drinking tea, not Ovaltine.” Suddenly an idea came, figuring this would break Teddy’s concentration. “By the way, I’m hung like a hippogriff.”

He watched closely for a reaction, any slight movement. There was none except for Teddy turning a page while his eyes moved to follow the words.

Rolling his eyes, realising that Teddy’s concentration could not be broken even if a real hippogriff did come, Hugo finished his tea.

His last task of the day was to leave Teddy some dinner, usually by getting takeaway. Then he’d bid Teddy a good night, and he’d go home. And each day he did, he wondered whether he had done enough to help Teddy with his writing and hoped that he was forming that mutual trust and respect Luna had mentioned.

One Thursday morning, after tea and cake, Teddy said abruptly, “Let’s go to London after lunch.”

“Huh?” Hugo was thrown off by the unexpected suggestion.

“I’d like to take a ride on the Tube, go see the Buckingham Palace guards, and go to Hyde Park.”

Hugo raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said slowly. “If that’s what you want . . . ”

“Stupendous! There’s a safe point we can Apparate to, and from there we hop on the Tube.”

Teddy wandered up to the loft to change. While he did that, Hugo checked his own outfit to see if he was wearing something proper for Muggle London. He never wore robes, so his simple ensemble of a red Weasley jumper over a t-shirt with jeans and trainers passed his test. However, when he saw Teddy coming downstairs, he ended up gawking at Teddy’s appearance. Teddy wore a white shirt under a dark grey pinstriped waistcoat with a matching pair of trousers. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and he wore a blue tie with some abstract designs on it. His black dress shoes and his grey-and-black-banded fedora finished and complimented his outfit. Under his hat, his hair was short and it was black with blue tint.

Normally, Teddy wore outfits that tended to clash and be horribly uncoordinated. The other day, Teddy had worn some neon pink and green polka-dot shorts and a purple and orange striped t-shirt, with matching neon green coloured hair. All day, Hugo had to resort to wearing sunglasses. With that kind of style, Hugo assumed that it was just another one of Teddy’s quirks and that he just had bad fashion sense.

But no! What Teddy wore now made him look so different, so dapper. Hugo cleared his throat. “Will you wait a few?”

“For?”

Teddy’s eyes looked back at him half-lidded. His eyes, like on their first day of meeting, were hazel, and Hugo didn’t miss the sparks in the blend of colours. He felt smothered by them and it took him a couple of seconds to regain his composure before saying, “Er, I need to change.”

“Change what?”

“My clothes.”

“Whatever for?” Teddy looked genuinely confused, so unlike his usual unfazed, unflappable self.

Hugo gestured at Teddy’s well-put together ensemble. “I look like rubbish compared to you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You look fine.”

“We’d look quite mismatched,” Hugo insisted.

Teddy reached out for Hugo’s wrist, and he side-Apparated them to the station. There, he continued to tug him along.

“W-wait!” Hugo exclaimed, but Teddy didn’t stop moving. Still holding onto Hugo’s wrist, he bought their tickets, and he only let go when they were in the train.

Hugo could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He knew that they were probably wondering why someone so plain-looking was with someone dressed up like some model. He tried his best to ignore them, and instead he glanced at Teddy, who ignored everyone as if he had no other care in the world. As the train travelled, Hugo tuned out the noise and his body became used to the vibrations, which relaxed him. He glanced at Teddy once more, and he saw Teddy’s head moving slowly, his eyes taking on a serious gaze.

Hugo knew instinctively to not say anything, to not bother Teddy, but he wasn’t sure why his gut was telling him that.

Upon reaching their destination, they silently walked outside and soon reached the gates of Buckingham Palace. Hugo and Teddy joined the slew of tourists who were snapping away on their cameras. Just like on the Tube, Hugo assumed Teddy would not say anything and would just look around. That was the case until Teddy said, “Are you really hung like a hippopotamus?”

Hugo whipped his head around so fast and hard that he could feel his neck muscles cry out in pain. He watched a few people look at them strangely before they walked away, and he hissed, “Shut up!”

“Eh? That’s what you said to me a few days ago during tea. These guards’ hats reminded me, so that’s why I decided to ask.”

Bloody fucking hell! He’d been listening all those times when I was talking to the front of his book? Hugo flushed, groaned, and slapped his forehead. He then whispered, “I said ‘hippogriff’. I never said ‘hippopotamus’.”

“We’re in the Muggle world now, so I replaced that word with one that sounds similar,” Teddy responded airily.

“Oh.”

“So are you?”

Hugo blinked before remembering the original question. “No! Time to change the subject! Let’s go to Hyde Park.” This time he grabbed Teddy’s wrist, ignored the soft chuckles, and guided them through the streets to reach the park.

They reached a quiet area and took a seat on a bench. Hugo leaned back heavily and tilted his head and looked at the sky. Next to him, Teddy took off his fedora, laid it on the spot next to him, and slung his arms on the top of the bench. He heard Teddy inhaling deeply. Teddy then stood up and walked slowly to a nearby tree.

Hugo remained at the bench, and he watched Teddy touching a tree, watched the way his slender fingers traced the trunk and the leaves. Like before, Hugo stayed silent because of his instincts, and as he continued to watch Teddy, it hit him then that Teddy was doing all this for his writing. Teddy was observing and participating in the world they lived in so he could write all about them. The way Teddy was communing with nature at the moment reminded him of the Lake Poets and their love for nature. Just like the poets of the past, he realised that Teddy’s own writings contained a lot about surrealistic interpretation of nature, so that was why this outing was suggested today.

Teddy may act like the most incapable, oddest bloke he had ever met, but Hugo knew that there was more to Teddy than met the eye. Something shifted inside of him; after that day, he began to look at Teddy differently.

The hands, its fingers all callused and rough, were warm. They grazed his cheeks for a few seconds, right below his blindfolded eyes, the roughness meeting the scratchiness of his stubble, before they slowly descended and traced his collarbone. One of the hands stopped at his nipple, pinching it softly until it proudly perked up. The other hand went farther down, past his navel, and he felt the heated hand around his throbbing manhood.

Hugo let out a moan as the hand slowly pumped him, its thumb right on his slit, playing with his precome. “More. Please, more. Faster!” he begged.

He felt something hot and wet on his ear, and he heard a sultry voice say, “You like this?”

The hand down below picked up the pace ever so slightly, and the pleasure inside of him grew and spread all over his body so slowly that it made him want more. “Yes!” he panted out, trying his hardest not to sound so needy. He arched his body forward, urging that hand to move even faster. “I . . . please!”

“Is that all? Don’t you want to know who I am? Aren’t you curious?”

“Yes, I . . . ” The hand stopped moving, and Hugo let out a soft whimper as his cock throbbed where the hand squeezed him. “Please, don’t stop.”

The other hand that had been playing with his nipple moved away, and his blindfold slipped slowly down his face. He blinked at the sudden light, and they slowly focussed on the smirking man.

“Gah!” Hugo woke up with a start, breathing hard as he reached up to wipe away the sweat on his face. He shifted and realised that he was still hard from that dream. A dream that had him aching for more. He couldn’t believe it.

He glanced at his nightstand, and then he flew out of bed and went straight to take a cold shower. He had overslept.

In the freezing shower, he thought about his dream, and he told himself, “It was only a dream. Dreams do not mean anything!” Yet no matter how many times he repeated it, deep down inside, he knew it meant something.

He quickly made it to Teddy’s place with only minutes to spare, and he shoved all the sexual thoughts away as he concentrated on his job and pretended that nothing had happened.

But night after night, his subconscious betrayed him, and every morning he’d wake up hard and wanting Teddy so much. Some nights the dreams were sweet and pleasant, as he and Teddy snogged themselves until they were completely breathless. Other nights were like his first dreams — kinky and sexually-driven. Still, despite his own wants and needs, he did everything to not show his feelings on this particular matter. He acted polite and went about his job; he mentally patted himself on the back for being able to keep his personal life separate from his professional one.

Or so he thought.

About a week later, Teddy said during breakfast, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes!” That came out far higher than normal. Hugo cleared his throat and continued, “Everything’s all right.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been much too quiet these days and it seems like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh, bugger! So he hadn’t been doing a good job. Inwardly, Hugo berated himself, and his mind rushed around as he tried to think of something to say that would change the subject. “Why did you write under a pseudonym before?”

“Is that what’s been bothering you? I thought it was because I kept beating you in Mario.” Teddy looked surprised.

Mario? An image of a mushroom came into his mind, and he began to wonder if the tip of Teddy’s cock was shaped like that or not, but before he could dwell on it further, he mentally slapped himself to get back to Teddy’s pseudonym. “Uh, yes? If you don’t want to answer, it’s okay.”

“Mmm.” He took a sip of his tea. “It’s not a big deal. I just decided to write under a pseudonym because I wanted to see if I could make it without being known as the son of war heroes and such.”

“Oh.” Hugo could understand that. His parents were heroes, too, plus his cousins were also all descended from the most famous war hero of all.

“Also,” he continued, the serious tone and expression stilling Hugo, a tone and expression that were a far cry from his usual absent-minded behaviour. “I wanted to use the name ‘Tilleridge’ to commemorate my first editor.”

“Tilleridge was your first editor?”

“Well, sort of. He was a Muggle living next to my grandmother. An old chap, widowed, and the biggest lover of books. I went over to his place a lot when I wasn’t in school. His personal library was impressive. He encouraged me to read and write whatever I could. He helped me a lot when I was writing my first novel, so while he was never my official editor, he was one for me.” Teddy took a deep breath. “He died before I finished the book.”

Hugo nodded once. His throat was too tight for him to say anything.

“He and Harry were both like a father to me. I will never forget him.”

“Yes. And you won’t. You’ll join him one day and see your parents when you go to the Grey Havens.”

Teddy looked up in surprise. “You know . . . ?”

“Yes. I’m a big fan of Tolkien’s books. And I figured you read his books, too, considering how you named that spider ‘Shelob’.”

They both looked at each other and started to laugh, which changed their current atmosphere to a happier one. Teddy stopped laughing first, and he said, “Well, a lot of the books you see here are from Tilleridge’s library. Thank you for helping me take care of them.”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad to help.”

Teddy reached out and squeezed Hugo’s shoulder. Without any more words, Teddy finished his breakfast, and the rest of the day passed as any other day.

Hugo’s shoulder stayed warm the whole day.

One afternoon, Hugo suddenly heard loud noises when he was in the loo. It didn’t sound like any of Teddy’s video games, and it didn’t sound like the wireless. When he stepped out, he marched over to where Teddy had planted himself in front of his gigantic telly. On screen, he saw a bunch of large elephant-looking creatures, men in armour and on horses, and ugly goblin-looking creatures, all fighting for their lives. “What in Helga’s name are you watching?”

“The Battle of the Pelennor Fields.”

Hugo frowned. “Isn’t that from The Lord of the Rings?”

“Yes, this is the film adaptation of the book.”

“Oh! That trilogy directed by Paul Jackson?”

“Peter — not Paul.”

“Oh, right. Peter Jackson.” Hugo sat down next to Teddy, their shoulders nearly touching, and he watched the continuing battle on screen. “I have heard about the film adaptations, but I haven’t watched them.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mum always told me that the film adaptations of books were always rubbish compared to the books.”

“Mmm.” Teddy nodded. “I tend to agree with your mother, but Peter Jackson did do a brilliant job with the trilogy. Some of the changes and some of the scenes he chose to not include are not always logical, but what he did as a whole, these are great films.”

Hugo was about to ask about the changes when Teddy continued, “Plus, I cannot deny the fact that Aragorn, Legolas, and Faramir are all quite handsome. Actually, no, they are all quite sexy in their own ways.”

Hugo’s mouth dropped opened. “Um, what?”

“Hmm? Do you not trust my taste? Here let me show them to you!” Teddy eagerly began to push the buttons on the remote control, and he happily showed all the characters in the trilogy. Hugo’s head spun as he watched the montages of the original Fellowship members, Faramir, Celeborn, Eomer, Haldir, and even of the antagonists such as Saruman before Teddy finally stopped. “See, all of these men — young or old — are all good looking. But my absolute favourite is Aragorn. Several of my lady friends all swooned over Legolas — I guess it’s because he’s very pretty? — but I, myself, greatly preferred Aragorn. Though I cannot say I like him being with Arwen. I always thought Eowyn would have been a better match for him.”

Hugo burst out laughing after listening to Teddy’s opinionated speech. He knew Teddy liked Tolkien’s books, but he had no idea Teddy’s love for the work went this far. Even better, though, was that he now knew for sure Teddy’s own preferences, so that made him feel all hopeful and giddy at knowing that perhaps, just perhaps, he had a chance with Teddy.

However, he was unsure of how to make the next move. He decided that now was probably not the best time to announce his crush. Instead he said, “I agree. Eowyn would be better for him.”

“Absolutely!” Teddy beamed. “Do you want to watch the whole trilogy from the beginning?”

Hugo slowly smiled. “Why not?”

“All right. Do you want to watch the theatrical release, which is about nine hours long or the extended edition for eleven hours?”

“I . . . er . . . extended?” Hugo felt faint at the suggestion of watching something for eleven hours, but Teddy mistook his hesitance.

“Extended it is! That one is much better. Let’s begin this marathon.”

Hours later, when Hugo finally left Teddy’s place around four in the morning, he knew what was meant by the Muggle’s phrase of being a “couch potato”. He also discovered just how hard it was to keep his hands to himself during those eleven hours. Teddy’s excitement and love of the films shone brightly through his facial expressions, his body language, and his intricate explanations. The twinkling in his eyes, the smile that showed off his dimples, that bit of skin that made itself known whenever he raised his arms up in the air as he cheered on the characters, and that deep, husky voice that sent shivers down his spine — all of these made Hugo fall harder for the man right next to him. Teddy was so near, so close to him, and yet Hugo could do nothing as he waited for the marathon to end so he could go home and fantasise about him even more instead of thinking about that Ring that Launched Hell on Middle Earth.

Yet his own brains turned against him that night when he finally got some kip. Instead of dreaming about the two of them bonking each other, he’d dreamed that Teddy was Legolas and he as Gimli, and they were going at it like two wild Cornish Pixies. When he got up a few hours later, he woke up scowling and muttering, “Bloody hell, making me the short dwarf, and Teddy the cool, good looking elf even when I’m taller than him . . . I hate my subconscious!”

“I think I’m done.” Teddy stretched and then scratched his leopard-patterned hair.

“With what?” Hugo spelled the last set of cups onto the drying rack. He dried his hands and walked over and sat across from Teddy. In between them was the coffee table, and on it was a stack of papers bound together.

“The first draft.”

“Oh!” Hugo smiled. “That’s great. Congratulations!”

“Thank you. And now, it’s your turn.” Teddy turned his laptop off and he moved to the front of his video game system.

“Right.” Hugo felt a bit odd — after months of cooking and cleaning, he was finally going to do the job he originally was to do. He felt anxious and excited, wondering what this newest novel would be like. Taking a deep breath, he made himself comfortable on the sofa, and he picked up the thick draft and began to read.

For the next five hours, that was what he did along with keeping notes of what he read on a parchment. He just couldn’t stop. He didn’t even stop for their mid-afternoon tea; Teddy somehow took care of it himself, surprisingly without causing an explosion.

Hugo ignored the tea Teddy gave him. He only continued to read and edit. Every single word, every sentence hit him just like the very first novel he’d read from Teddy. He became lost in the characters’ minds as he looked at the novel’s world through their eyes. The more he read, the more he felt disconnected from the physical world. The mixture of narrations at first confused him, but they all came together in ways that were almost magical.

When he finished the last page, Hugo’s eyes lingered on the final words. Unbeknownst to him, tears had gathered in his eyes, and they came down slowly. He came back to reality when he felt someone touching his cheek gently and taking away the pages from him. Then he felt someone sitting next to him, and he turned his head and stared at Teddy through his tears; one of Teddy’s thumbs wiped away another tear that had fallen.

Teddy’s eyes held a hint of concern. “Was it that bad?”

He shook his head.

Teddy looked relieved. He removed his hand, and he was moving back, but then he stopped because Hugo had reached out and grabbed him by the back of his neck.

They looked into each other’s eyes, and Hugo grew dizzy. Unhurriedly, inch by inch, they came closer. Hugo closed the remaining gap between them, and he kissed Teddy hard, remembering one of the novel’s messages, about how people should grab life by the bull’s balls or something. Or was it a hippopotamus? All thoughts about the novel disappeared when he felt Teddy kissing back, and all his nightly sexual fantasies came back in full-force.

Someone moaned into the kiss; Hugo didn’t care whose moan it was — he only cared that they were both full out snogging now, both tongues caressing each other’s, and Hugo found himself lying on the sofa, with his back now against the soft cushion and Teddy’s warm, hard body on his. He wrapped his arms around Teddy’s broad back, and his legs spread open wider, arching into Teddy’s body when he felt their groins meeting for the first time.

It was Teddy who broke the kiss. Panting, he shifted his lower body and said, “I feel as if you are hung like a hippogriff.”

Hugo let out a breathy moan as he felt the movement, and he flushed harder as Teddy reminded him of that blasted conversation. Yet before he could say something, Teddy said, “We should stop.” But he didn’t stop. He continued to plant small kisses all over Hugo’s cheeks and neck.

“You first,” Hugo gasped, tilting his neck to give Teddy better access. He moaned out loud when he felt Teddy’s hot mouth and tongue sucking on his sensitive skin. Their hips both rocked back and forth, and Hugo’s body was on fire as he felt his arousal growing more in the passing seconds.

Teddy stopped sucking, and he moved his hands to slip under Hugo’s shirt. “I can’t. You’ve been occupying my dreams far too much lately. Made me wonder if you had cast a spell on me.”

Hugo laughed. “I did no such things. If anything, you cast a spell on me! You . . . do you know how much I’ve wanted this?”

“Do tell. Tell me more,” Teddy said, moving back up to kiss him again.

Before their lips met again, Hugo said, rather shrilly , “I fancy you!” He cringed at his voice, which suddenly reminded him of his mum’s voice when she was upset.

“I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” The words sounded raspy, but Teddy didn’t stop there. He came closer and his lips gently covered Hugo’s.

Hugo accepted the kiss for a few seconds before he brought his hands to Teddy’s chest and pushed him off. “Let’s stop!” And before he could sound like an arse, he added, “Let’s take it a bit slower. As much as I want to bonk you or be bonked by you, let’s go back to that novel of yours. The ball grabbing thing can wait.”

Teddy sat back up, while Hugo closed his eyes tightly as he imagined Hagrid in some BDSM get-up. That worked for him, but when he pulled himself up into a sitting position very close to Teddy, he almost faltered at the image of a naked Teddy that bombarded his mind. Luckily Teddy said, “What’s this ball grabbing thing you’re talking about?”

“Oh, erm, that’s a message I got from this novel? That people should grab life by a bull’s balls when they need to?”

Teddy blinked. “That’s an interesting interpretation. Anything else?”

Hugo reached out for the parchment with his notes on it. “Here. These are my notes with all my suggestions and corrections that are to be made.”

“All right.” Teddy took the parchment and read through it. Minutes passed as Hugo watched a frown grow deeper and deeper on Teddy’s face. When he finished he set the parchment down and said, “You went pretty hard on me there.”

“Is that . . . a problem?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Teddy smiled. “It’s a good thing. My previous editors were never this hard on me. But you’re like Tilleridge. Both of you are encouraging, but also complete hard-arses with editing.”

“Oh,” Hugo said nonchalantly, but was secretly glad he was compared to Tilleridge and was told that he was a hard editor.

“Hrm, can you elaborate on this point? Then afterwards let me treat us to a good restaurant I know in London? I’m kind of tired of fish and chips. And we need to celebrate me finishing this first draft! I’ve worked hard on this, you know.”

Hugo laughed and grabbed Teddy’s hand and squeezed it. “I do know. Let’s go for it.”

“Are you pleased by the reviews and accolades Teddy’s book has been getting?” Luna asked, smiling in a knowing way as she carefully moved Billy to a new location on her desk.

Ignoring Billy, Hugo said, “Of course. It feels great that I helped edit it.”

“I’m glad you two worked out well. I have to say I had my doubts when Teddy suggested you.”

“Suggested me? What are you talking about?”

“He hasn’t told you?” Luna looked at Hugo intently and then laughed softly. “I guess both of you have been too busy communicating in other ways, and it must’ve slipped his mind.”

“Luna!” Hugo flushed at her allusions. “Wait, wait, are we that obvious?”

“Have you forgotten the time I walked in on you two when his hands were in your–”

“You can stop now!”

“–and like I said, he was the one who suggested you to be his new editor,” Luna continued. “Apparently, he saw you in a bookstore, saw you picking up one of his newest books that was released last year . . . ”

His mind flashed back to that day, too. He remembered being thrilled for the day he’d been waiting for what felt like forever. He had stood in front of the display that was stacked with copies of Teddy’s book, and he had reached out, slowly picking it up as if it were a precious gem.

” . . . and he recognised you. And he was enamoured by your smile, by your sheer happiness at his book. And he told me that you were his kindred soul to his writing.”

Hugo made a face at the cheesy line. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, that wasn’t the exact phrase. What he really said was that your smile was sexy and that you had one hell of an arse.”

“Luna!” Hugo felt his cheeks flushing. He was pleased to hear about Teddy’s thoughts, but quite the opposite at how Luna was presenting all this as if she were discussing Nargles.

Luna just smiled brightly. “Yes? I only speak the truth.”

Quickly, Hugo moved on, “Wasn’t there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Teddy has these book signings and events to attend to in the next few weeks. Your newest task is to ensure he makes it to all these events.”

Hugo nodded and took the parchment she held out. He scanned it and said, “Quite a bit, but this shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Easier said than done. Getting him to one of these is like trying to stay awake in one of Professor Binns’ lectures.”

He blanched at the comparison. “That bad?”

“Somewhat. Though . . . ” She winked at him. “I’m sure you have ways to convince him. Now I bid you a fond farewell. I must go see Neville about Billy.”

Blushing once more, he left her office, and there Hugo let out a slow smile. As he chuckled to himself, he walked outside to Apparate to his lover’s home, where he looked forward to this new challenge.

Click on the image for the larger version.

“You want me to watch that for the next six months?”

Percy stared at the Phweenalia obnoxium plant in Penelope’s hands. It looked like a large, single-stemmed common bluebell, but it moved and it also “talked”. The plant, more commonly known as the Phwee Plant, wriggled in its pot, and like a dog, it leaned forward and sniffed at him. It reared back and gave a good shake and let out a loud, “Phwee!!!”

Penelope whispered something to the plant, and it wriggled once more, crossed its arm-leaves, looked off to the side, and then stayed still. “You’re the only one I can ask to do this, Percy. My father’s allergic to Pelonius’ species, so I can’t ask my parents to help me. I have to concentrate on my tasks in the Australian Outback, and with you watching Pelonius, I won’t have to worry about him.”

He stared at Pelonius, which still had his arm crossed and was not looking at him. Instead he let out another shrill “Phwee!!!”, and Percy stopped himself from covering his ears. “You know I was not very good at Herbology, right?”

“Pelonius is easy to take care off. Just make sure you water him once a day, feed him a fly twice a day, and put him in a place with a lot of sunshine.”

“I don’t know, Penelope–” Percy cut himself off as he saw her familiar Crup-like eyes, the same eyes that would always prevent him from saying no to her in the past. He pushed his glasses up and let out a soft sigh. “Fine. I’ll watch Pelonius.”

Penelope beamed at him. “Thanks a lot. You and Pelonius will get along fine. I just know it!”

Ron cocked his head when he saw Pelonius. “I’ve never seen this kind of plant before. You say it moves and talks?”

“Yes, he’s a commonly known magical plant from Siberia, but his kind is still not as well known outside that place. They are slowly gaining favour in the magical communities around the world because some people like owning one of them as a pet.”

“Wouldn’t a Crup or an owl be a better choice for a pet? Why get this instead?”

“This isn’t mine,” Percy responded dryly. “I’m watching it for Penelope.”

“Well, that makes bloody sense. I was wondering if you were that lonely–”

Not again! Percy stifled back a groan, wondering why his family was on his case about not having a significant other, even after they discovered he preferred men over women. He could now see why Charlie decided to live overseas — at least living faraway meant he wouldn’t be bombarded by the nosiness of their family.

“–and you know it’s okay if you prefer a bloke instead, right?” Ron finished as he munched on some biscuits.

Percy glared at his youngest brother. “Thank you so much for your acceptance. Now, why in Merlin’s name are you here instead of with Hermione?”

“Oh, she’s in a bit of a mood. That monthly woman thing, I think . . . so I told her to go book shopping with Ginny.”

“What about Harry?”

“Something to do with business with the twins.”

“So you came here because you had nothing to do.”

“That’s one reason,” Ron said, grinning. “But I also heard from Kingsley that you’ve suddenly changed your schedule a bit by needing to rush home every night at the same time, so we were all curious on you having a new secret lover or not. Imagine my surprise that your reason for not working overtime lately is because of a plant.”

“Is that all?” Percy asked in a bored tone. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but as you can see, I have a plant to take care of for a friend. And now that you’re here, you can have the honour of feeding Pelonius this fly.”

“Who do I look like? Neville?” Ron backed away. “Sorry, mate, but I’m not feeding that plant. The way it’s looking at me, it looks like it’s going to bite my head off or something.”

“Neville? Neville Longbottom?”

“How many Nevilles do you know? Yes, Neville Longbottom, the new Herbology professor at Hogwarts.”

“I knew he had a good aptitude for Herbology, but I didn’t know he was that knowledgeable in the subject.”

“Oh, he is,” Ron bragged. “Hermione had plant troubles last year. Remember that plant we had that, er, passed gas a lot? It would stink up our place? It had bad timing and stank up the place when we had my boss over for dinner once. Well, Neville helped us fixed that problem. It’s no longer stinky.”

An image of a first-year Neville came into his head. He remembered thinking that there was nothing particularly special about the lad — at least not scholastic excellence, anyway. The kid could probably win an award for being caught in unfortunate — but sometimes fortunate — situations. After all, look how Neville won them the House Cup in his first year. Plus, there was the whole Sirius Black incident. With these memories, it was hard to picture Neville being a Hogwarts professor with a mastery in Herbology.

Then again, he thought, people do change. Some for the better, some for the worse, and it looked like Neville had changed for the better.

“Anyway,” Ron continued. “You can feed this plant! I’ll just watch. Then I challenge you to a game of chess.”

Percy rolled his eyes and finished the rest of his train of thought. Then again there were some people who never changed, like his brother.

“Phwee! Phwee!!! PHWEE!!!”

That was the greeting Percy received as soon as he Apparated into his flat, and he instinctively looked at the clock on his wall and scowled. Pelonius continued his “phweeing”, each phwee becoming louder and shriller. Percy grimaced as he quickly moved to the plant. Once he was in front of the plant, he glared at him.

Pelonius stopped his obnoxious yelling and put his arm-leaves on his so-called hips and blew a raspberry at him, which sounded like “Phweetetetetete!”

“I’m only five minutes late for your feeding, and you’re treating me like a criminal? The things I do for a plant . . . ” Percy grumbled as he fed Pelonius a fly. “Are you all happy now, master?”

Pelonius responded, “Phwee!!!” And then he started to sing loudly and waved his arm-leaves as if he were conducting an orchestra. “Phwee, phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeeeee!” Percy blinked, recognising the tune as that one famous Muggle composer song.

“Beethoven’s ‘Fifth’,” Percy muttered. “I shouldn’t be surprised. That is Penelope’s favourite, after all.”

Pelonius continued his symphony — at the loudest volume possible — and it wasn’t long before Percy had a pounding headache. When he went to bed that night, after finishing up the work he had brought with him to home, Percy — to his annoyance — found himself humming that tune.

As he lay there, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, he decided since Silencing Charms had no effects on Pelonius, he’d invest in some Muggle earplugs. He had thought about gagging him and putting a container over Pelonius, but he did not want to become a plant abuser, so Muggle earplugs were his solution for now.

“Percy, it’s been a long couple of months! How are things going with you and Pelonius?” Though it was hard to tell with the fire, Percy could see that Penelope had tanned since their last meeting.

“Pelonius and I are getting along fine,” Percy said. If you can call listening to his screeching fine, he grumbled to himself, still perturbed that the Muggle earplugs ended up not working.

“Can you bring Pelonius over here? I’d like to see him.”

“Um, sure.” Percy went to Pelonius, pick up his pot, and walked back to the fireplace, keeping a safe distance away. Pelonius might annoy him, but he had no desire to burn him!

Penelope smiled. “Hello, Pelonius!”

“PHWEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Pelonius squealed loudly. He raised his arm-leaves up and continued to sprout out his phwees happily.

“You miss me, don’t you? I miss you, too, Pelonius. I miss you a lot, but I’m glad to see that Percy is taking good care of you.”

Percy wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. He had to admit that watching Penelope and Pelonius interact with each other was amusing, reminding him of a mother-child reunion of some sort. “You know he sings that Beethoven song a lot?”

“I’m not surprised,” Penelope said with a smile. “He does like that song.”

“Because you like it.”

“Yeah . . . anyway, thanks, Percy. I’m so glad he’s doing well. I have a few more months left before I’ll come back home. When I come back, I’ll bring you a lot of Tim Tams.”

“Tim Tams?”

“Oh, they are the best biscuits in the world. You’ll love them when you try some.”

“Uh, all right. Just don’t bring back a kangaroo or something. You take care of yourself, Penelope.”

“Thanks. You, too!”

When the call ended, Percy took Pelonius back to his spot. As he set the pot down, he said, “The next few months will go by fast. You’ll be reunited with her soon.”

“Phwee!” Pelonius wriggled happily in his pot. “Phwee!”

Percy laughed. “You sure can be cute. Just don’t sing that Beethoven song for a while–”

“Phwee, phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeeeee!”

A few days later, when Percy came home from work, he saw Pelonius looking different. He was slumped over in his pot. His flowers appeared dry and droopy, and his leaves were all sagging on top of the pot. Alarmed, Percy dropped his cloak on the floor, not caring it’d get dirty, and quickly went to Pelonius.

“What’s the matter with you?” Percy demanded, gently picking up the pot and bringing him closer to his face.

“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius answered weakly.

Percy wracked his head, trying to remember if he had forgotten to feed or water Pelonius, but he knew he never forgot. Pelonius had never moved from its sunny spot, so the lack of sunlight could not be a factor. He only bought the flies that were the same brand Penelope used, so his feed could not be a problem.

He grew worried as he realised that something was truly wrong with Pelonius. And despite Pelonius’ obnoxious ways, he was not going to let a plant die on him.

Neville. The name popped in his head. He had to contact Neville, the only Herbologist he knew around here. However, he didn’t have an owl, and he didn’t feel comfortable using the Floo to call someone he didn’t know very well. Instead, he used the Floo to call Ron.

Thankfully, Ron was home. “What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw Percy’s panic-stricken face.

“Something’s wrong with Pelonius! I don’t have an owl! So can you please contact Neville for me and ask him if he knows anything about the Phwee Plant?” Percy then proceeded to explain what was wrong with Pelonius.

“Okay, okay, Perce! I’ll contact him. In the meantime, you calm down. Relax! Your whole head looks like a tomato.”

Percy bristled at the comment, but he thanked Ron, nonetheless. They then quickly cut off their connection so Ron could contact Neville. Percy went back to his sitting room and waited for what felt like hours as he paced around the room, his eyes never leaving Pelonius.

When he finally heard Ron’s voice from the Floo, he reluctantly left the room and walked over to the fireplace.

“I’ve got a hold of Neville. He has to quickly take care of some Hogwarts business. It shouldn’t take him more than half an hour. Then he’ll Floo to your place.”

Percy was not thrilled that he had to wait another half an hour, but he was glad Neville was still coming. “All right, Ron. Thanks a lot.”

“Let me know what happens. If you need help, Hermione and I will help.”

Percy thanked him one more time, and then he waited for Neville.

Percy was with Pelonius when heard his Floo come to life, and he heard a loud thud and an “Ow!” coming from the next room. Knowing that Neville had arrived, Percy rushed into the room and there he saw a dusty Neville Longbottom on the floor, looking sheepish with a wide smile. That was the first thing Percy noticed about Neville. The second thing he noticed was that Neville had changed a lot since his Hogwarts day. Gone was the pudgy-faced, short boy he’d known in the past. That boy had been replaced by a young man. A young man with faint scars on his face and stubbles on his cheeks and chin. Neville had grown taller and his shoulders had become broad. He was exactly the type of man Percy liked, and he was mortified when he realised he’d been staring at Neville.

Quickly, he reached out a hand to help Neville up. Their hands met, and he immediately saw the contrast. His was pale and freckled and slender. Neville’s was dark and large, and there were a bit of dirt under his nails.

Percy really liked how their hands fit each other perfectly, so when they had to let go, he was sorely tempted to not let go.

Neville stood up and brushed himself off. “Sorry about that.” Even Neville’s voice — all deep and husky — impacted Percy.

“Tits–” Percy desperately hoped he hadn’t gone red. He swallowed hard and cleared his dry throat. “It’s all right. Thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem.” He looked around. “Where’s Pelonsky?”

“Pelonius.”

“Oh, oops! Sorry, Ron was a bit hasty with his explanation, so I didn’t catch the plant’s name correctly.”

“Pelonius is over in the next room.” Percy quickly guided Neville to Pelonius, who still looked the same — all droopy and pathetic looking.

Neville immediately walked over to Pelonius and began to examine the plant. When he first bent over to inspect the plant even closer, Percy, who was standing a few feet behind Neville, got to see Neville’s lovely arse. Well, what he saw was the imprint of Neville’s arse, but he could see through the robes that Neville’s arse was well-shaped and nicely filled out. Percy shifted uncomfortably as he thought about how the round tush would fit in his hands when he grabbed them. The imagery sent a huge jolt of warmth to his mid-section. Percy felt his face turning red, so he desperately tried to think of something else. Something that would not instigate his libido!

He focused his attention on Pelonius, and on Penelope, who’d surely kill him if anything were to happen to Pelonius. He winced at the memory of the time she had kicked him in his balls. It was not his fondest memory, but it was one that always helped him calm down.

A few more minutes passed before Neville stood all the way up, no longer giving Percy an eyeful of that lovely arse, and said, “Pelonius is suffering from depression.”

Percy blinked. He knew Pelonius was rather sentient for a plant, but he was not expecting him to suffer from anything remote to depression. “What needs to be done for him?”

“He needs this special fertiliser blend. It acts like an anti-depressant drug for his kind of plant. I can bring some fertiliser tomorrow and show you how to give it to him and how often and so forth. And you need to do one more thing for him daily.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Sing to him.”

“Pardon?”

“At least once a day, sing to him. You heard how people sing to their plants to help it grow? Well, with the Phwee Plant, singing makes them happy. When it’s happy, it will sing by themselves, but when it’s not, it needs to be sing to. You have to sing, though. A recording does not have the same effect as a live performance.”

” . . . But I cannot sing.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can or can’t sing. If it’s loud and music-like, they’ll enjoy it.”

Percy took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead. “All right. I’ll sing.”

“Good,” Neville smiled. He reached out and patted Percy’s shoulder. “Pelonius will be fine. Just sing to him once or twice a day. Will it be all right for me to stop by tomorrow evening with the fertiliser?”

Percy nodded.

“Until tomorrow then.”

Percy eyed Pelonius after Neville left. “So I have to sing to you . . . ”

“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius still sounded weak, which made Percy feel really bad for him.

“You really must miss Penelope . . . ”

“Phwee . . . ” Pelonius said and slowly nodded.

“Well, I’ll sing, but remember I’m not going to be very good.” Percy tapped his chin thoughtfully, and five seconds later, he sang the first song that came into his mind.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lived there.
He once was a true love of mine.

As he sang, all out of tune and off-key, he thought of Neville once more. He was surprised that Neville had made such an impact on him. He had not felt attracted to anyone in ages, but he now felt a huge amount of attraction towards Neville.

He continued to sing as he thought about Neville raising the plants like parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. He imagined Neville working in the greenhouse, all hot and sweaty and dirty from the work, creating a picture of sexiness in Percy’s mind. He imagined Neville’s large hands on his shoulders, gripping him gently with enough firmness that would let him know that Neville would want him, too.

By the time he finished singing, his breath had gone ragged, and he was feeling so riled up that he knew he’d need to go to the loo to finish up his business. Before, though, he checked on Pelonius.

Pelonius was still droopy like before, but his “Phwee” sounded perkier. Relieved, Percy went to the loo.

The next morning, before he went to work, Percy fed Pelonius a fly and sang another song before he went to work. The song he chose to sing this morning was “Loch Lomond”.

When he finished, he patted Pelonius’ pot. “I’ll come home early,” Percy said, making a mental note to pick up some extra biscuits. “And I’ll sing to you then,” he promised.

During his lunch hour, Percy picked up the aforementioned biscuits, and he also got several more varieties of tea. He knew he hadn’t been hospitable the night before, so he wanted to make it up to Neville today.

Yet as the rest of his day ticked by, he felt himself growing more and more nervous. When he left work an hour early liked planned and came home, he was pretty much a wreck as he dashed around the flat making sure the place was clean and that the tea and the biscuits were all set for whenever Neville came by later.

In between his panic sessions, he talked and sang to Pelonius, who was looking slightly better than the day before. He was still slumped over, but he did phwee here and there with Percy when he sang, of all songs, “Macho Man”. It was definitely not a song he enjoyed, but it was a song Fred and George sang over a hundred times during the last big party at the WWW, so Percy had no choice but to memorise the whole bloody song.

Body, it’s so hot, my body,
Body, love to pop my body,
Body, love to please my body,
Body, don’t you tease my body,
Body, you’ll adore my body,
Body, come explore my body,
Body, made by God, my body,
Body, it’s so good, my body

Percy had to admit the song was pretty . . . sexual. Really, since the twins were singing it, he shouldn’t be surprised by their song choice, but this particular song was blatantly sexual. So sexual that he was picturing Neville following the song’s command by touching, adoring, pleasing, and teasing his body . . .

Percy shook his head, remembering that he had a sick plant in front of him. He looked at Pelonius, who was really looking better than before, so that encouraged Percy to continue to sing the song. He was so into the song that he did not hear his Floo being activated. In fact, he didn’t even know someone was in the room until Pelonius said, “Phwee, phwee, phweeeeeeee!” Percy stopped singing and looked at Pelonius, whose arm-leaves pointed behind him. He turned around and did a double-take when he saw Neville.

Percy turned bright red, wishing then that Pelonius was a Venus Flytrap capable of eating wizards. Especially idiotic wizards like him!

“Ne–Ne–Neville!” Percy spluttered. “I . . . I . . . ”

“You must really enjoy singing. Pelonius is looking a lot better.” Neville looked amused. He held up a small bag. “I’ve brought the fertiliser. Want me to show you how to do it?”

Deciding that his tongue was not going to cooperate now, Percy nodded.

“Okay. You really need to do this once a day, preferably in the evening before you go off to bed. Just scoop out this much and place it in his pot. Gently pat the fertiliser down, and he’ll be looking great in a few days or so. If he looks like he’s back to normal in a week, you don’t have to give him any more.”

“That’s it?” Percy asked, his tongue now back to normal.

“That’s it.”

“Well, I . . . to thank you, I have some tea and biscuits. Would you like some?”

“That’d be great. Thank you. Let me just go wash my hand. Where’s the loo?”

While Neville washed his hands in the loo, Percy got the tea and the biscuits ready. He set everything neatly in the sitting room, the same room where Pelonius was, and Percy sat stiffly, waiting for Neville to come back.

In no time, Percy had served them their teas — Darjeeling for him and Earl Grey for Neville — and the two drank in silence. Feeling awkward, Percy asked how it was like being a Hogwarts professor.

“I love it. I love teaching all these young wizards and witches about the subject I know and understand the most. Teaching has its own ups and downs, and sometimes it can be too challenging, but I can tell you that my days are never boring. I mean, it’s not like Potions where cauldrons and stuff explode, but these kids do get into some interesting situations.” Neville chuckled.

Neville’s easy-going attitude calmed Percy nerves. In fact, he was impressed by the way Neville exuded out natural confidence now, so different from the young boy he knew from the past. Percy smiled softly before asking, “What kind of situations?”

“Well, I had one student upset a special breed of cactus, and the cactus grew angry and squirted its juice at him. The student suffered from having a purple face for a week or so. That’s how long it took to wash off.”

Percy laughed, and in an ironic tone said, “That cactus must know my brothers.”

“The twins?”

“Who else do you know would make someone’s face purple?”

“Good point.” Neville grinned widely, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. “By the way, would it be all right if I stopped by in about three days? To check up on Pelonius?”

Percy nodded, glad that Neville was really interested in helping Pelonius, but he also felt disappointed that Neville was only going to stop by because of Pelonius. He found himself wishing that Neville would stop by even if Pelonius wasn’t in the picture. “Just ring the gong by the fireplace when you come.”

“What gong?”

“The non-existent gong I’m going to put up tomorrow. That way people can alert me that they’ve arrived instead of being subjected to my awful singing.”

Neville burst out laughing. “I have to admit, you sing better than I’d imagined. Though I never thought you’d sing that kind of song . . . ”

“Don’t worry,” Percy mumbled, knowing that he was turning red once more. “I won’t be singing that song any time soon.”

He looked at Neville then, and he saw that Neville had a curious expression on his face, an expression Percy wasn’t sure how to decipher. Before Percy could say anything, though, Neville glanced at the clock.

“I need to get going. I promised Minerva I’d help her with something. I’ll see you in three days?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Percy. And good bye, Pelonius.”

“Phwee!”

Percy walked Neville to the fireplace, and Neville said, “Thanks again, Percy. If anything changes with Pelonius, please call me by the Floo. Even if it’s three in the morning.” With one last smile, Neville left, and Percy went back to Pelonius.

“Phwee? Phwee?” Pelonius squirmed in his pot.

“You work on getting better.”

“Phwee!”

Percy sighed and sat back down on the couch. He gazed at the spot Neville had been in earlier, and his imagination took over once more as he pictured the two of them in a compromising position. He groaned loudly and said, “I’m falling for him. I really am attracted to him.”

Three days later, Percy made sure he did all his singing for Pelonius hours before Neville was to be expected. He did not fancy getting caught singing by Neville again. When he heard the Floo go off, he quickly went to Neville and greeted him.

“Good evening,” Neville said in his wonderfully deep voice, the same voice that nearly caused Percy to melt into a pile of wizard goo.

“Thanks for coming,” Percy said stiffly. “Pelonius is looking much better than before. That fertiliser and, ah, the other healing methods seem to be working well.”

“That’s great to hear. I’ll still have to check on him, though.”

“Fine by me.” Percy gestured Neville to go first, and he did. He brushed past Percy, and that brief moment of contact sent shivers down Percy spine. He could sense Neville was really warm, and he wanted to be embraced by that warmness. He followed behind, studying Neville’s backside, and he imagined how it’d feel to wrap Neville in a hug from behind, how it’d feel to rest his cheeks against that broad back and hearing the rhythmic beating inside.

Percy stifled back a moan. He was getting excited again, and he needed to distract himself. “You go check on Pelonius. I’ll go get the tea and biscuits ready.”

“All right.”

Once in the safety of his kitchen, Percy took several deep breaths to get his emotions and his body in control. “I will not make a fool out of myself. I will not make a fool out of myself!” Percy repeated this over and over again as he prepared the tea and biscuits. When he was ready to leave the kitchen, he carried the tray to the sitting room.

Neville, already sitting, greeted him with a beaming smile. “Pelonius is recovering nicely!”

Percy set the tray on the table. “I’m glad to hear that. All that singing is paying off.”

“It is.”

“Let me get your tea ready.” As he poured the Earl Grey into the cup, he could feel Neville’s eyes on him. He ducked his head lower to hide his red cheeks, and when he handed the cup over to Neville, his hands shook slightly. Neville’s larger ones steadied his hands, and Percy looked up and met Neville’s dark gaze.

Neville’s hands were hot, and the heat from his hands was going straight to Percy’s groin. Percy shifted uncomfortably and lamely said, “Your tea’s ready.”

“Thank you.” Neville took the tea cup and set it aside with one hand, but his other hand was still holding onto Percy’s hand. Their eyes were still locked onto each other, and Percy stared deeper and deeper into Neville’s smouldering eyes, feeling like all time had stopped. Slowly, inch by inch, Percy found himself moving closer towards Neville until soon their breath mingled with each other, and Percy’s glasses touched Neville’s face.

Without thinking, Percy closed his eyes, and he felt Neville coming even closer and . . .

“PHWEE!”

The loud, indignant shout from the ruddy plant broke their spell. Percy quickly pulled back, and pulled his hand back, and he blushed a furious shade of red. “Er, try the biscuit,” he muttered, grabbing a biscuit and munching it hard.

“Yes, thanks.” Neville rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and took a sip of his tea before he ate some biscuits. “I’ll need to stop by later this week to check up on Pelonius one last time, and then he should be fully well. Will that be okay?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine.”

“How are things at the Ministry?” Percy relaxed at that question, glad that they could talk the rest of the evening about mundane topics. And while he blathered on about the Ministry, he made sure that the kiss-that-almost-happened was not brought up.

Yet when Neville left later, he felt empty and dejected that the kiss-that-almost-happened had been interrupted by Pelonius.

“I can now say that Pelonius is fully healed.” Neville grinned as they both walked to the fireplace, leaving Pelonius in the sitting room. “You don’t have to give him the fertiliser anymore. You don’t even have to sing to him, but it’d help to sing to him every few days to keep him happy.”

Percy let out a deeply relieved sigh. “I’m glad. Now I don’t have to worry about Penelope kicking me in unmentionable places.”

Neville cocked his head to the side. “Are you still with her? I know you were dating her when you and she were still in Hogwarts.”

“No!” Percy exclaimed. “We’re not together. If we were still together, I think she’d have killed me by now! She doesn’t look it, but she can be very strong and violent when she wants to be.”

“I see.” Neville smirked a bit. “That makes things easier then.”

Percy blinked. “What does?”

“See, a certain plant told me that someone seems to be wanting to pollinate with someone, and the plant also told me that I should be the one to help achieve that goal . . . ”

It took Percy a minute to understand that cryptic message, and when he understood the implications, his face became so red that he was sure steam was coming out of his nose and ears.

“How in Merlin’s name did Pelonius tell you?!”

“He just told me.”

“Wait, you mean you understand all that Phweeing? Why did you not tell me you understand his Phweeing?”

“You never asked, but yes I’ve learned how to decipher the Phwee Plant’s language.”

“And he told you . . . Merlin’s balls!” Percy took his glasses off, carelessly tossed them on the mantle, and buried his face in his hands. He felt something tug on his wrists, and he allowed Neville to drag his hands away.

Neville tilted Percy’s head up with his fingers and said, “I guess that was not the best way for me to find out how you feel.”

Percy shook his head unhappily, wondering if he should move to Antarctica or somewhere desolate and unpopulated. Somewhere where he would not be recognised as the idiot whose secret was let loose by a plant.

“Percy, I . . . ” Neville cupped Percy’s cheek. “I like you, too, so if you want, we could . . . date?”

Percy stared at Neville, realising that this was the first time he’d seen Neville look so uncertain and nervous since he’d been re-acquainted with the grown up Neville. Seeing Neville acting like this reminded him that Neville, despite being confident and laid back, was still human, was still fallible just like anybody else in the world.

Also, he knew then that Neville felt something between them, too, so if anything, they could try dating like Neville had suggested. It wouldn’t hurt, and he did like everything about Neville so far.

“Well, I’m not against that idea,” Percy said softly.

Without his glasses, Neville appeared rather fuzzy, but Percy could make out the wide smile on Neville’s face. “That’s great to hear.”

And without any hesitation, Neville kissed him. Percy gasped in surprised, but he didn’t dislike the kiss. On the contrary, he loved how Neville kissed. The kiss was slow at first, but then Neville deepened it by entering Percy’s mouth. He could taste Neville, and the taste intoxicated him further as he wrapped his arms around Neville’s neck and he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, pulling Neville’s hard body against his.

Percy felt their body meshing well with each other, and that encouraged him to bring his hands lower. He rubbed Neville’s back, feeling the muscles shifting underneath his touch, and then he brought his hands down to grab those arse he’d fallen in love with upon their first meeting when Pelonius had got sick.

He could feel Neville’s own hands moving across his body, and everywhere Neville touched, he felt his body wanting more. He could feel himself hardening, and he knew Neville felt the same when he felt Neville’s own hardness against his thigh. When Neville’s thigh met his hardness, Percy broke the kiss with a loud gasp as the strong jolt of pleasure coursed throughout his body.

Neville moved to Percy’s throat, and as he nipped and sucked the sensitive skin there, Percy’s leg turned to jelly, causing him to heavily lean against the wall. He grabbed Neville’s hips and he gasped out, “So good . . . don’t stop.” Without thinking, he began to rub himself against Neville’s muscular thighs, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he came since it’d been ages since he had done anything sexual with somebody.

But suddenly, Neville grabbed him by the hips, and he stilled Percy’s movement.

“Neville,” Percy almost whined, not happy that the pleasure he’d been experiencing suddenly stopped.

“Percy,” Neville said after taking a deep breath. “Let’s stop now.”

” . . . You’re tired of me already?”

Neville recoiled sharply. “No! That’s not — no! I’m not tired of you at all! We just started, and I do want you, Percy, but I don’t want us to rush this either!”

“Oh.” Percy winced at his horrible mistake. “I . . . yeah, you’re right. Let’s not rush this.”

Neville leaned in closely and whispered into Percy’s ear. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. In fact, Pelonius has given us his blessing, so I think we’ll be together for a while.”

“Pelonius has given us his blessing?” Percy repeated incredulously.

“Yes. He says that he’s glad ‘Rose-head has found a good pollen mate’.”

“He did not say that. He did not call me Rose-head.”

Neville chuckled. “He did.”

Percy grumbled about how certain plants will need to be thrown out, but all that thought was soon forgotten when he felt Neville kissing him softly again.

“I think Pelonius is lonely. I have a female Phwee Plant back at my greenhouse. What do you say you bring him over one day?”

“Is this supposed to be a double-date of some sort?”

“If you want to call it that, sure.”

Percy smiled. “Then it’s a date.”

And in the next room, he heard Pelonius saying, “Phwee!”

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.

Dear Draco and Neville,

How is Seoul? I hope you two haven’t suffered from Portkey-lag. I miss you two a lot. Neville, don’t forget to give Professor Lee all the Quibbler magazines. Also, be sure to look for that very rare squirrel, the one I am calling the Slytherin Squirrel (because of its green fur and its shy nature!), hidden somewhere on the Yonsei University campus. Good luck with that and your Korean herbology studies!

Are there a lot of Nargles, Wrackspurts, and Bibbering Humdingers there? I’ve heard that cucumber kimchi attracts them the most, so I am certain you’ve run into plenty there. Do keep track and see if my theory is correct.

Oh, and Draco, how’s your job? You’re sponsoring the Korean artists, aren’t you? Don’t forget your promise! Send me music samples of the artists you sponsor. I would love to hear their music. Muggles’ music is so much more interesting than wizarding music.

Write back when you can. Don’t mind Hermes biting you, Draco. He does that because he likes you.

Love,
Luna

“Bloody owl!” Draco glared at Hermes, rubbed his sore fingers, and watched how that blasted thing flew over to Neville. Hermes landed on Neville’s shoulder and let out a soft hoot before he nuzzled against Neville’s cheek.

Neville smiled apologetically. “What did Luna write?”

“The usual.” He handed Neville the letter. “She’s reminding you about the magazines and the squirrel, which she has decided to name the ‘Slytherin Squirrel’, and she wants us to test her cucumber kimchi theory, and she’s asking for free samples of the artists I am working with.”

“Mmm.” Neville read as he petted Hermes. “You better write her now. Remember what happened the last time you took your time responding to her?”

Draco groaned. “Don’t remind me. I swear, women are dangerous, and Luna is probably the most dangerous one of them all, even more dangerous than Granger. At least with Granger, she just punches me. But Luna . . . ” He shook his head and took out a parchment and began to write.

“While you do that, I’ll go find some treats for Hermes.”

“Yeah? Just make sure he doesn’t leave any of his nasty ‘surprises’.” Draco ignored Hermes indignant hoots as he wrote a response back to one of his dearest (and weirdest) friends.

“I’m thinking you pissed Hermes off last time, so he refused to deliver the letter . . . ”

“Oh, yeah, it’s always my fault!” Draco scowled at Luna’s newest messenger. “But really, did she have to send a vulture?!”

Neville chuckled nervously before he put his arm around Draco’s shoulders. “At least this one seems well-trained. It’s not poking our eyes out . . . yet. Still, better read what she said and write back as soon as possible.”

With Neville’s arm still on him, Draco leaned comfortably against him, and he began to read the letter out loud, keeping one eye on that vulture.

Dear Draco and Neville,

Hermes has a girlfriend, so he’s too busy with her to deliver this letter. I’ve sent Vladimir this time. His kind is so misunderstood. Just know that Vladimir is gentle. Try petting him on the top of his head. He loves it. One last thing about him — he has a tendency to sing when he’s hungry, so be sure to feed him. He especially loves raw meat.

So, Neville, still no signs of that Slytherin Squirrel? I’m not surprised. It really is shy, so just keep trying. I heard if you entice it with candy floss, your chances of seeing it increases. Oh, and thank you for sending me those articles about Korean herbology. They make excellent reading when I am in the bubble bath.

And Draco, I am really loving the music of Dong Bang Shin Ki, but what is the meaning of their name? Is it some sort of a secret code? Do they change into Nargles if someone figures out their name? Also, thanks for the DVD of their concert. Harry had to push some random buttons on the controller to break something so the DVD would play.

Going back to the concert, these young men are fascinating. The way they dance and sing, it is all wonderful. I think my favourite is Changmin, or Max as he prefers to be called in English. I’ve been learning bits of Korean from watching them. I love Korean. It sounds so different from English . . .

Draco skimmed the rest of the letter, which was incredibly long. “She goes back and forth between talking about the artists, Korean, and about her recent adventure of Wrackspurts hunting with Potter in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Sounds like she’s smitten by that Dong group. What does their name stand for anyway?”

“I . . . ” Draco paused. “I’m not sure. I never asked.”

“Are you going to find out?”

“Maybe–”

Vladimir let out a loud screeching noise, an unpleasant sound that made Draco’s insides twist painfully.

Draco and Neville looked at each other. In a whisper, Neville asked, “Is that his so-called singing?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I guess you–”

“You can feed him, and I’ll write to Luna.” Besides, Draco thought, the sooner he wrote, the faster he could send Vladimir away.

“Fine, but next time you deal with Hermes or Vladimir.”

“Why? You deal with animals better than I. So quit complaining.” He smirked. “I’ll make it up to you later . . . ” He winked as his voice went down to a whisper.

Draco’s smirk grew louder as Neville inhaled sharply before he went to tend Vladimir. As Vladimir’s “singing” increased in volume, Draco quickly started on his reply.

“No letter from Luna?”

Draco shook his head, surprised that it’d been weeks since he’d last heard from her. “No, but given that I haven’t received any frantic owls from Potter, I’m guessing she’s just busy.”

“Shame. I kind of miss Vladimir and Hermes.” Neville carefully trimmed his bonsai tree, a gift Draco had given him a few years back.

“I don’t.”

“Right. Ever since our third year . . . ”

“Don’t remind me!”

Neville chuckled. “I’ll write her a letter.” He glanced at the clock. “You better get going. Don’t keep Rain waiting.”

“Bi.”

“What?”

“That’s the Korean word for ‘rain’.”

“Right, Bi.”

Draco checked over his suit one last time. He looked impeccable, like always. “All right. I’ll be off. Don’t be late tonight.”

“I won’t. Seoul Tower at eight. I’ll get the bus up there. One of my professors told me the cable car was not worth the money, saying something about how they cram about fifty people into that thing.”

“How vile.” Draco pecked Neville’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Draco looked out the window as his driver, Mr Kim, inched the car through the heavy Seoul traffic. He’d been at the Leeum Samsung Art Museum at the edge of Itaewon, and now he had to go to Yonsei University to meet Neville for dinner. He could have chosen to Apparate, but he opted for the car ride so he could watch the scenery and the people.

He just wished they weren’t stuck in traffic. According to Mr Kim, that intersection at Hamilton Hotel was the cause of the traffic in Itaewon, and Mr Kim assured him that once they passed that intersection, things would move a lot faster.

Outside, his eyes landed on a woman with long pale blonde hair. Her hair reminded him of Luna, and he fondly remembered how they became friends.

It was during his “eighth year” at Hogwarts. His father was imprisoned in Azkaban. Thanks to Harry Potter, Draco and his mother didn’t get sent to Azkaban, but the Malfoy name was still disgraced after the war. He hadn’t wanted to go back to Hogwarts for his eighth year, but his mother had insisted on him finishing his education, so he begrudgingly went to Hogwarts.

Seeing Luna at Hogwarts reminded him of how she was kept captive in his dungeons, and that guilt made him stay away from her. However, in her strange, peculiar way, she sought him out. At first, he hated her strange conversations about Nargles and Wrackspurts, plus the way she always talked about the Quibbler and always made sure she had a copy for him. Soon, though, Draco came to appreciate Luna’s unique way of looking at the world. He still didn’t exactly like her, but that all changed one day when he went to see his mother at Hogsmeade. Everyone around them had given them nasty looks and indiscreetly talked about them, but not Luna. She just came up to them both and started talking about how emeralds really made his mother’s complexion look youthful.

Afterwards, when the two of them walked back to Hogwarts, Draco knew then that she was a friend. She was odd, but she was a friend, and he knew deep inside that she would not be easy to get rid of even if he’d tried his hardest to shun her.

Exactly two days after his big revelation, she had begun dragging him into the greenhouse Neville worked in. It was awkward, he remembered. Draco didn’t know how to act around Neville, and to his horror, he even discovered he was attracted to him. Still, through the mysterious power of Luna, the two became friends. And it wasn’t long before she began to leave them alone and even told them to hurry up and snog one another before she had to resort to locking them up in a tiny room with Nargles.

Throughout all this, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Luna really was a Ravenclaw. She seemed sneakier than most hardcore Slytherins.

“We’re almost there.” Mr Kim’s voice interrupted his daydreaming. Draco looked up with a start at the familiar Sinchon Rotary.

Draco nodded. Neville had mentioned to him this morning that Luna hadn’t written back yet. He knew that nothing had happened to her because there hadn’t been any anxious owl messages or Floo-calls from Harry, but he found it odd that she went this long without writing them a letter. In fact, he found himself missing her quirky letters.

In a couple of weeks, he and Neville would finally have some time off from their jobs. He decided then to ask Neville about going back to England for a few days and surprising their friends and families on an impromptu visit. He knew Neville would love the idea, so he created a mental list of gifts, including kimchi, he could bring back home.

DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEE DEEEEEEEEEE!

“Fucking hell!” Draco hated that “Fur Elise” doorbell. He especially hated it at three in the morning! He sat up while Neville stirred next to him but didn’t wake. Grumbling and cursing, Draco stomped out of the bedroom and went to look on the screen of his doorbell phone. He didn’t see a face, but he saw a stuffed bear.

Frowning and wondering if a drunk was out there, he grabbed the phone and snapped, “Who are you and why the fuck are you here so late?”

“I’m not late,” said a familiar, dreamy voice. “I’m early.”

“Oh, great. I must be dreaming. A Korean ajusshi that sounds like Luna,” Draco mumbled.

“I’m not an old Korean man. I can be one if you want, but it’d have to be temporary. I don’t think Harry will appreciate me switching genders on him.”

“Wait–” Draco reached the door in two seconds. He pulled it open, nearly jerking his arm out of the socket from the force, and stared at Luna and her three large rolling suitcases, her creative and colourful outfit, and her stuffed bear she had named “Bear”.

She beamed at Draco and said, “Good morning!” Then she flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “That was a long Portkey ride. I was surprised there was such a long queue at Hong Kong, but then again, I think King Kong must have been visiting, so that caused the extra waiting around. Anyway, surprise! Happy birthday.”

“Luna, my birthday was two months ago!”

“Oh, then happy early birthday!” She somehow managed to wheel in all three suitcases at the same time — how, Draco wasn’t sure — and she sat on the couch and fingered her kimchi pot earrings. “Is Nev sleeping?”

“Yeah. You know he sleeps like a rock.”

“Yes, I remember now. Oh, and I’m sorry I haven’t been writing. Things have been so busy with trying to plan this surprise visit. I even told Harry to keep it a secret.”

“Well,” Draco said dryly. “You did a great job on that, and you beat me and Neville at our own plans. We were going to go back to England next week and surprise everyone, too.”

“Daddy did say great minds think alike. I only wished Harry could have come with me, but Kingsley really needed him right now, so he wasn’t able to get the time off. At least I promised to bring back a huge container of fresh kimchi.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I can’t wait to explore this wonderful place for my one-week stay, but I think sleep is finally coming to me. Don’t mind me if I start sleep-walking, all right?”

Draco couldn’t help it. He began to snigger. “Right, right. Let me take you to the guest room.” As he helped Luna settle in her room, he set aside his gift list and focused on a new sightseeing list for Luna.

The next few days passed by in a blur, thanks to them Apparating and Portkeying everywhere. Neville, excited by Luna’s surprise visit, showed her all over Yonsei University and Sinchon, and they even walked around Yonsei University campus with Professr Lee to see if they could get a glimpse of that elusive squirrel. The Slytherin Squirrel remained hidden, but that didn’t deter Luna at all as she ate some of her candy floss and said, “It has to be just right for it to appear. We just have to be patient.”

Otherwise, she loved everything about Seoul and South Korea.

When they took her to Myeong-dong and Namdaemun Market, she marvelled at the marketplaces and the merchandise, amazed that these two places were more condensed and labyrinth-like than Diagon Alley.

They took her to Insa-dong on a Sunday, where the whole street was blocked from traffic, and many arts and crafts vendors filled up the streets. Luna adored that place, and there she said she had got new ideas for her future jewelleries.

She became enthralled with Korean architecture when they visited Gyeongbok Palace. Harry had given her a digital camera, and Luna had taken so many photographs that they had to go to the sprawling Yongsan Electronics Market later to stock up on more SD cards.

Luna, not really into the clubbing scene, still decided to check out the night life at Hongdae and Sinchon, and they even walked around Itaewon, bar-hopping on the side streets and in the so-called Hooker Hill area.

They rode the Han River cruise boat, and they went to the wealthier neighbourhoods in Gangnam district. From there they went to Coex Mall, and they visited a Buddhist temple, Bongeunsa, across from it.

They even managed to make a getaway to Gyeongju, the old capital of the Silla dynasty, and there Luna snapped more photographs of the old king’s burial mounds.

Finally, they stopped by Jeju Island, where Luna insisted that she wanted to see Love Land, the sex-themed theme park that is popular amongst honeymooners. Both Draco and Neville found themselves blushing, but Luna remained unfazed as she clicked away on her camera. “I can’t wait to show Harry these pictures,” she exclaimed at one point.

Unfortunately, all good things came to an end eventually, and Luna’s week was slowly, but surely coming to an end. On her last night in Seoul, Draco decided to surprise Luna.

“You have three tickets to a Dong Bang Shin Ki concert? And I get to meet them after the concert backstage?”

Draco chuckled. “Yes, you’re a VIP for today.”

Luna smiled widely, and she practically pounced on Draco as she hugged him. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe I get to hear them live and meet them! I better get ready!”

When she dashed off, Neville leaned over and whispered, “I hope you have earplugs ready for us.”

“Hrm?”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think my ears will appreciate millions of fangirls screaming for DBSK.”

“Oh, right.” Draco reached into his pockets and pulled out two pairs of earplugs. “I learned my lesson the last time I had to attend one of these things.”

Neville pulled Draco into a warm embrace. Draco felt warm lips grazing his forehead, and that gave him an idea. He arched upward, leaned in close until his breath ghosted over Neville’s ears, and said, “Want to try out some of those positions we saw at Love Land tonight?”

Draco sniggered at Neville’s sputtering and red face. He laughed even harder when Luna came out and asked, “Why so red, Nev?”

“He’s just a bit steamed up. Don’t worry about him.” Draco walked up to Luna, who was dressed in a simple black strapless dress. She had on tights that were striped in blue and bronze, and she wore a dangling kimbap earring. He held up an arm and said, “Let’s go, love.”

“Good morning!” Luna cheerfully greeted.

Draco and Neville stumbled towards the dining room. Neither were morning people, but they woke up early so they could pack and go back to England with Luna.

Draco stared at the plate in the middle of their table. It looked like carrot cakes, but they were cut into brownies. Both Draco and Neville sniffed the fragrance that permeated their whole place, and Draco knew then that whatever was on that plate was not carrot cake.

Neville cleared his throat and said, “Luna, is that . . . ”

“Oh, that? It’s my newest baking experiment. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I didn’t want to interrupt you two, so I made this — kimchi brownie!”

Instead of blushing, Draco and Neville both glanced at each other, and they both mirrored the other’s pale, blanched expression.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.

“I baked this to thank you guys for the wonderful visit. The whole week has been fantastic, and last night was especially the best. All of the DBSK boys were adorable and fun. I especially loved talking to Changmin, and I am further convinced that he’s been reincarnated from a Nargle, which makes him extra special.”

Draco nodded and forced a smile on his face. “That’s great, Luna, and I am glad you had a wonderful visit, but, ah, I am not very hungry right now so I’ll try the brownies later, all right? Besides, Neville and I have to pack.”

Luna clapped her hands once. “Right! I need to pack, too! I’ll bring these brownies for our trip back to England. I’ve a feeling we might be receiving another visit from King Kong in Hong Kong, so these will come in handy. Plus, I can give some to Harry. He’ll love these.” She hummed and went to her room to pack.

Neville and Draco went to their room to pack, too. Behind the closed door, Draco muttered, “Don’t worry. I have some extra anti-acid potions for us.”

“Might as well save some for Harry, too. I’ve a feeling he’ll be eating most of those brownies,” Neville mentioned. “Oh, and are you sure Jaejoong will be able to take care of my plants?”

“He will. You know he aced herbology at his school.” Draco sniggered. “Otherwise, I can bring back Luna’s brownies and give them to him.”

“So cruel,” Neville teased as he carefully placed his grandmother’s gift, a beautiful celadon vase, in his trunk. “Still, I’m glad we’re going home for a week. It will be good to see everybody.”

“Yes.” Draco then added, “At least no one’s doorbell will play that blasted tune.”

“Someone really loves Beethoven, doesn’t he?”

“Ah, shut it, love. Let’s finish packing so we can take some of that potion. I’ve a very bad feeling we will be stuck in Hong Kong for a while. This is peak season for international Portkey travels.”

“Right. Do you really think King Kong hangs around in Hong Kong?”

Draco rolled his eyes and continued his packing.

“Draco! Vladimir is here. Remember, you have to take care of him this time.”

“I know, I know,” Draco groused. Despite his grumbling, he discovered that he and Vladimir got along way better than he and Hermes ever did. He served Vladimir some raw meat while Neville read out loud Luna’s letter.

Dear Draco and Neville,

Harry suggested that I send you some more kimchi brownies, so here’s another batch! I hope you guys enjoy these.

I really miss the two of you, and I am really thankful for all that you did for me when I visited last month.

The new school year at Hogwarts has started, and things have been incredibly busy. I’ve introduced Dong Bang Shin Ki to my Muggle Studies students, and all the girls love them. I’ve convinced Minerva to let Muggle electrical devices work just in my classroom. I’ve shown them all my DBSK DVDs, and I let them listen to their music any time they want.

Right now I am in the process of convincing Minerva to allow me to bring ten female students to South Korea during winter break for a few days. I’ve even told her that you’d be happy to house us while we are there. If you need assistance with room expansion charms, Harry will come along and lend a hand. He’ll be able to help me chaperone this winter. Ginny, too. She wants to come along and see the Korean brooms and purchase a few for her Flying class.

So what do you think? Will you be able to let us stay? Let me know as soon as possible!

Love,
Luna

P.S. — Hermes is now a father! When I come this winter, I’ll bring you one of his babies!

Draco and Neville stared at each other. Neither spoke for a while until Neville said, “Do you still have those earplugs?”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll need them if we host ten mad fangirls for a few days. Something tells me that Silencio will not block their squealing.”

Neville’s face turned green. “This will certainly be interesting.”

“Mmm . . . ” Draco scratched Vladimir’s head and asked, “Think I should introduce Luna to Super Junior?”

“If you do, you’re on your own hosting them this winter,” Neville deadpanned.

“But both Potter and Weasley are coming. You wouldn’t dare leave me defenceless against them and ten teenage girls, would you?”

“Well,” Neville conceded. “Fine, but introduce her to Super Junior after they leave!”

“Deal.”

** The fanmix for this fic is here. **

There was a floor in the flat, somewhere, hiding under wrinkled clothes that covered up the stained carpet. The kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, cups, and silverware, all carrying some kind of food residue like rusted metal. Dust had piled up on top of the bare mantel; beneath it, the fireplace was cold and lonely. The windows of the flat were cracked open an inch and covered with drab-looking curtains that used to be white; their ends were frayed with threads hanging and fluttering from the light breeze. A tiny beam of light tried to peek through the drapery, but it was soaked up by the darkness of the place; the sitting room’s only light source was the telly, which blared with well-timed laughter and applause, and a lamp in the corner.

Off in that same corner were two orange-coloured armchairs that had seen better days. Between the chairs was a small table with a chess set on it. The chess set was the only thing in the room that looked immaculate. The board, its black and white squares made of black onyx and Mother of Pearl, were enhanced never to chip or scratch, even when the game became violent. Each piece was hand-carved with intricate details and spelled with a powerful charm that granted them strong and unique personalities. Just like the board, they were spelled never to become permanently damaged.

One of the chairs was occupied, and its occupant let out a weary sigh. The owner’s freckled hand reached out and slowly moved a piece to its destination.

“Checkmate,” Ron said softly as he set the black piece down in the square to deliver the game’s final move. He didn’t hear the cheerful laughter from the telly as he leaned back heavily against his chair, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly to his right, his eyes passing the telly and meeting the upright piano. It was covered in dust, like practically everything else in the flat, but it still had a stately feel to it. It was an Essex, a cheaper brand produced by Steinway and Sons; its dark-brown finishing was warm and inviting, and it had taken his breath away when he’d laid eyes on it months ago. He recalled how the off-white keys had felt cool to his touch. The black keys were a beautiful contrast to their cream-coloured counterparts, and his fingers had danced across them briefly, effectively shutting the shopkeeper’s overeager sales pitch, as the piano sang out its melody. He’d played a light, crystal-clear tune that’d been the opposite of his gloom, surprised to have chosen an old childhood lullaby his mum had sung when he was upset. He’d only played a few measures of the tune, but he’d known immediately he’d found the right piano.

Now it was abandoned.

He turned his attention back to his chess set, and with another sigh he re-organised the pieces to start a new game. After all, there really was nothing to do except to watch the telly while he munched on some crisps and drank Firewhisky until it was time to sleep.

Work was no longer fun. Back when Ron had first become an Auror, the rigorous training and field work had made him feel alive with enthusiasm. Whenever he and Harry had to investigate a new threat, whether it was a wanted criminal or a dispute between two drunken wizards, adrenaline had sparked every cell in his body, and the rush had encouraged him to work harder and better. That led to promotion after promotion, and it wasn’t long before his position as a unit leader confined him to his desk with mountains of paperwork, while the younger Aurors went out and did the job he’d enjoyed in the past.

Day after day, he sat at his desk, sometimes shuffling papers, sometimes writing briefs, but most of the time Ron stared at this mark on the wall that was shaped oddly like a pumpkin, while his subordinate in the next room blared music from the wireless. He would be subjected to all the screeching and howling that would permeate his own office — something he’d learned quickly to tune out since Silencing Charms weren’t allowed in their area. Once in a while, classical music played. Ron found himself looking forward to those days; he usually found the classical music soothing.

That day was different, though.

It only took three notes, and he found himself pounding on his subordinate’s door. “Turn that thing off, Horowitz!”

The door opened. Horowitz gave Ron a strange look. “You got something against classical?”

“No, I just don’t want to hear that piece right now.”

“You hate Rachmaninoff?”

Ron’s lips thinned. “Just turn that shite off.” He turned and went back to his office.

Leaning against his closed door, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was now silence, but Ron could still hear that piece in his head.

“Rachmaninoff’s ‘Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor’,” he muttered. Normally, he liked Rachmaninoff, but this was a favourite of his ex-wife, and he was reminded of the news article he’d read last week in the Prophet — an article proclaiming Hermione Granger-Weasley getting married to Quidditch star Viktor Krum.

He lowered his hand back to his side, and his fingers began to play that song on his thighs. “No!” he mentally shouted, not wanting to think of that song. He looked around, and he swore the room had grown smaller on him as his breathing quickened and his stomach flip-flopped until he was feeling queasy. He strode over to his desk, and he quickly scribbled a note on the Ministry Message Pad.

I’m going home early today. Not feeling well. Just need sleep.
— R

After he tapped the message with his wand and said Harry’s name, he made his escape.

“Bloody hell!” Ron threw the bishop against the wall and ignored its indignant squeals. He began to pace around his small flat. His skin became taut, his mouth turned dry, and his heart rate increased as his agitation grew stronger inside of him. He wanted to punch something so he could hear the satisfying crunching noise. He needed to release that dam inside of him, but something was blocking it, and he had no idea what that something was.

He’d tried sleeping earlier, but he couldn’t sleep. Whenever he stared at the dark ceiling, he could see Hermione and Viktor in a deep embrace as they snogged each other’s tonsils out. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them — a calloused hand hiking up a skirt, feeling the smooth skin there before it disappeared under the material — and it further angered him.

He ended up doing acrobatic moves on his spacious bed, even banged his arms and legs against the wall several times, before he gave up and resigned himself to a game of chess in the middle of the afternoon. He wanted to clear his mind and only think about chess, but his attempts were fruitless.

His mind was full of so many conflicting thoughts about his current life, and it didn’t help that the stupid song was still in his head. That blasted Rachmaninoff piano concerto was lingering in the back of his mind, and like a stubborn itch it refused to go away.

He stopped pacing and gripped the top of his armchair. He wanted to squeeze his frustration through the cushion. Just as he was at his wit’s end and was about to scream his lungs out, his doorbell rang.

He stalked over to the door, sure it was a salesman of some sort, and yanked it opened, ready to tell the salesman to piss off and never come near his flat again. His yell caught in his throat as he found himself staring at a smiling Teddy Lupin.

The next minute or so passed by slowly as Ron studied Teddy. The most obvious thing about Teddy was his hair. Ron was used to seeing Teddy’s hair in unusual colours (he was certain Teddy had tried out every single colour of the rainbow), but seeing Teddy’s shaggy brown hair and fringe littered with yellow and green polka dots was definitely something new. He also noticed that he didn’t have to bend his head to look at Teddy’s eyes, which were a mesmerising shade of blue. Ron took a step back and he glanced over Teddy’s build. Gone was the skinny teenager he remembered from a few years back. Teddy was now broad-shouldered and had some muscles in his upper body. He wasn’t heavy like Ron, but he no longer looked like one of those chips from Loch Arnold burger chain.

“Hello, Ron. May I come in?”

To Ron’s dismay and before he could say anything, Teddy slipped past him, causing a shiver to go down his back as he felt Teddy’s shoulder brush against his. Ignoring that strange sensation, he closed his door with the full intention to tell Teddy — politely — to bugger off, but Teddy began to dig around his bag for something and his mouth started to yap really fast.

“Apparently Harry got called away to Wales — he said something about flying computers with wings, along with some flying pigs and cows, and that it’s going to take him all night to resolve. Anyway, I finished my job for the day — you know I’m a freelance writer, right? — and I stopped by Harry’s office since I hadn’t seen him in ages. But he was in a terrible rush. He told me that you went home early because you didn’t feel well, so he asked me to give you this — if I can ever find the darn thing in this bag. I swear, I love this bag, but it’s like a black hole. Once something goes in there, it’s impossible to dig out . . . Ah-ha! Here it is!”

Teddy pulled out a foil-wrapped package that looked like it’d been beaten by several Bludgers. Ron took the smushed package and stared at it warily. “What is it?”

“Banana nut bread. Harry baked some. It’s his way of relieving stress lately, and he’s baked a whole boat load’s worth and has been giving them away. He gave me and Gran about three loaves, and he asked me to give you one.”

“Er, thanks.”

Teddy grinned. “Bitte.”

“Huh?”

“It means ‘you’re welcome’ in German, I think. I’ve been recently watching a lot of German films with English subtitles.”

“Oh, right.” Ron set the bread down on the table, and he finally remembered his manners. He gestured at the two orange armchairs. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

“Actually, might I take your offer later? I’ve still got to deliver the rest of these loaves to your parents and the rest of your family.”

“Huh?” Ron repeated, wondering if he was going senile at such an early age.

“I told you. Harry baked a lot of this stuff. He also asked me to deliver some to your parents, to Bill and Fleur, to George, to . . . well, you get the gist. Harry had the bread all piled up on his desk, but he had to go to Wales, so I’ve become his delivery boy for the day.”

“And all that fits in your bag? I’m . . . impressed.”

“Yeah, it’s a great bag, except when I want to find something. Anyway, will tomorrow work?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“What time?” Teddy’s eyes shone brightly as he flashed a smile, giving Ron a good view of his crooked teeth.

Ron momentarily lost his thoughts. The crookedness reminded him of Hermione and her family’s fondness for straight teeth, and he almost shuddered at a memory where, because of his father’s morbid curiosity, Hermione’s parents demonstrated how braces worked. He jerked himself back to reality and said, “Well, tomorrow’s a half-day for me, so I’ll get off work at one . . . ”

“Great, then I’ll stop by at about two. Enjoy the bread!” Teddy rushed out, and Ron stared at the now empty spot.

“Fantastic,” Ron muttered. “Did I just get conned into a visit from Teddy Lupin, of all people?” Not that there was anything wrong with Teddy, really. It was just that he’d never been really close with him. Harry and George had been the one who interacted with Teddy the most, so he only knew Teddy through Harry, George, and their family gatherings.

To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to this unexpectedly planned visit. It would certainly break his routine up a bit.

Sitting back on his chair, he picked up the fallen bishop and wondered what tomorrow would be like. Just as he was about to resume his lonesome chess match, he sniffed and scrunched his nose in disgust. He stood and looked around his flat and grimaced.

“So much for finishing up this game,” he muttered to himself.

At exactly two o’clock, with Ron’s flat now in a much cleaner state — at least it smelled better and wasn’t as dusty — his doorbell rang. Ron walked over to the door and let Teddy in. They exchanged the usual pleasantries before Ron gestured at him to take a seat and asked, “Tea?”

“Tea would be great, thanks.” Teddy walked over to the chairs and he stared at the chess set. “Oh, hello, there. You, Bishop, you were on the floor yesterday, right? Why were you on the floor? Did you upset the queen? Women and their tempers . . . you’ve got to watch out for them!”

Ron burst out laughing at the wayTeddy was talking to inanimate objects. It reminded him of how Rose had played with her toys. Normally Ron thought it was childish when adults acted like that, but it actually suited Teddy — albeit, in a strange and enticing way.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” Teddy said when Ron came over carrying a tray with a teapot, two teacups, sugar, and milk. Teddy set the chess set carefully on the floor, and Ron set the tray down.

As he prepared his cup, Ron shrugged and said, “I’m all right. I’m not that great with it.”

“I bet you are!” Teddy insisted as he poured some milk into his tea.

“I’m not,” Ron said, scowling.

“Prove it.”

The words sounded like a challenge, but Teddy didn’t look like he was issuing one at all; his eyes, now dark brown, reminded Ron of a puppy. Teddy’s smile, so gentle and imploring, made Ron’s insides twist in a way that made him want to play the piano, right then and now. “Prove it,” Teddy repeated. “I want to hear you play.”

Ron cleared his throat and averted his gaze from those puppy eyes. “Fine, but I haven’t played in a long time, so don’t you dare laugh if I make a lot of mistakes!”

Taking a seat at the piano, Ron opened up the cover to reveal the ivory and black keys. He glanced to his left, noticing Teddy’s relaxed posture as he stood off to the side, still smiling with unabashed eagerness. Ron cleared his throat and ignored the way his stomach churned and his hands got wet; he quickly wiped them on his trousers.

His mind raced as he tried to pick a piece to perform, but the only thing in his mind was that dreadful Rachmaninoff piano concerto. He closed eyes tightly, desperate to chase that song from his head; when he heard the faint sound of rain, he knew what to play. He opened his eyes and positioned his hands over the keys, and he played Chopin’s “Raindrop Prelude”.

It was sloppy, but that was expected since it’d been a while since he’d last practised. He made mistakes everywhere, his fingers stiff and clumsy, but he didn’t stop, only concentrating on reaching the end. The first part of the piece washed over him, its serenity echoed in the small flat, and the repetitious A-flat from his left hand gave him a strange sense of peace. He continued the song and reached the middle section, and his tranquil mood dissipated to something like melancholy as he shifted from major to minor key. He wanted to hurry his pace, wanted to leave that gloomy C-sharp minor section, but he kept it slow and steady. As soon as he modulated into the major key once more, he relaxed in his playing. He slowly came to an end, feeling lighter than he had been for days, and he found himself wishing he didn’t have to end the song. As he played the final notes, holding them longer than usual, he startled from the sudden sound of thunder.

He blinked up at Teddy, who was clapping enthusiastically with a beaming smile. “That was brilliant. Really, really brillaint! Chopin’s ‘Raindrop Song’, right? See, I knew you were good!”

Ron felt his face turning red. “I’m not! That was actually one of my worst attempts ever! There were so many mistakes!”

“Oh, blah-dee-dah! Don’t be so modest. That was actually pretty good, considering how you hadn’t played in a while.”

“Shut up,” Ron muttered.

“Shove over,” Teddy said.

“What?” Ron was about to stand and close the piano, but Teddy had scooted next to him and sat down. He could feel Teddy’s hip and thigh against his, and that closeness made him dizzy. “W-what are you doing?”

“I want to show you my piano skills. They’re really terrible, actually, but I wanted to play ‘Heart and Soul’ and ‘Chopsticks’ with you,” Teddy whispered into Ron’s ears, his warm breath affecting Ron’s breathing.

Ron felt strangely light-headed, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable, and he realised that having Teddy this close to him felt normal, almost natural — like they’d done this before, but they hadn’t. In fact, it was as if Teddy’s definition of personal space were different from most people’s, and Ron wanted to tell Teddy to move over a bit, but he didn’t. What he said instead was, “Which ‘Chopsticks’?”

Teddy looked at him blankly.

“I mean, there’s the version known as ‘The Celebrated Chop Waltz’ which is what the Americans call ‘Chopsticks’, and then there’s the one we call ‘Chopsticks’ which is really known as the ‘The Flea Waltz’,” Ron explained as he demonstrated the two pieces.

“Ah-ha! I know both. Let’s play them. I’ll be the left-side part.”

“The chords?”

“Yeah. Those three songs, plus ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ are all I know how to play. You can have fun with the variations on the right.”

Ron chortled. “Fine, fine.”

Teddy started playing the chords for “Heart and Soul”, his right arm bumping into Ron’s. Two grown men on a single piano bench really didn’t leave much space at all. Ron could feel warmth emanating from Teddy, and he could feel himself growing light-headed once more. Light-headed or not, though, with Teddy’s steady rhythm and beat, he was drawn into playing the songs Teddy wanted to play. Variation after variation, the melody flowed through his fingers, and Teddy kept up with Ron, never faltering. At one point, Ron glanced at Teddy’s face, and he saw the closed eyes, the happy smile. Teddy was deriving simple pleasure from playing the simple part of the songs while Ron played as complicated as he wanted to. They somehow meshed well together. When Ron played slowly, Teddy slowed down, and when Ron sped up, Teddy would match his tempo without a break in his playing.

Playing with Teddy was exhilarating. Sure, they were playing songs that Ron found easy and unchallenging, but this was the first time he felt like he found a partner who was perfectly in tune with his playing. In the past, whenever he played duets with anyone, he had never really fit with them, but with Teddy, it was almost a flawless match.

After they came to the end, Ron asked, “Have you had musical training?”

“I took violin lessons for years. What about you? How long have you played?”

Ron eyes grew large. “Really? That would explain your good sense of rhythm. My great-aunt Muriel wanted to teach one of us. I think she really wanted to teach Bill, but he and the rest of my siblings weren’t interested. Except for me. I had lessons with her from when I was four until I went to Hogwarts. To be honest, she was a real harpy, but she did teach me a lot.”

“I’m absolute pants with the piano, though. Gran tried to get me to be skilled with both the violin and the piano, but I preferred the violin more. In fact . . . ” Teddy’s face became thoughtful, and his hair colour changed from brown to turquoise. “Do you know that ‘Spring Sonata’ by Beethoven? I think it’s ‘Violin Sonata No. 5’? And ‘Salut d’Amour’ by Elgar?”

“I know ‘Salut d’Amour’, but I’ve never played the piano part.” Ron frowned as he tried to remember the Beethoven piece. “How’d the ‘Spring’ one go?”

Teddy started to hum the piece, and Ron nodded slowly and said, “Sounds familiar.”

“I’ve got the sheet music for them. I play them sometimes, but it’s rather boring playing without the accompaniment.” Teddy plunked out some notes on the piano, and he stared at the keys. “If I bring the music, would you play with me?”

Ron studied Teddy’s body language, and he realised that Teddy was nervous about asking this. That made him feel uncertain, too, and he said, “Well, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think I’m that good to accompany–”

“You are good!” Teddy interrupted, his brown eyes looking determined and his hair colour turning more vivid. “I’m just not sure I’ll be good compared to you. It’s been forever since I’ve played the violin, too.”

Awkwardly, Ron patted Teddy’s shoulder, feeling the tense muscles there, as well the heat. “I’ll be the judge of that. Just bring the sheet music and we’ll play together.” He was keen on the idea. It really had been far too long since he’d been this interested in music. Plus, he trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Teddy was a good violinist. “How does Saturday sound to you?”

Teddy grinned. “Just not early, okay? I cannot wake up before noon.”

Ron raised his eyebrow. “Will three o’clock work for you, Mr Late Sleeper?”

“Great!” Teddy stood up and stretched, making his shirt ride up and revealing his well-toned abs.

Ron’s mouth grew dry, and he briefly wondered why Teddy had this effect on him before saying, “Let’s finish our tea. I’ll warm them up with a spell.”

After a long conversation about the Cannons — Teddy was a fan, much to Ron’s delight — they talked about other things, mostly about Teddy’s job as a freelance writer and Ron’s earlier days in the field, and about what they had seen on the telly. When it was time to eat supper, Teddy treated them to a take-away of fish and chips. It was fun, Ron thought, to talk with Teddy. It’d been a while since he had felt comfortable enough with someone to talk about innocuous subjects, and Teddy was just a cheerful bloke to talk with. He realised that, after being alone for months, he actually missed human company. His other friends had tried to get him to hang out at pubs or wherever, but Ron had shoved them away, not wanting their pity or to be around fake cheeriness, something he couldn’t stand. Whereas, Teddy just simply came into his life and showed him simple companionship that was real. And a bit odd, if he was really honest with himself, but he didn’t mind Teddy’s quirky personality at all.

Aside from their conversations, Ron found himself looking forward to hearing Teddy on the violin. He was curious on what sort of a sound Teddy would produce. He just hoped Teddy wasn’t one of those musicians who sounded like crap despite their long years of training; after all, it wasn’t that length that mattered, but it was rather the individual’s dedication to better himself through practise.

On Saturday, Teddy arrived with his violin. Ron wasn’t an expert on the violin, but from what he could see, it looked rather expensive and also old. He watched Teddy take the violin out carefully from its case, and he admired its rich brown colour. He wondered if it was a Black heirloom or not, but before he could ask, Teddy said, “I’ve brought over Stravinsky.”

“Stravinsky?”

“Yeah, that’s what I named my violin. Gran gave it to me. She was appalled I’d call her heirloom after a composer she detests.” Teddy shrugged and placed the violin under his chin. “I don’t know why she has a thing against him. I think his works are brilliant.”

Ron nodded, though secretly agreeing with Andromeda’s opinions on Stravinsky. “Well, not everyone likes him, I guess.”

“A shame, really.” With the violin still under his chin, Teddy went through his bag and pulled out the sheet music after muttering to himself during his search. “Here. I couldn’t find the Beethoven one. It’s hiding somewhere in my room — Gran says my room is more like a rubbish bin — but I found the Elgar piece.”

“Thanks.” Ron placed the sheet music on his piano. “What about you? I could transfigure something into a stand for you.”

“Nah, I’ve memorised the piece. Can you play the tuning pitch? I don’t think we’re going to sound good if I’m not in tune with you.”

Ron obliged Teddy’s request and played the pitch, listening to Teddy tune and adjust his strings and begin his warm-up. Ron tuned out Teddy’s scale exercises, and he studied the sheet music in front of him, his fingers hovering over the keys as he played out the song without making a sound.

“Okay,” Teddy said. “I’m ready.”

With a nod, Ron began to play the accompaniment, his opening a solo. When Teddy came in, Ron nearly froze upon hearing Teddy’s first note. Teddy’s sound was clear and bright, and it washed over him, lifting his mood. They played and they were in perfect sync. Just like Orpheus and his lyre, Teddy’s violin demanded Ron’s attention and he wished time would stop; there was an invisible, unspoken connection between him and Teddy, and he didn’t want the song to come to an end, lest the connection disappear from him forever like Eurydice did.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.

The piece, unfortunately, came to an end, and Ron turned around and met Teddy’s intense gaze. The air felt heavy between them, yet it didn’t weigh Ron down at all. Instead, he slowly stood and in a raspy voice he said, “That was fantastic. I’m not going to believe anything you say about your playing from now on.”

“I really haven’t played in a while,” Teddy insisted, but he smiled.

Ron smiled back, and they continued to stare at each other — Ron in front of the bench and Teddy a few steps away, still holding onto the violin. He didn’t know what to say next. Somehow, there wasn’t really anything more he could say. The heaviness in the air wrapped around him once more, and he found himself moving closer to Teddy. He reached out his long fingers and he touched Teddy’s slender fingers, the ones holding onto the bow, and he grasped the bow and set it aside gently, and then he did the same with the violin until there was nothing obscuring Teddy’s body. Their eyes met once more, and Ron’s breath hitched slightly as Teddy moved closer and whispered into Ron’s ear. “Do you like Beethoven’s symphony?”

Ron suppressed a shiver and licked at his dry lips with his tongue. “Which one?”

“The seventh. It’s my favourite.”

“I prefer the fifth, but the seventh one isn’t so bad.”

“I’ve got two tickets to the Royal Albert Hall. London Philharmonic Orchestra is going to perform that. Would you like to go?”

“Uh . . . ” Ron’s brain felt hazy. It took him a few seconds to get his tongue working again. “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” Teddy yelled.

Ron jerked away, and he scowled, realising that the weird spell that had overcome him had been broken with Teddy’s excited shout. “Next time, yell into someone else’s ear!”

“Oh, sorry.” Grinning, Teddy stepped away and he grabbed his violin and bow and began to play a wild version of “Heart and Soul” on it. “I’m just excited because none of my friends like classical music, so I always attend those concerts by myself. It’s more fun to go with someone who likes that sort of stuff. You won’t mind if I bring a notepad, will you? I need it to jot down notes about the concert since I am a music critic for one of my freelance assignments.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay, then next Saturday at six? And wear a nice outfit.”

Ron grimaced. “Does that include a tie?” He hated those things because he felt like they always choked him.

“Nah, though I think you’d look nice in one.”

It was just an offhand comment, but something about it made him want to ask Teddy something. He didn’t. Instead, he let the comment slide and said, “We’ll see.”

“All right. Do you mind if I practise a bit more?”

“Go ahead. I’ll get us some tea.”

The telly was on, but Ron wasn’t paying attention to it at all. In fact, the telly might have been on mute since all he could hear was Teddy’s humming as he pondered on his next move in their chess game. The concert had ended a couple of hours ago, but they’d come back to Ron’s place to have some tea while they relaxed with a round of chess — Teddy as white and Ron as black.

Ron, his head ducked as if he were studying the board, was really looking at Teddy, who, with a wide smile and his purple hair, was happily humming Beethoven’s seventh symphony. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up; Ron really liked that look on Teddy. He noted Teddy’s rosy, dimpled cheeks, and he knew that Teddy had really enjoyed the performance. Until today, he had never really paid attention to Beethoven’s seventh symphony, never noticed how it was one of those symphonies that had so much passion. Of course, the second movement wasn’t as bouncy and exciting as the other movement, but it was beautiful regardless of its melancholy mood. The symphony fit Teddy’s personality, and that conclusion made Ron like the whole piece even more.

Teddy also proved to have really good hearing as he talked about the concert. “That was great. I always enjoy listening to London Philharmonic, but I think the second violins were a bit off tonight.”

“Were they? I didn’t hear anything off.”

“Oh, they were. Then there’s the brass section. They overpowered the strings in some parts. But all in all, this was a good, solid performance. I’ll have fun writing my article later tonight.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, remembering how when he’d glanced at Teddy’s notes earlier, they looked like illegible scrawls that he could never decipher. “It’s already almost ten. When is this ‘later’?”

“Oh, probably two in the morning. All my best writing comes out after midnight, strangely.” Teddy grinned and finally moved his piece.

“A night owl, huh?”

“A big one. My sleeping schedule drives Gran crazy. She can’t comprehend why I can’t sleep from ten at night to six in the morning like the ‘normal’ people.”

“Ah.”

“Though if I was in a relationship and shagged regularly, I reckon my sleeping schedule wouldn’t be so backwards.”

Ron nearly spat out his tea at that statement — which was said in a very frank manner — but started to cough instead. “I . . . I see.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I found anybody I’d want to be in a relationship with.” Their eyes met right when Teddy finished that sentence, and Ron found himself unable to look away. Teddy’s face was smiling, but his eyes were serious, and those eyes burned Ron, making his mouth grow dry. Just like that day when they’d played together, Ron felt like someone had cast a spell on him. He set his tea cup down and he let his hand reach out across the board to — to do what, he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was to stroke Teddy’s red cheeks, which appeared more flushed than earlier, or maybe it was to run his thumb over Teddy’s bottom lips and feel the chapped skin there.

Instead, he pulled off a piece of lint off of Teddy’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Teddy said in a husky voice that sent heat to Ron’s middle.

Ron didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His vocal chords had died on him, and he felt like his hands had become their own entity as they reached out to cup Teddy’s face . . .

“Oh, bugger!” Teddy shouted and jumped up. “I just remembered I have another article I have to write that’s due tomorrow at eight in the morning!” He grabbed his jacket and looked at Ron with an apologetic expression. “Sorry to dash off, but can we meet sometime next week for dinner? I know a very good Italian restaurant nearby. I’ll send you a message.”

Startled, Ron could only nod at Teddy’s request. Teddy grinned once more before he Apparated away with a crack.

It was only when he was in bed later did he realise that Teddy had yet somehow conned him into another meeting, another date of some sort. Like an unexpected whirlwind, Teddy had swooped into his life, breaking a monotonous routine he’d set himself up for months, and it was Teddy who showed him that he’d been truly lonely. Had it been anybody else, Ron surely would have resented that person from disrupting his solitude, but he didn’t mind Teddy at all. Really, he didn’t, but he was even more confused with his feelings than ever. Did he like Teddy? Was he gay? Since when? Sure, Teddy was attractive, and he did enjoy Teddy’s company, but did he like Teddy that way?

Confused, he fell asleep with all those questions in his mind.

When Ron opened his eyes, he found himself standing next to his bed. On his bed, sprawled out naked except for a sheet covering his lower body, was Teddy, who was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His chest heaved as he panted lightly. Ron gazed at Teddy’s swollen lips, growing warm as he watched Teddy’s tongue flicked out. Teddy’s hair was the same colour as his flushed skin, and they were matted against his forehead.

But it was Teddy’s eyes — full of lust and desire — that captured Ron’s attention. Ron found himself being drawn to them again, drowning in them, and when Teddy let out a low “Ron, more, please!”, he climbed on top of Teddy and kissed him hard, without any hesitance, desperately wanting to taste Teddy, to soothe that fire burning deep inside of him. His hands flew everywhere, touching, grasping, stroking — never stopping at all.

They both moaned when Ron grinded his hips against Teddy’s, the friction from their movement and the sheet between them sending waves of pleasure through their bodies, both shifting and groaning as they sought the release they desperately wanted. Ron slipped his hand in the sheet, grasped at Teddy’s hip, and he rubbed the area with his thumb, so close and near his goal . . .

Ron startled awake when he heard his alarm. Disorientated, he squinted his eyes and looked around his dim room. He sat up in his bed, and he felt stickiness in his pants.

“Merlin,” he groaned. He hadn’t had a sexual dream in ages, not since his divorce, and he was perplexed that Teddy would be the first one to grace his dreams after all these months.

Feeling quite frustrated, he did the only things he could do — wank away his fantasies and hope they would disappear soon, and, as Hermione would do, overanalyse this new predicament.

“Aren’t we supposed to meet at the restaurant in an hour?” Ron asked, staring at Teddy, who was holding a picnic basket in the middle of his sitting room, noting Teddy’s attire consisting of a t-shirt, shorts, a light jacket, and a pair of trainers. “And you told me it was a slightly fancy restaurant, so why are you dressed like . . . ” Not that he was better dressed than Teddy. He himself was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, as he was going to get ready and changed until Teddy appeared in his flat.

“The restaurant I was going to take us to is closed this week for renovations. I thought about some different alternatives, and I came up with the idea that we should have a picnic!”

Ron glanced at the window and then back at Teddy. “But it’s raining out today.”

“Ah, I meant an indoor picnic.” Teddy beamed and motioned at the sitting room. “May I?”

Nodding, Ron watched Teddy carefully set his chess board in safe place, shrink the table and the two chairs, pull out a bright orange blanket, spread it on the floor, and place the basket in the middle. “Have a seat.”

Ron started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. This was a kooky idea, but he actually had to admit it was very unique and different from anything he’d ever done so far. Admittedly, it was rather childish, but Teddy’s enthusiasm made everything seem so refreshingly new that Ron couldn’t help but go along with it.

Still laughing, he sat on the soft blanket, and Teddy joined him and emptied the basket of enough food to feed the entire Ministry. There were sandwiches filled with juicy meat, crunchy lettuce, and fresh tomatoes on toasted bread that were still warm. The strawberries and watermelon slices were sweet and cold and delicious. The biscuits were sweet, too, and they were mouth-meltingly perfect. Teddy had even brought a bottle of champagne. Ron was amazed by how thorough Teddy was with his planning. He wondered if Teddy had originally planned this in the first place and the Italian restaurant suggestion was just a bluff; thinking this made him smile into his sandwich. If this was Teddy’s intention all along — to have a picnic in the middle of a sitting room — then Ron wasn’t surprised by the way Teddy presented the idea. The bloke was a Slytherin, after all.

Still musing about how this was a very interesting idea, Ron chewed and swallowed before asking, “Did you make these sandwiches?”

Teddy nodded.

“You must be a great cook.”

“Actually, I’m horrible at cooking,” Teddy explained with a grin. “Sandwiches are the only things I can make without causing an explosion in the kitchen.”

“Really?” Ron eyed the biscuits because they were certainly home-made and not store-bought. “What about the biscuits?”

“Oh, those? Harry baked those and sent some over to me when I told him I was going on a picnic.”

“Did you tell him it was going to be an indoor picnic?”

“Of course. This was his idea.”

“Huh?” Ron felt something clench inside of him. Had Harry become psychic and somehow found out about all of his hidden, unexplainable, desires and fantasies about Teddy? But if Harry found out, then what kind of idea was this? Was this his way of saying to be with Teddy? Was this just another scheme to get him to go on a date with Teddy? But if this was yet another date . . . then did that mean Teddy liked him back?

With that many unanswered questions battling in his mind, he almost missed Teddy’s explanation. “When I was younger, Harry would do this with me, especially on a rainy day. To keep me from going stir-crazy, this was something we’d do as a lunch substitute.”

“Oh,” Ron exhaled loudly, relieved that Harry hadn’t indirectly set this up or anything. But now all those nightly wanks and fantasies of seeing Teddy naked on his bed bombarded him, and he felt heat pooling up deep inside of him. Stifling back a groan, he willed himself to calm down and to think about that one time he accidentally saw Aunt Muriel naked when he was about nine, truly one of his most traumatising childhood moments aside from that Spider Bear incident.

That did the trick, but then he made the mistake of looking down at Teddy’s bare feet and legs. One of his most recent dreams had featured Teddy — naked as always — on his back, with Ron ravishing Teddy’s chest. Teddy let out moan after moan, all of them sultry and growing louder whenever Ron had found a sensitive spot, and Teddy would arch his back and extend his strong legs as his toes curled from the pleasure. And those same legs would later be wrapped around Ron’s waist, locked tight at the ankles to make sure Ron didn’t go anywhere.

“Ron?” Teddy’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Ron welcomed that distraction as he thought about Aunt Muriel again.

“Yeah?”

“Since we’re done eating, let’s clean up and I’ll put your sitting room back in order.”

“All right.”

Ron stood up and they both cleaned and arranged the room back to order. It was when they were finally sitting in the orange chairs that Teddy said, “It’s kind of last minute, but I’ve been given two tickets to a concert in a couple of days. It’s going to be a piano concerto.” Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “Want to go with me?”

Despite his conflicting feelings towards Teddy, Ron ended up smiling. Teddy’s positive attitude was contagious and, strangely enough, addicting. “Sure, which piano concerto is it?”

“It’s a Rachmaninoff piece.”

“Oh?” Ron felt something akin to dread in his stomach.

“It’s the second one.”

No longer smiling, his eyebrows now scrunched together, Ron’s answer came out swiftly. “No.”

“No?” Teddy looked at him with a startled expression. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I hate that piece.”

Teddy began to frown. “Why do you hate it? It’s such a brilliant piece, truly one of the best piano concertos in the world, so I can’t understand why someone like you would–”

“Shut up.” He was growling, and he didn’t care. He really didn’t want to think of that song right now.

“If you could just explain to me why–”

“You’re too young to understand!”

“I’m not that young. How can you assume that without testing me first? I want to understand, and if you explain–”

“Why don’t you drop this?” Ron stood up and began to pace around the small room. “I hate that bloody song, and I hate it when people listen to it around me! Now you’re trying to get me to go to an actual live concert featuring that piece? And now you want to know why? I don’t have to explain it to you!”

“Ron, wait–”

“Stop it already! Leave!”

Teddy looked stricken, and that painful expression and the forlorn and downcast eyes made Ron feel guilty at the way he snapped at Teddy, but he was too upset, too disgusted with the way he was acting to apologise. Wearily, Ron whispered, “Leave.”

Without another word, Teddy left, and Ron could feel all the happiness being sucked out of his flat and out of him. He threw himself onto his chair and threw his arm over his eyes, and he clenched his fists hard until he could feel his nails digging into his palms. Feeling like shite, he muttered, “Bloody hell, I’m a fucking prick.”

Ron stared at the blank screen of his telly. Already a week had passed since his picnic with Teddy. His flat, which he’d been trying to keep clean, had returned to its smelly state, and it was rapidly becoming dusty, too. All week long, he’d been in a terrible mood as guilt, confusion, and frustration waged several wars inside of him. He was especially an ogre on the day of that damned Rachmaninoff concert. Everywhere he went, the song haunted him, and so did Teddy’s hurt expression. He shouldn’t have said that to Teddy; he should have apologised and just changed the subject that day. He should have stopped Teddy from leaving; he shouldn’t have taken his anger and frustration out on him.

He also hated himself for being confused on his sexual orientation. He was 39, almost 40, so if he was gay or bi or whatever — how much of an idiot was he to realise this fact now? He considered that maybe he was confused since it’d been a while since his last shag, but he knew, deep inside, that that wasn’t the case. He wanted Teddy. There was nobody else he was attracted to. Teddy was the only one he wanted, but he was too insecure, too unsure, and too afraid to do anything about this. In fact, he wasn’t sure just how he could mend their rift at all.

Angrily, he stood up, so wound-up that his skin felt taut. He needed to do something to let off his steam, and chess was not going to help this time. His eyes landed on his piano, and he stalked over to it and sat down, playing the first thing that came into his mind. It was a song he always played when he was upset, a piece that required so much strength and power that it always left him feeling exhausted, like he’d run a marathon.

Chopin’s Étude Op. 10, No. 4, otherwise known as “Torrent”, sounded out from his piano, his fingers furiously flew up and down the keys, his back tense as he played out the aggravation he’d had the entire week. He closed his eyes, and Teddy’s face — hurt and miserable looking — flashed by, and he played harder, his foot stepping on the pedal with enough force to nearly put it through his floor. He didn’t care about that. He only wanted to play this piece and hear the sixteenth notes thundering and echoing in his flat. He wanted to tire himself out and not think about Teddy and everything else that was aggravating him.

He eventually came to the end of the song, and he was panting from the sheer workout he’d just been through; his arms and back were sore, and his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. Unfortunately, though, he was still too tense and upset. He was about to slam his fists on the keys, not caring if he broke the piano or not, when he heard something behind him.

Standing, he spun and pointed his wand into his brother’s face.

“Oi! Point that elsewhere!” George protested, backing away as he held onto a pie in both hands.

“It’s you,” Ron said in a flat voice, bringing his wand down as he sat back on the bench, his legs weak after the sudden rush of adrenaline. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet your favourite brother?” George asked, making a face as he set the pie on the mantel.

Ron rolled his eyes and glanced at the pie. “What’s with the pie?”

“Harry baked this and he requested I bring you one. It’s Hogsmeade weekend, so he took off to go deliver the rest of his baked goods to my lovely niece and nephews.”

Upon hearing about Hogsmeade weekend, Ron felt another pang of guilt. Ever since the divorce, he hadn’t been keeping in touch with Rose or Hugo. He really should respond to Rose’s letter and send some new Muggle trading cards he’d promised to Hugo and make plans to meet up with them at Hogsmeade. Not wanting to think on all the parts of his life that had gone to shite, he put on a tight smile and said, “How’s your shop?”

George’s eyes grew intense and focused. “Surely that’s not what you really want to talk about, is it?”

“What?”

“Along with this pie, I’ve also come to knock some sense into you. Just what the hell did you do to Teddy? He’s been coming to the shop all week, so depressed that none of my prank items are making him laugh! And I need him to be in a good mood. His writing’s turned dismal and his articles reviewing my prank items have none of his eager and cheerful attitude!”

Ron’s mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it and demanded, “How — what — what makes you think I have anything to do with this?”

“I know, Ron.” George frowned and continued, “I know he likes you.”

“Of course he likes me — we’re friends,” Ron answered in an unconvincing tone.

“Ron. He fancies you! He told me about you guys playing the violin and the piano. He told me about that Beethoven concert. And he also told me about the picnic, which had gone all right until you kicked him out for no reason.”

Clenching his fist, Ron mumbled, “I had my reasons.”

“Oh? Do tell.” George crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at him pointedly. “He mentioned something about you hating a Rackmoney bloke. Said something about you not wanting to go to a concert he invited you to.”

“Rachmaninoff.”

“Don’t snap at me, baby brother. How about explaining to me what got your prick wound up like a pretzel?”

A long moment of silence passed. Ron opened his mouth to tell George to piss off, but before he could say anything, George continued, “Let me guess. It’s because that particular Rackmoney bloke’s song was a favourite of Hermione’s.”

“Shut up!” Ron growled, turning his head to look at the drab-looking curtains.

George sighed loudly, and he leaned against the mantel. “I want you to think about this. Are you really angry at Hermione for leaving you for Krum, or are you angry at her for something else entirely?”

“What other reason would–”

“I’ve always questioned your obsession with Krum in your fourth year. I also can’t help but wonder if you’d be this angry with Hermione if she had gone for a different bloke.”

George’s words punched him in his stomach, making him wrap his arms around himself as he tried to deny his brother’s words — words that were so true and so finite that he desperately told himself that he had his reasons back then and had his reasons for denying his real desires all these years. The dam he had deep inside broke as all the years of suppressed desire and guilt came tumbling out.

In a soft voice, George said, “Don’t do this, Ron. Don’t try to lie to yourself any more. No one’s going to begrudge you for your choices. You . . . you have the choice to do what you want.”

There was a catch in George’s voice that made Ron look up, and he saw sorrow in his brother’s eyes. Ron didn’t have to ask. He knew what George meant in his unsaid words.

George gave a wan smile as he fingered the ring on his finger, Fred’s ring. “Think about it, Ron. At the least, go apologise to Teddy.” He turned and Flooed himself out, and Ron was left alone.

It was a long time before Ron moved from his spot on the bench. When he did, he knew what he wanted to do.

Ron stared at the door, ignoring the whispers from the passer-bys, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this. He had to make amends with Teddy and get over his past.

He rang the bell, his finger shaky, and he waited.

The door opened, and he momentarily startled upon seeing a dull looking Teddy. Gone was his bright coloured hair, replaced with a drab-looking brown. His eyes were blank, and there were bags below them. Still, Teddy smiled — forced a smile — and said, “Hello.”

“Huck–” Ron cleared his throat. “Hi.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and he looked down at his feet.

Teddy stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” He walked in and looked around. “Where’s your grandmother?”

“Gran? She went to visit Aunt Narcissa.” Teddy led them to the sitting room. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Ron hated this Teddy, this stiff, formal Teddy who was nothing like the passionate and slightly eccentric young man he’d grown fond of in the last few weeks. Shaking his head, he sat down at the couch, and he quickly launched onto his question. “Do you have a recording of that Rachmaninoff concerto? The first movement, at least?”

“Yes.” A curious expression crossed Teddy’s face.

“Look, I’ve got lots of crap that is associated with this particular piece, but I . . . I want us to listen to it together. I want to listen to it with you because I know it’s one of your favourites.”

Teddy cocked his head and looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve a stereo system in my room. We can listen to it there.”

Ron nodded, trying not to think about how intimate the idea was. “Sure.”

They went to Teddy’s room, and Ron knew immediately why Teddy couldn’t find that Beethoven violin and piano sonata. The room was filled with books and papers everywhere. There were books and papers on the nightstands, on the stereo system, on the desk, on the desk chair, and everywhere on the floor, including under the bed — the top of which was surprisingly the only clean spot in the whole room. That was where Ron sat after he carefully stepped around the books and papers.

Teddy fiddled around with the stereo system, and when he finished he joined Ron on the bed, sitting next to him, but not touching him at all.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Ron opened his eyes when he heard the first notes, the familiar bell-like sounds, followed by the orchestra playing the main melody, and he remembered the first time he’d heard and fallen in love with this piece. As the concerto played, he travelled back to the summer before his fourth year, before the Quidditch World Cup. This song had come on the wireless as he had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine. He stopped when he saw the moving picture of Viktor Krum, who was flying with a sullen expression; yet when Ron’s eyes gazed over his slender body, in his Quidditch uniform, Ron was captivated. He stared at the way Viktor would fly around the page, watched the grace that was visible in most Seekers, his movements matching the elegant, lyrical piece of the song, and when he did the Wronski Feint, the piano repeated the main melody in a march-style that made Ron’s chest burst with emotion.

That was the moment when he had fallen for Viktor Krum. He remembered how he’d been horrified by this revelation and how he’d felt like he was the odd one out in his family, so he frantically tried to suppress any thoughts about Viktor, but it was hopeless. He fell more in love with him at the World Cup match, at Hogwarts when the tournament was going on, during the Yule Ball when he saw that Viktor had taken Hermione to the ball . . .

Then when he’d finally got together with Hermione, he succeeded in his quest to suppress any sexual urges he had towards Viktor. With the Rachmaninoff piece — how ironic that Hermione had ended up liking that particular piece — he was able to associate that with Hermione instead of Viktor . . . until Hermione went to Viktor after the divorce.

But Ron no longer wanted to associate this song with them. He wanted to focus on the present, so he turned his head to look at Teddy, with the song still playing in the background. The song didn’t fit Teddy at all; it was kind of strange that Teddy even liked this song since he generally preferred music in a major key. He tried to figure this puzzle out, and then Teddy’s eyes met his. Ron lost all sense of time while he stared into those deep eyes.

Passion, he realised. Teddy was full of passion. Whatever he did, whether it was to play the violin with such force that each notes commanded his attention, to play those simple piano pieces that brought a smile to his face, to talk his ears off about the most inane things, to come up with ideas that turned his life around — it was what made him Teddy, and it was what the Rachmaninoff piece had — passion — despite the sombre tone.

Towards the end of the song, Teddy’s gentle hands reached out and cupped Ron’s cheeks, and Ron, feeling the tears in his eyes, feeling drained from weeks and months of uncertainty, guilt, and sadness, accepted the tender touch; he moved closer to rest his head on Teddy’s shoulder and pressed himself closer when Teddy’s arm wrapped around him.

Soon, the first movement finally came to an end. Ron tried to explain everything to Teddy. “Look, I . . . y-you see, back when I was about fourteen, I — er –” He swallowed hard and tried again. “I associated this song with someone . . . a guy . . . and I–”

Run shut up when he felt one of Teddy’s callused fingers on his lips. He looked up and he nearly sobbed from seeing the understanding expression on Teddy’s calm face. Teddy whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Ron. I know. I know.”

That simple declaration broke the last remaining barrier Ron had up to now, and he reached up and kissed Teddy, who kissed him back with so much force and heat that Ron lay back on the bed and pulled Teddy up on top of him.

He didn’t know how long they kissed. He didn’t care. He only knew that Teddy, pressing down on him, felt so good. When Teddy slipped his tongue inside his mouth, Ron felt heat explode everywhere inside of him. He could taste Teddy and smell him and feel his warmth. His hands touched everything and played their own solos as they explored and found spots that made Teddy moan in their kisses. His own moans echoed with Teddy’s, and he wanted Teddy to touch him until they both reached that edge they both needed and wanted.

When Teddy whispered, “You’re the only thing — one — I ever want anymore,” Ron kissed him again, and also whispered, “Me too.”

“I can’t believe you made me wear a tie.”

“It looks good on you.”

“It’s yellow with black polka dots. Are you trying to tell me something here? You do realise I was a Gryffindor, right?

“I know, but red and gold is boring.”

“And you’re wearing a blue and silver tie.”

Teddy laughed. “Your point?”

“Next time, stick with our individual house colours!” Ron gave him a mocking glare, but it quickly turned into a smile. “This is how you thank me, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll thank you in a much different way when we get home after this concert.”

Ron felt his cheeks getting warm, and he ducked his head as he looked around the lobby, which was filled with people waiting to go into the concert hall to hear Tchaikovsky’s “Violin Concerto in D Major”.

Teddy leaned over and whispered, “I’m really glad you invited me to this concert. I’m actually looking forward to enjoying a concert I don’t have to write a review for.”

Ron nodded. He purposely chose this performance because it was a violin concerto; it was a piece he’d heard recently on the wireless and it was one of those pieces that just fit Teddy. So when he heard about this performance, he bought the tickets and invited Teddy. Of course, he also had an ulterior motive to all of this. He lowered his voice and conspiratorially said, “Yes, you don’t have to write a review, but I expect you to perform the solo part tomorrow from memory for me.”

Teddy’s eyes opened wide before it narrowed and he said, “If you make me do that, I’ll spell a permanent cock ring on you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would,” Teddy said as he straightened himself up. “So what are you going to do? Do you still want me to play tomorrow?”

Ron sighed loudly and smiled. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to play it tomorrow. But I do want to hear you play it one day.”

“All right.” With a last impish grin, Teddy leaned and planted a soft kiss on Ron’s cheek. He looked at the opened doors. “But let’s worry about that later.” He laced their hands and they walked into the concert hall.

Together.

Ron tightened his hold and he said, “All right, Teddy. All right.”

George took a sip of his coffee. It took every bit of his control to not spit it back out as the disgusting taste penetrated his taste buds.

What in Medusa’s saggy tits did they put in here? Dishwater? This tastes like shite! George grimaced and shoved the cup away from him, not caring one bit that it sloshed over the rim and spilled, and stared gloomily out the window of the coffee shop in Diagon Alley. Many wizards and witches passed by him, all looking happy and content, and he didn’t miss the fact that he saw more couples than singles or groups.

Everyone was busy being in love, but George was stuck in a business meeting. Not to mention he was stuck with his only companion at night — his hands — and even that didn’t guarantee full satisfaction. Mentally groaning, he shut his eyes tightly, remembering what had happened last night. Fred and Angelina had been going at it like horny Kneazles in the next room, and they’d forgotten to put up a Silencing Charm. He was the poor unfortunate soul who had to endure three hours of “Mmm, more! Oh, so good! There, right there, baby! I’m coming, oh Merlin!”

It was like listening to bad porn, really bad porn. He was surprised his dick hadn’t shrivelled up and died yesterday.

He sighed and forced last night’s experience out of his head and thought about his business meeting. He was to meet his silent business partner to discuss this new business proposal he and Fred had thought up, and he was going to keep things professional between them — never mind that he’d had the longest secret crush on Harry Potter. It was a secret he’d carry to his grave. Not even his own twin knew about his crush.

And George had no intention of fucking things up between him and Harry with this crush. Sure, Harry had come out as being gay, but there was no way in Merlin’s scratchy beard Harry would ever go for a bloke like himself — even as marvellous as he was. Not when there were better candidates like, say, Oliver Wood (never mind the fact that he was currently bonking Percy, the stuffiest and the stiffest bloke alive) and Viktor Krum. Somehow it just seemed more fitting for Harry to prefer a Quidditch Star — which was not far-fetched since Harry himself was a fantastic Seeker.

At least I know I’ve no self-esteem issues . . . I think. I mean, I know I’m a bloody great catch, but not for someone like Harry! George sighed again and eyed the dreadful coffee with contempt, and he shifted because his bottom had grown very sore. First the coffee, now these chairs. Are these shop owners aware of these things? No wonder this shop is empty as a library!

Thankfully, Harry rushed in, and George could stop thinking about his tongue and his bum.

“Sorry I’m late!” Harry breathed out, as he plopped down across from George. “Ron and Hermione had some sort of a minor disagreement, so I had to listen to Ron’s whinging and help him think up a way to make up with Hermione.”

George stifled back a groan, wondering for the umpteenth time what Ron and Hermione saw in each other. “It’s all right.”

Harry grinned and looked around the empty shop. “I’ve never been here before.”

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the shop workers looking excited as they babbled to each other in hushed whispers. George refrained from rolling his eyes, knowing full well why they acted like they’d got their pants in the Whomping Willow’s crutch; instead, he decided to look at Harry. It’d been a while since they’d last met. Harry had gone off to travel the world. The last time he’d seen Harry was several years ago; they’d kept in contact about the Wheezes’ business matter by Owls. So George discreetly studied Harry, wondering if Harry had changed any over the years.

Gone was the scrawny boy he’d last seen. Harry had filled out quite nicely, judging by his broader chest and shoulders. His wild hair was still uncontrollable as usual, but it was longer now; it was pulled back into a short ponytail, and with his fringe, it gave Harry a very shaggy appearance that made him look rogue-like. These were the two biggest, obvious changes, but there was a single change that really appealed to George. It was quite subtle, but George could see it in Harry’s eyes. They no longer appeared sad and troubled; they looked free and happy.

The changes made Harry more appealing than ever. George had a feeling he’d need a loo and some lotion after this meeting.

“This is my first time, too,” George admitted, wanting to get his brain to think of something else because he didn’t want to go through this meeting with a stiff cock. “I don’t recommend their coffee or their chairs. I think my arse would find more comfort on rocks than these,” he added.

“That bad?” Harry laughed and grabbed George’s abandoned coffee and sniffed at it. His nose scrunched up, and he quickly set the cup down. “Well, it does smell terrible.” He glanced at the menu. “Think their teas would come out like your coffee?”

“You could try, but I have to warn you that it’s been about fifteen minutes since I drank that thing, and the taste is still in my mouth!”

Harry looked troubled. “Well, I’ll risk it. I’d feel bad coming here and not getting something.” Giving George a sheepish smile, he ordered a cup of the shop’s “Special Earl Grey” tea. It arrived a minute later, and Harry stared at it the cup like it was one of Hagrid’s rock cakes.

George looked at it, paled, and felt his stomach churn unpleasantly. “I know there are many kinds of tea in the world, but is there such a thing as purple tea?”

“I’m not sure.” Harry took a tentative sip, and George immediately knew from Harry’s puckered lips and his wrinkly forehead that the tea was just as bad as his coffee. George stifled his laughter as he watched Harry give the cup the same sloshing treatment he’d done earlier. Harry cleared his throat. “So you and Fred have a new business idea? What is it?”

“Oh, that.” George couldn’t help but grin at the irony. “See, Fred and I want to expand our business.”

“How?”

“The shop next door became vacant, so we’re thinking about starting up a–” George’s smile grew wider, and he lowered his voice, “–a coffee shop.”

“A coffee shop?” Harry repeated. His eyes became heavy-lidded as he mused over the idea. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have another one in Diagon Alley, but . . . ”

“Yes?”

“No offence to you and Fred, but do you think the customers would really trust whatever you sell to them that requires consumption?”

“None taken, mate.” George’s grin grew wider. “Fred and I thought ahead on that. See, we’re going to name the shop The Coffeenator, so customers won’t realise it’s part of our business.”

Harry’s eyes opened wide and his eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. “The Coffee . . . nator?”

“It’s a wotchermacallit, a port-something on combining ‘coffee’ and ‘procrastinator’ together. Our goal for the shop is to make it a place for people to relax and procrastinate on their life — you know, let them have fun with delicious coffee.”

“I see. That makes sense, but don’t be surprised if you get customers thinking something entirely different with the name of your shop.”

“Huh?”

Harry waved a hand. “It’s a Muggle film reference. Nothing to worry about it, really, since I doubt most wizards and witches will know about The Terminator.”

The who, the what? George made a mental note to look up this Terminator thing later. “Anyway, that’s our plan. What do you think?”

“I like it. I don’t see any problems with it. Just don’t sell awful drinks like this place,” Harry whispered, his green eyes twinkling.

“Of course not. And don’t worry! Fred and I won’t be making the coffee. We’re going to have to find ourselves a good coffee person.”

“A barista. That’s the coffee person in charge of making the coffee and espresso-based drinks.”

George nodded, impressed that Harry knew this fact. “Right. I just hope whoever we get won’t make dishwater-flavoured coffees and rainbow-coloured mochas or whatever.”

Harry leaned closer towards George, looking rather excited. “I could do it. Not sell those disgusting drinks, but I wouldn’t mind being a barista for your shop.”

“Wha–?” Now George’s eyebrows went up high and his eyes grew large. “You’d want to work there?”

Harry nodded. “During my travels, I visited a lot of coffee shops. I actually grew addicted to them.” He rubbed the back of his head and his smile appeared sheepish. “It wasn’t long before I got to know the baristas of each shop, and they trained and showed me how to make the drinks. I learned pretty fast. I guess all those chores I did when I was young came in handy.”

“But I thought you wanted to become an Auror after you finish travelling.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather make good coffee for people and watch them enjoy a good cuppa rather than do paperwork and deal with bureaucratic headaches.”

George nodded, understanding where Harry was coming from. He smiled slowly, realising that he’d just found their barista, and it took less time than he and Fred had been expecting. Plus, it was with someone he knew he could work with, someone with a sense of humour — something he and Fred both agreed that good employees must have — and Harry definitely had that. He was also relieved they wouldn’t have to go through about a thousand interviews to find that one barista they’d want. “Well, do what makes you happy. I think it’s fucking brill to have you as our barista.” He extended out a hand and clasped Harry’s. “Welcome to the Coffeenator, Mr Barista.”

Was it George’s imagination or did Harry’s grip tighten? It was probably his imagination since Harry let go and said, “Don’t you need to talk to Fred about this?”

George shook his head. “Naw, mate, Fred would’ve agreed. Besides, this is a ruddy fantastic idea, so no need to worry!”

Harry smiled shyly, making George’s insides twist in a familiar way, and said, “All right. Let’s get the boring part out of the way. You’ve got the paperwork?”

Oh for Wendy Wanker’s sake! Where’s Trelawney’s smelly gunk when I need it? I think I’d rather be oxygen-deprived right about now before I make a complete arse of myself!

George felt like chocolate. He was seriously about to melt and become a pile of George-goo, and it was all because of Harry.

Sure, Harry had always made his insides turn into jelly before, but seeing Harry in his barista outfit nearly turned George into an absolute mess.

The barista outfit was ridiculously simple. It consisted of a crisp white shirt, a black waistcoat, a black tie, a pair of black trousers, a black waist apron, and a pair of black shoes. Really, it was nothing fancy, but on Harry, it looked absolutely classy.

And shag-worthy. When George looked at Harry’s backside, it became even more apparent that Harry had filled out over the years. His arse looked, especially when framed by the apron, so fucking sexy and well-defined in those trousers.

Harry gave a shy smile. “How does it look?”

“Not bad!” Fred exclaimed, reminding George that he wasn’t alone and that he’d better stop gawking like an overgrown git.

George unglued his tongue and tried to keep his voice neutral. “It looks good.”

Harry’s smiled wider, and George clenched his fists in his pockets. Think of naked Hagrid doing things with that Beauxbatons bird. Think of crabby old Aberforth tending to his goats. Think of McGonagall in a corset. Don’t think of Harry bent over the counters. Don’t let his smile get to you. Most of all, don’t reach out and grab his arse!

For the past few weeks, whenever Harry was near him, which occurred quite often since they’d all been working together to get the Coffeenator up and running, George’d had many of those monologues with himself. Somehow or other, he’d been the one to work with Harry the most in the new shop while Fred stayed at the Wheezes to keep things running there. All those days with Harry, who was so near to touch, but off-limits, drove him mad.

He’d thought having Harry as their barista was a brilliant idea.

Now he was begging to differ. It was still a good idea, but who was it good for? Certainly not George, not when his libido kept on demanding to be unleashed. Not when he kept fantasising on Harry’s lips, wondering if they were soft, wishing he could run his hands through Harry’s shaggy hair and all over that hard body and that arse that begged to be grabbed. Really, this was torture — a good form of torture — but torture nonetheless!

George caught Fred looking at him strangely and flashed a grin. He shoved aside his overactive imagination and turned towards the new monstrosity in the shop — the espresso machine and an espresso grinder. Like his father, he’d always had a thing for Muggle machines, but these unfamiliar machines looked really intimidating. There were magical espresso machines out in the market, but Harry, used to preparing coffee the Muggle way, preferred the Muggle version.

That wasn’t a problem. Just as long as George didn’t have to operate it. He saw Harry do something with it, causing steam to come out, and decided he preferred steam from cauldrons. That seemed less dangerous at any rate.

“Oh, hey, how do you two feel about selling pastries here?” Harry’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Along with the drinks, I was thinking we could sell simple pastries. We could keep the menu short — maybe rotate three items every week? I can make scones, biscuits, and cakes — things from those categories.”

George looked at Fred, and then they both nodded at Harry.

“I call the cake!” Fred said.

“And I call the scones!” George chimed right after, glad to be thinking of something not Harry-related.

“All right, then let’s go look at some ovens!” Harry suggested, looking excited. “Then I’ll need a couple of days getting used to these machines.” His gaze lingered at George before he continued, “And you two can be the first ones to try my coffee and pastry!”

Harry’s enthusiasm was contagious. George found himself eagerly looking forward to that.

“More, Fred! So fucking good! Ah, ah, ah!”

“Angelina, oh, yes, baby! I just love your tits!”

They’d forgotten to use the Silencing Charm. Again. That meant George had to endure another round of bad porn. Again.

George grabbed his pillow and covered his ears with it, hoping he could drown out their primal and crude love-making. That didn’t work. He then wished longingly for Harry’s invisibility cloak; he’d sneak into their room and cast the damn charm himself since these two inconsiderate gits never remember to do it!

The banging on his wall mercifully stopped and was soon replaced with light snoring. Fina-fucking-ly! George loosened his hold on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, studying the cracks as his mind wandered.

He realised he felt envious that Fred had someone he could be with to make all those animalistic noises together. Sure, George was annoyed that Fred never remembered to cast that one little charm, but he was happy for Fred. Really, he was . . . but he felt envious. And lonely. Ever since he’d figured out he swung the other way, he’d actually felt separated from his own twin. All their life, they’d been Fred and George, Gred and Forge, never apart, always together. As they grew older, things had started to change. In their sixth year, Fred had begun to fancy Angelina, but George hadn’t fancied anybody. While Fred had started to date Angelina after the Yule Ball, George felt no inclinations to date any girls.

When George’s crush on Harry began, that was when he realised just how different identical twins could be. It was his own private revelation, and even years later, he still had never really accepted it.

Since then he’d understood just how different he was from Fred. He was the quieter of the two, more thoughtful and careful (not by much, but just a smidgen!). Whenever Fred wanted something, he’d go after it without a second thought. George, on the other hand, would actually think his decision through, depending on the situation, and that was obvious with the way they approached relationships.

George sighed. I sound like an old coot. He closed his eyes; Aberforth’s grumpy face came into his mind. He shuddered. Okay, I don’t want to end up anything like that ol’ goat herder! I better do something to change this. Yes, I had better! No asking Fred for help, either. Not that he knows I like Harry or anything, but I’ve got to try and do this by myself.

And this was the beginning of George’s new mission — to try and get Harry. At least then he could say he had tried!

George didn’t really have much time to concentrate on his mission. He had other things to focus on — mainly his new business.

The Coffeenator hadn’t opened yet — its grand opening would be next week — but George came over to help Harry with the shop while Fred stayed in their shop. That day Harry had insisted on George doing some taste-testing.

George took a seat at the bar, choosing that over the seats by the window because he wanted to be closer to Harry. Sure, the bar separated him from Harry, but from the high seat he had a great view of Harry. In fact, with Harry turned around to work the espresso machine, he had the best view of Harry’s arse, looking tight and tempting as usual in those trousers. His whole body itched with desire, as realisation dawned on how he could easily lean over the bar and grab it; instead, he grabbed a copy of the menu, and he proceeded to doodle on it, desperate to keep his hands busy while his eyes never strayed from Harry’s lovely backside.

Harry puttered around, doing things so fast that George had no idea exactly what he was doing. He saw a billow of blinding white steam, heard something hiss like Crookshanks on a bad fur day, smelled something sweet that made his tooth ache, and sensed comforting warmth all around him as Harry moved with such speed and finesse that it left him dizzy.

Harry soon plunked a tray in front of him. On it were three different pastries and three cups of steaming coffee. George looked at it in surprise. “That’s a lot.”

“And it’s all for you!”

George laughed, remembering that this was Harry Potter, the most generous bloke he knew.

He remembered the first time he’d met Harry. He fondly thought about the young boy he’d passed on Platform 9 and 3/4, who was scrawny with messy black hair, huge green eyes, and glasses that looked like they’d been taped together one too many times. The nameless boy was just another bloke to him at the time, nobody he really wanted to get to know then, but George later got to know Harry as a fellow Gryffindor, a Quidditch player, and a friend.

It wasn’t until George’s sixth year that everything changed; he would never forget that one night that changed everyone’s lives, the night of the third task. Cedric Diggory had died, Harry had almost died, and Voldemort had come back to “life”. When George had seen Harry lying on the hospital bed, looking fragile yet determined and strong, he saw a boy becoming a man. He believed in Harry’s conviction that Voldemort had returned, and his respect for Harry grew when he heard how Harry had gone through and survived yet another encounter with Voldemort.

He was astounded by Harry’s generosity that night as well. Harry had selflessly given away 1000 Galleons to Fred and himself, and George’s crush began that very day. It intensified over the next few years as Harry grew up, saved the world again, and became quite a catch.

A catch George hadn’t nabbed yet because he needed to grow some balls if he wanted to go anywhere with his deeply-suppressed desires. A catch who, currently, was right in front of him, smiling eagerly. Harry pointed at the pastries, and George stared at the long digits instead of the mouth-watering treats. He immediately thought of kissing them first and then slipping one of them into his mouth as he sucked and teased it until Harry flushed with desire. To him, that finger was only an appetiser. He’d quickly move onto Harry’s mouth, a luscious side-dish that would allow him to taste Harry even further, snogging deeply until they were both breathless. Once he had his full share, he’d go on to the entrée farther down . . .

George Weasley! Wake up, you sod! Business first! And no, you cannot have a Potter Puff on your personal menu!

George cleared his throat and asked, “So what are these?”

“This here is a blueberry scone, an almond biscotti, and a chocolate fondant pudding. As for your drinks, that’s a latte, a cappuccino, and a mocha. Along with your basic espresso drinks, as you can see on the menu, I’ve also included hot chocolate and a variety of teas. The drinks will be served hot or cold, depending on the customer’s choice.”

“Looks like you’ve pretty much got the whole thing figured out.” George couldn’t help but feel impressed. Then again, he should’ve known better than to think Harry would do anything half-arsed. He picked up his fork and began to sample the pastries.

They were all spectacular. The scones were perfectly baked, and it was a great combination with the clotted cream. The biscotti had a nice crunch to it and a subtle almond flavour. But his absolute favourite was the chocolate fondant pudding. He had no idea what Harry had done to it, but it was rich, moist, and just so fucking wonderful. Everything he ate meshed well with the drinks, which tasted so much better than that shite he’d had in that unmentionable place.

“How is it?” Harry asked.

“Before I say my piece, do me a favour?”

“What?”

“Don’t ever tell Mum that your stuff is brilliant and better than her baked pastries! I mean, Holy Hemlock, Harry, this is some fantastic stuff!”

Harry blushed, making himself look even more desirable; George wasn’t certain just how much his libido would be able to take that day.

“Um, thanks. I won’t tell her.” Harry ducked his red face, but not before George caught the bashful smile.

“Thanks, mate. However, I do have a question.” George looked down at the menu he doodled on. “What’s the difference between an espresso, an Americano, a latte, a cappuccino, a mocha, a macchiato, and whatever else you’ve got listed here?”

Harry laughed, his blush fading away, and George sat and listened to his coffee lesson. Harry was truly knowledgeable with all this coffee info, and it showed not only in Harry’s explanation, but in his body language and in his voice tone.

George looked at Harry’s posture, the way he carried himself with confidence that he had lacked back in school. Maybe it was the baggy clothes he wore back at Hogwarts, but he no longer appeared like he was slouching all the time. George could appreciate the form-fitting barista outfit on Harry (again, images of Harry’s beautiful arse flashed at him) and the self-assurance Harry had now, yet there was also still that bit of shyness lingering in Harry’s aura, and George found himself falling deeper and deeper for him.

With his head now full of coffee knowledge — most of which would be forgotten in an hour since he was still confused by all the terminology and the different methods for preparing each drink — George decided to give his brain a rest and he stared at his messy scratches on the menu. He wrote a phrase and stared at it. “I think I’ve just thought up a clever slogan we can use for this shop.”

“Oh?” Harry raised an eyebrow as he sipped on his latteccino or whatever it was called.

George cleared his throat and announced importantly, “‘You’ll be back’.” He stared when Harry spewed his drink across the bar and started to cough. He held up his hands into a defensive stance. “I solemnly swear I didn’t put anything in your drink.”

Harry stopped coughing. He looked at George, eyes a bit moist, and said, “It’s not that. I know you didn’t slip anything into my coffee. It’s just . . . well, the name of the shop and that slogan?” His lips curved slightly. “I reckon a bunch of Muggle-borns will be wary of this place at first. Well, maybe not wary, but at the least they’ll be very amused.”

George looked confused. “Uh, all right?”

“I’ll have to borrow those films from Hermione sometime and show them to you and Fred. Oh, and if you want to add that slogan to the menu, better let Dean and Seamus know. Seamus is probably going to bite your head off, though. He hates last minute changes — even if Dean’s the one doing the actual designing. Thank Merlin Dean can calm Seamus down, at least.”

Still perplexed by the whole shop name and slogan situation — hell, even Dean had chortled his noggin off with no explanation — George just said, “All right. I’ll let that hothead know. Then again, if he does get his a stick up his arse, I’ll get out our Slumbering Stink-Socks. One whiff of that will knock him out — he’ll start a bagpipe solo that’ll put Fang’s snoring to shame.”

Harry sniggered. “Anyway, I noticed you seemed to favour the cappuccino and the chocolate fondant pudding more than the others. Want some more?”

“This latte is so smooth! Way better than that other place!”

“The scone! It doesn’t taste like it’s been magically processed.”

“Finally! Tea that’s not hot pink!”

“So rich, so flavourful. My friends will die for this chocolate fondant pudding!”

George smiled as he walked past the various customers, pleased by all the compliments he heard from them. The Coffeenator, so far, was a success. Once word got out that the barista was none other than Harry Potter, many people — some from as far as the United States — had come to visit the shop. Even on their first day, they had people waiting in lines that extended towards the back-end of Diagon Alley. This had been predicted, so Harry and George had arranged for three wizarding guards — three muscular men who were named Huey, Dewey, and Louie — to be at the shop to make sure nobody did anything harmful. Their presence turned out to be a good thing; in fact, when a lot of Muggle-borns (Hermione and Dean included) saw Huey, they all backed away from him. George had heard Dean muttering something about Huey resembling an Arnie Shoemaker.

“Who’s that?” George had asked.

“Who’s who?”

“That shoemaker bloke.”

Dean frowned. “What shoemaker — oh! You mean Arnold Schwarzenegger?” He started to snigger. “He’s an actor who played in that movie, The Terminator, which I’m guessing is what this shop is named after?”

Not that movie again! I’ve got to remind Harry to get them like he mentioned before! George explained the meaning behind the name before he remembered to say, “By the way, mate. Thanks for calming Seamus down when we wanted to change the menu design. I’m glad I didn’t have to waste a pair of Slumbering Stink-Socks on him!”

“Er, yes, that.” Dean blushed. “Thankfully, snogging him usually shuts him up when he starts ranting.” Quickly, he glanced at the menu. “I’m short on time. I came to get a take-away. But don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

George grinned widely. “Oh, yes. You’ll be back.”

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. “I still can’t believe you came up with that slogan without knowing the Terminator reference.”

“I will one of these days.” George clasped Dean’s shoulder. “Now, go get your take-away.”

George’s eyes swept over the busy shop. Glancing at the hired help who assisted in the shop, hearing the various conversations from the customers, and inhaling the wonderful coffee and pastry aromas, his gaze lingered on Harry the longest. Harry looked up and their eyes made contact. Harry flashed George a smile that promptly flustered him, but he managed to keep his composure and smile back, ignoring all the flapping noises he heard from his stomach. He quickly gave Harry one final wave and dashed out of the shop and rounded the corner, where he nearly collided into Ginny.

“Son of a pixie!” George gasped, reaching out to steady himself against the wall. “You all right?” He saw that Neville was behind Ginny, his hands on her shoulders, protecting her. He nodded his greeting at Neville.

Ginny scowled at him, pulling herself out of Neville’s hands. “I’m all right, but what bit your arse? Did you prank someone important so they are now after your brainless head?”

“Please.” George smirked. “If I prank someone important, I’ll do it with subtlety and finesse — nobody would guess it’s me or Fred! Besides, Gin, is it that time of the month for you? Why so thorny?”

It was interesting how her face turned so red that Ginny’s hairline all but disappeared. She crossed her arms and then it was her turn to smirk. “Oh? Jealous that you aren’t getting any? And I’ll let you know that it’s not that time of the month . . . yet.”

George and Neville both blushed hard. George covered his ears and yelled, “Way too much info!”

“You asked!” Ginny declared smugly. She stuck out her tongue at him (he was so glad she didn’t Bat-Bogey him!) and then grabbed the still-red Neville’s hand. “As a matter of fact, whenever I’m near that time, I start craving chocolate. So I’m off to have some of that chocolate fondant thing!” She disappeared into the store, dragging Neville behind her.

George stalked off, not caring that he just walked past the Wheezes. Ginny’s barb about him not getting any was true. In fact, he was the only Weasley not getting any. Bill and Fleur were married, Charlie was with that one Slytherin bird who’d been in Harry’s year, Percy had Oliver, Fred and Angelina were definitely bonking each other, Ron and Hermione apparently fought a lot and had hot make-up sex, and lastly there were Ginny and Neville. Then there were his parents, but he did not want to think about his mum and dad doing anything consisting of hormones, libido, and bodily fluids. Just, no.

He was the odd Weasley out. Ginny’s comment only made him feel worse about it.

He thought about Harry, remembering how that one smile alone earlier had made his stomach do a Wronski Feint despite never being a Seeker himself.

He thought about asking Harry out. He figured it couldn’t hurt. Harry could say yes, and then all would be right in his world. But then if Harry said no . . . it could make their friendship awkward and unpleasant, a situation he wanted to avoid altogether.

George turned around and slowly walked back to the Wheezes. He’d sort this out later. Right now he had to go help out Fred in their invention room.

George didn’t have time to figure anything out.

Two days after that Ginny encounter, Joey, one of the hired help, became sick with Scrofungulus. The recovery time, according to the healers at St Mungo’s, was going to take an entire month or maybe two. Instead of replacing him, and because it was a slow time of the year at the Wheezes, George became the step-in at the Coffeenator.

Somehow or another, though, things went to shite. Or maybe Ginny had cursed him with something like the Clumsia Charm. Whatever it was, George was mortified about all his accidents.

To his credit, the first couple of days went fine. He’d finally got his coffee terminology straightened out and even learned how to operate the espresso machine and the grinder without any major problems.

His problems began after one stupid accident.

It happened during closing time. Harry and he were the only ones left. They both decided to have a cuppa before finishing the rest of their closing time chores. They both sat at the bar, relaxing with their respective drinks — a mocha for Harry and an iced chai for himself.

They talked about their daily inventory and laughed about some of the weirder customers they’d encountered.

George then picked up his glass to take a long sip. He brought the glass back down onto the bar. In a blink, the glass had toppled over, the rest of his drink spilling onto Harry’s lap.

“Bugger me to Mars!” George shouted as he grabbed some paper napkins and began to mop up the liquid. On Harry’s trouser-clad legs (the apron was off already and hanging in the back). On Harry’s crotch. He stilled and looked up at Harry’s reddened face, feeling warmth emanating from Harry’s groin. He stared into Harry’s green eyes, but he lowered his gazed to the parted lips. He saw the tip of Harry’s tongue wetting his bottom lips; George was absolutely mesmerised. His hands were hot. No, not his hands. Harry’s groin was burning up, and something stirred inside of him, too, and he felt heat deep inside of him.

“Er, George?” Harry’s breathy voice snapped George back to reality.

George blushed and quickly snatched his hands away. “Fucking hell. Sorry, mate!” He backed away and looked everywhere but at Harry.

“You–”

“I’ll go wash the dishes in the back!” George cut him off and headed into the kitchen. There, he launched a thousand curses at his idiotic self.

I’m a twit-faced idiot! Why did I not think? Why did I touch him like that? What’s he going to think now? And I ran off like a whimpering pansy! I’m a fucking git!

George continued to curse as he washed the dishes manually, too upset to think about washing them with magic. Oddly enough, that calmed him. The running water was loud, and it helped block out his inner voice, and the soaping and rinsing didn’t require any major thoughts, so that put his mind into a meditative state. When he finished, he was able to face Harry by pretending nothing had happened. Thankfully, Harry acted the same way. They parted with their usual goodbyes, and George went back to the flat, desperately wanting to sleep off the rest of his embarrassment and start the next day without any problems.

But George’s problems were only beginning.

Little things kept happening to him, and they only occurred when Harry was near him. Once, he slipped on some water and landed right on his arse in front of Harry and everyone else in the shop, and it was all because he’d ogled and worshipped Harry’s lovely bum for a few seconds. Another time, Harry handed him a mug of coffee, and he was supposed to take that to a customer who was too lazy to come get it herself. Unfortunately, his fingers met Harry’s, and his muscles chose to conk out on him then, so he dropped the mug and ended up burning his hand. Oh, and he broke the mug, too.

They were really minor accidents, but George still felt humiliated by them.

Then came the wet Harry accident.

No, wait, it was the espresso-machine-“explosion”-plus-wet-Harry accident.

Thankfully there was nobody else in the shop when this happened. Still, that didn’t really make things any better.

What happened was that George did something — he wasn’t quite sure what he did, but he did something — and the next thing he knew, it sort of, for the lack of a better word, exploded on Harry. Meaning, that blasted machine went out of control and sent out a huge gush of water at Harry, covering him from his head to his toes. Fortunately, the water wasn’t hot, but on the cool side. It had to be cold because Harry’s nipples became erect.

And Harry had removed his waistcoat and tie, but left his white shirt and his trousers on. A white shirt, which had got wet, and it was against Harry’s bare skin. George could see through it very well. A water droplet slowly trickled down Harry’s pale neck, making George want to lick a nice trail along the side. He’d then go down to the two stiff nubs; George would then reach out and touch them, rub them between his fingers and make them stick out even more. Then he’d cover one of them with his mouth, and he’d lick and suck it, all the while listening to Harry’s breathy moans urging him on.

By now they’d both be aroused. George would keep the wet shirt on Harry; he’d remove Harry’s trousers and pants instead, and he’d pick Harry up and set him on the bar, just so he could have an easier time treating himself to Harry’s inviting cock. Nothing wrong with a little taste.

Or maybe he’d just grind his own throbbing cock against Harry’s, and the amazing friction from their intense movement would make them both come in utter bliss as they shouted each other’s names. Then he’d finally kiss Harry deeply, his tongue busying itself in Harry’s inviting mouth, exploring and tasting at its own pace. And when they’d have to break apart to breathe in the much needed air, Harry’s lips would look so red and swollen, and his green eyes would be heavy-lidded and he’d say, “Again.”

But damn his foolishness. Instead of enacting any of those tempting scenarios, George just calmly waved his wand and dried Harry off, regretting it instantly when the white shirt became opaque. He glanced at the machine and asked, “Do Muggle espresso machines usually shoot out water like that?”

Harry shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Maybe because it’s surrounded by magic, it became affected?”

“Maybe. Though it would be the first time a case like this happened.”

“We’ll have to look into it.” Harry smiled lightly. “Thanks for drying me off.”

George just waved his hands, wanting to end this night quickly so he could go take care of a new, yet familiar, problem he was stuck with at the moment. A problem that required privacy, lotion, and tissue. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to it. Maybe the machine just hates me. I’ll call in a Magical Appliance Maintenance bloke and ask him to inspect this. I’ll, erm, go wash the dishes.”

Again, George made his escape to wash those dishes, but he did it after a quick visit to the loo.

“You’re my brother, right?” Fred asked while they were eating fish and chips.

George looked up in surprise. “Right.”

“I’m your twin,” Fred said as a statement.

He had a bad feeling about this conversation, but he just nodded and repeated, “Right.”

Fred’s expression hardened and his eyes narrowed. “Then why have you never told me you fancy Harry Potter all these years?”

“Oh, er . . . ” George closed his eyes. Of course he should have guessed that Fred might have known his secret. They were twins. He should have known better than to think he could be successful at hiding his feelings from Fred. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. How was he going to explain his mixed up feelings to Fred? Those feelings of loneliness, the self-induced separation he somehow started to put between him and Fred because he didn’t feel like a twosome with his own twin — how was he to explain all that without sounding like an absolute wanker?

“You thought that if you admitted your crush, it would make us different, didn’t you? You thought our connection would be weakened. So you decided to just keep it to yourself and just try to go through this alone.”

It was strange seeing Fred this serious. True, George was the more serious twin compared to Fred, but Fred did have his serious moments, when he was also shrewd and perceptive. This was one of those moments.

Knowing that it would be pointless to lie now, George took the straightforward route. He met Fred’s eyes and answered, “Yeah, you’re spot on.”

“Those accidents you’ve been having around Harry pretty much gave it all away. I think even someone like Trelawney could have figured it out.”

“Shut up,” George muttered, feeling his cheeks getting warm.

Fred looked at him with a knowing expression. “What will you do now? Are you going to keep besmirching our good name by acting like a sod in love? Or are you going to grab opportunity’s balls and declare your undying romance to a certain Mr Potter?”

“No–”

“Don’t say nothing, Georgie–” George glared at his most hated nickname, “–or I will do something you will not like.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“If I have to, I’ll tell Harry myself. And I’ll never remember to put up a Silencing Charm when Angelina and I–”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Geoge’s face scrunched up in horror at the idea of being subjected to bad pornography for the next millennium. Something he was sure Fred would make him suffer through even if he ever got his own place. “I’ll do it!”

Fred smirked. “Great. You have two days to do it. I really don’t want to hear about any more love-struck accidents at the Coffeenator.”

George spelled a Skunk Pie — one of their products — to hit Fred’s face as his response. He ignored Fred’s curses and thought about how he was going to tell Harry that he liked him.

Two days later, George was a mess inside. He constantly wiped his hands on his trousers until he could feel the wetness soak through the material. Whenever he was near Harry, he had to take deep breaths so he wouldn’t start hyperventilating. He was so flustered that he decided not to deal with the customers that day, opting to have dirty dishes as his company and suffer having pruney hands. Thankfully, he didn’t have any more embarrassing accidents, yet when it was time for closing, he desperately wanted something to happen.

He came out from the back and went to the espresso machine and touched it; he waited to see if it’d do anything. It didn’t. It remained inanimate, but George felt like the machine was mocking him somehow, so he glared at it, begging it to do something so he could have a good excuse to hold this task off for another day.

The stupid sodding machine just stayed still. Before he could punch it, he heard Harry come up behind him.

“George? You all right?”

George spun around and saw Harry looking concerned. “I’m fine,” he managed out in a steady voice, so glad his voice didn’t crack! “I’m just, er, still trying to figure out that water explosion.”

“Yeah, I’m still confused about that, too. Then again, the maintenance bloke couldn’t figure it out, so maybe it was just a one-time thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey, I could go for some latte. You want anything?”

“Hot milk.” That should be better than tea or coffee. He really didn’t think he could handle any extra caffeine right now.

Harry nodded and busied himself behind the bar. George took a seat across from him, and he watched Harry work. It didn’t take long before Harry sat next to him and handed him a steaming cup of milk.

“Here you go.” Harry’s warm breath ghosted over his ears; George suppressed his shiver, grabbing onto his cup as his personal lifeline.

“Thanks.”

They drank in a companionable silence. Having Harry so close made George feel dizzy as he breathed in Harry’s wonderful, intoxicating scent. George took a deep breath. “Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I . . . ” It was on the tip of his tongue. He only had to say those three words — three difficult words — but while his mind was ready to say them, his tongue decided to freeze up.

Harry gave a side-glance with a slight frown. “No offence, but are you really all right? You’re acting very strange.”

Great balls of Hades! Where’s that Gryffindor courage of yours?! Just say it, you twit! Somehow, he heard Fred through their twin connection — something that hadn’t happened in ages — and he finally said it after he remembered Fred’s threat about the Silencing Charm.

“I like you!” George shouted, startling both Harry and himself. He focused his gaze on the bar’s surface, quickly lowered his voice, and said, “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I know you like blokes like I do, but I wasn’t sure you’d ever like me — please don’t think I’ve got a low self-esteem, I don’t — and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship over all this, so I didn’t tell you before. And I’m sorry I didn’t, but I . . . oh, fuck it! I can’t stop thinking about you, so that’s why all those accidents happened, except for that machine. Now that machine, I swear it must be possessed because I didn’t do anything to it, and it decided to turn into a waterfall on you, but never mind about that ruddy machine, but–”

Thankfully, Harry stopped him from babbling. George appreciated it. Really he did. He just didn’t expect Harry to kiss him. But he was being kissed by Harry, and it felt so, so, so good. Harry’s lips were so hot and so soft, and they became more so when he kissed back, tongues and all, and oh, Harry tasted delicious — better than any of the pastries and coffees he’d been having since this shop opened. His arms automatically wrapped around Harry’s neck, and he grabbed Harry’s head in the back, threading his fingers through the loose ponytail, and pulled him closer until they were both off their bar stools. George felt the bar digging into his back, but he didn’t care. They continued to snog each other heatedly. It was actually an awkward kiss — Harry’s glasses were in the way, and he could feel them poking his cheekbones, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Harry’s warm body against his and how he finally could touch that arse he’d been dreaming about for weeks. Before he slid his hands down there, though, he forced himself to break the kiss.

Both were panting, but neither of them let go of each other. This was the time to say something serious, but George ended up saying, “Your glasses are fogged up.”

Harry laughed. “Well, that was a pretty . . . steamy kiss.”

“So, er, you like me, too?” It was rather stupid of him to ask, but he wanted to confirm it. He already had plenty of accidents to his name right now. He didn’t want a misunderstanding to be on his long list of bloopers.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I’ve liked you for a while, too, and I wanted to say something to you, but you acted like you weren’t really interested, so I was waiting for you to make a move.”

“So essentially, we were both liking each other, but neither of us really had the balls to say anything.”

“That sounds about right.” Harry blushed. “I was really thinking you might have been interested in me on the day when that machine got me wet . . . but when you just dried me off, I thought I was wrong.”

George groaned and turned red. “Trust me. I was very, very interested in your wet state that time. It was all I could do to not jump you that day.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t.”

George’s entire body temperature intensified at that comment, making his tongue melt. So instead of saying anything, he just pulled Harry into another deep and passionate kiss.

And that was as far as they went that night. George — through his twin connection — was told to not go fast like a Thestral on speed, and he reluctantly agreed with that notion. Though his libido protested against him, he had no desire to fuck — no puns intended! — things up between him and Harry. He’d had to go through many trials to get him, so he’d do things right. In fact, before they parted that night, they planned their first date — Harry invited him to his house, and they were to have a Terminator marathon. George had no idea what a Terminator marathon was, but he looked forward to it.

He also looked forward to making things up with Fred. He felt silly for trying to isolate himself from his twin. He realised that while things were different now that they were adults, they’d always be there for each other, and they’d always be close.

Besides, payback’s a Boggart. It’s time to give Fred and Angelina a taste of their own potion!

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. — Carl Jung

Teddy remembered the first time he met Neville. That was his earliest and most vivid memory from childhood. He was playing at Harry’s place, and they were drawing and finger-painting in the sitting room. It was a messy activity, but Teddy loved it since he enjoyed the cool feel of the wet paint on his fingers and the colours he could combine to make what his grandmamma would call a “repursibe brown”. He didn’t think it was “repursibe” at all. He found it appealing since it matched his natural hair colour.

He’d been in the middle of trying to paint an orange cat — just like “Cookshrank” — when the Floo activated and out popped a man Teddy had never seen before.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Vividescent.

“Neville!” Harry exclaimed, standing up to greet their visitor. “What brings you here, today?”

The man called Neville was taller and broader than Harry. He had a friendly face, a slightly crooked smile, and eyes that twinkled. Teddy wasn’t sure what colour Neville’s hair was; to his eyes, it was either yellow or brown. Teddy watched with wide eyes as Neville dusted himself off with his large hands. He could plainly see dirt under Neville’s fingernails, and that surprised him since he thought most grown-ups didn’t play with dirt.

When Neville talked, his voice sounded very deep, one that made Teddy feel like he was eating delicious chocolates. “I stopped by — I know I’m overdue for our regular visit.” The warm brown eyes turned to look at him, and Teddy stared back without a sound. “Is this Teddy?”

Harry nodded. “He’s with me today because Andromeda had to do stuff. Teddy? This is Neville Longbottom, one of my good friends from school.”

Teddy still didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say.

A gentle smile came over Neville’s face, and Teddy watched him crouch down until their eyes were level. “Hey, there. I see you’re painting. Can you tell me about your picture?”

“It’s Cookshrank. It’s Herminny’s cat,” Teddy answered in a soft voice.

“Wow! It’s very good. Very colourful.”

Teddy smiled a bit as his large eyes stared questioningly at Neville’s hands. “Um . . . Mr Longbutton?”

“Neville. Just call me Neville.”

“Okay, ‘Nebul’, why’s your hands dirty?’

“Teddy,” Harry interjected. “That’s not a polite thing to ask.”

“But . . . ”

“It’s okay, Harry. He’s just a kid.” Neville laughed. It was a soft laugh, and it sounded happy. One of Neville’s hands reached out to pat Teddy on his shoulder. “It’s dirty because I work with plants. I like Herbology.”

“‘Herbogey’? What’s that?”

“It means I like to study plants and make them grow.”

“Really? Like flowers? Trees?” Teddy thought that was really cool. “That means you play with dirt?”

“Yep, I play with dirt.” Neville’s smile revealed his crooked teeth, and Teddy found them funny looking.

“Can I play with Herbogey, too?”

Neville and Harry laughed. “Sure,” Neville said. “I’ll show you my personal greenhouse one day.”

“Okay!”

Teddy decided that Neville was someone fun and different. He wasn’t as outgoing or funny as Ron or George, nor cool and beautiful like Bill or Fleur, but he thought Neville was super-nice and friendly for a grown-up. Plus, Neville played with dirt. That alone was good enough for him.

He wished all grown-ups weren’t so picky about playing with dirt.

“Grandmamma? How come Charlie has a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend?” Teddy wriggled a loose tooth as he watched his grandmother turn an interesting shade of red. It was quite an impressive sight, considering how she lacked any Metamorphmagus skills.

“Teddy Remus Lupin! What kind of a question is that?”

His friends told him to always smile innocently with big puppy eyes to avoid trouble with grown-ups. Teddy felt like he ought to give that a try. He had a feeling he’d just bungled up, so he widened his eyes and answered in a child-like voice, “I just wanted to know why he’s got a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. I thought it was normal for boys to have girlfriends. Not boyfriends.”

“Well . . . some men like men and some women like women. Love . . . love isn’t something one can be judgmental about. As long as the people themselves are kind and caring individuals, it doesn’t matter who they love.”

Teddy thought about her answer. He thought about the people he loved himself, but he figured that there were different, more grown-up kinds of love. “So it’s a choice people make?”

“Yes, dear. We all have the right to love who we want.”

He glanced at a plant, and he was reminded of something. “Does that mean Neville’s the same way?”

“Same way? Oh, you mean like Charlie?”

Teddy nodded.

“Well, yes, I suppose . . . but Teddy, it’s really none of your business. Don’t go around poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Andromeda said in a firm voice. “Now, let’s go practise your penmanship! I will not have a grandson who writes poorly.”

“Yes, Grandmamma.”

As he practised on improving his handwriting, Teddy daydreamed about Neville. He was slowly finding out that Neville was an interesting man. He’d heard stories about Harry and his friends’ adventures in their seventh year. He’d also heard stories about Neville’s bravery as he fought the bad wizards and witches in Hogwarts. Neville had acted quite headstrong and determined, and Teddy thought it didn’t quite fit what he knew of Neville right now.

The Neville he knew right now was kind and gentle, always friendly and polite, and Teddy enjoyed talking to him about the different kinds of plants. He’d visited Neville’s personal greenhouse several times now, and he’d watched Neville bent over a pot to take care of a flower, his hands and arms all black and brown from the dirt as he worked with a happy smile. Teddy really was having a hard time imagining Neville fighting the bad guys.

But all that didn’t matter to Teddy. He knew Neville was a good person, and that was what counted.

Teddy looked at the crowded platform, where he could hear the chattering and shouts of excitement from the students and their guardians. He clutched his grandmamma’s hand and Harry’s hand tightly. He knew he should be excited that he was finally going to Hogwarts, but he felt fear and nervousness surging through him instead.

He looked at the trunk Harry was levitating. It had all his new textbooks; he’d already flipped through them, and the scent of new books had wafted to his nose, encouraging him to get a head start in reading. There were new parchments, quills, and inks for him. He’d stuffed his “Hairy Teddy” in there along with some sweets, his potions equipment, and some new robes. In Grandmamma’s other hand, she carried a cage with a beautiful tawny owl Teddy had named “Amber”. He was ready for Hogwarts with all his new stuff, but he didn’t want to leave home.

He mainly didn’t want to leave his grandmamma and Harry, but he knew he had to go to Hogwarts. He just wished he didn’t have to board there, but that was the way things were so he had go with the system. Tears were in the back of Teddy’s eyes, and he blinked hard to keep them from coming out. He didn’t want to cry. He was going to Hogwarts now, and Hogwarts boys did not cry in public places.

However, when Grandmamma hugged him tightly, he buried his face in her chest, and a few tears came out against his will. He sniffled loudly, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and mumbled, “I don’t want to go.”

“Oh, Teddy, it will be fine. You’ll love it there, and we’ll write to each other. You’ll make new friends and have the time of your life,” Grandmamma soothed him.

Teddy wasn’t convinced. He wanted to study at home like he’d been doing before. Why did he have to go away?

Still hugging his grandmamma, he felt a large hand ruffling his hair, which was in a sombre shade of blue at the moment. “Teddy, don’t you remember all the stories I told you about Hogwarts? The ghosts? The moving portraits? The way to sneak into the kitchen to meet the house elves and grab some extra food?”

Teddy did remember. He did want to see all of the fascinating stuff Harry and Grandmamma had told him, but he just wasn’t ready to leave home yet.

“Plus, don’t forget. Neville will be there. If you ever have any problems, you can go to him,” Harry reminded him.

Neville? Teddy completely forgot about Neville being a professor at Hogwarts. He knew Neville worked there, but Teddy didn’t associate Neville as “Professor Longbottom”. He only considered him as “Neville”. But now that he remembered this little fact, he gave Harry and Grandmamma a brave smile. “Okay, but if I really don’t like it there, will you come get me . . . ?”

“I doubt that’ll happen, but yes, if you really want to leave, we’ll come get you,” Grandmamma promised.

When Harry gave him a big hug, he said, “Say hi to Hagrid for me, okay? And don’t worry so much. You’ll enjoy Hogwarts.”

With one more round of hugs, Teddy trudged onto the train. He found an empty compartment, but it didn’t stay empty that long. He was joined by a hyper girl, named Helena Kensington, who was a cousin of Mr Finnigan, and a friendly young boy named Jacob Goldstein. They were both first years like Teddy, and it wasn’t long before the three of them began to talk and converse like they’d been friends for years.

Eventually, they reached their destination, and he heard Hagrid’s loud voice calling all the first years towards him. After relaying the message to Hagrid from Harry, Teddy got in a boat with his new friends. Harry had told him about the Giant Squid, and even though he didn’t really want to run into the beast, he still kept out an eye for any signs of it.

Professor Vector, the deputy headmistress, greeted them in the castle, and she led them into the Great Hall.

Once again, nervousness came fluttering into his stomach as Teddy sensed thousands of eyes watching him. All the first years were silent, including Helena and Jacob, and they all stood in a line to go through the Sorting. Even though Teddy had heard plenty of stories about the Sorting Hat, it still tickled him to hear it actually sing.

The first student, a girl by the name of Victoria Adams went first. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, and Teddy waited a minute before it yelled, “Ravenclaw!”

As he waited for his turn, he wondered which house he would be put in. Would he go to Gryffindor like his father or Harry? Or would his mother’s house fit him more? Would he be sorted into Slytherin like his grandmamma? There was also Ravenclaw. Teddy really wasn’t sure where he’d end up.

Jacob went to Gryffindor, and Helena ended up in Slytherin. He waited and waited until Professor Vector finally said, “Lupin, Teddy!” Taking small steps to the stool, he sat on it. He ignored the stares as he tried to keep his hair brown instead of red. He didn’t want the whole world to see that he was embarrassed by all of this. He glanced up at the Head Table, and there he saw Neville smiling at him. It was an encouraging smile, making Teddy feeling a bit better. Before he could force a smile back, the hat came on him, and he nearly jumped at the voice he heard in his head.

“Well, well. A Lupin and a Tonks! I would have never guessed . . . but let’s see. I see you have a bit of everything going for you. Brave, yes. Hardworking, intelligent, ambitious . . . it’s not often I meet a first year like you, Teddy Lupin. Which house should I put you in . . . ”

I . . . I want to be in . . . the house where I can make people be proud of me. Teddy wasn’t sure why he suddenly thought that, but it was true. He did want to make his grandmamma and Harry and Neville all proud of him. And he wanted to make his parents proud of him, too, wherever they were right now.

“I see . . . if that’s how you feel then I think you will do excellently in . . . SLYTHERIN!”

A Slytherin. He was now a Slytherin. Teddy slipped the hat off, and he nearly stumbled over to the Slytherin table, where he was greeted by a happy Helena, who scooted over to give him a spot. As she chattered on how it was a shame that Jacob hadn’t joined them in the same house, Teddy dazedly stared at the rest of his new housemates. Some of them looked aloof and scary. Some looked as if they just didn’t care about what was happening around them as they conversed to themselves. Teddy felt strange inside. Was this really his house? Was he really suited for this?

He looked up, feeling someone’s eyes on him. He met Neville’s dark brown eyes. They were kind and gentle, and Teddy knew that he had Neville’s approval and support for his Sorting. He remembered what his grandmamma and Harry told him. It didn’t matter what house he was in. No house was better than the other. In Neville’s eyes he saw that same message, and he grew more confident with his house placement.

His nervousness disappeared, and he began to see that being at Hogwarts was going to be fun. Teddy did not regret coming here at all. He would make the best of it.

“Good morning. I am Professor Longbottom, and I want to welcome you all to my class.”

Teddy stared at Neville in awe. This Neville was different from the Neville he was used to. Then again, Neville had always been more of a good family friend than a direct authority figure. Whenever they’d been together, it was always to play in the greenhouse or to have dinner with Harry. He’d never seen Neville in his professor mode, and now he finally saw Neville in action.

“In my class,” Neville continued, “I expect you all to be attentive and on good behaviour. I will not tolerate anyone misbehaving. I have no qualms about giving out detentions or deducting house points. However, I will try to make this subject fun for you all. If you ever have any questions, do ask. The only stupid question is the one that’s never asked. So please, ask questions!”

Standing, Neville had a good, sturdy look about him. His back was straight, and his shoulders were broad. His eyes, while still looking gentle, had a firm look about them, and his mouth was set in a pleasant but no-nonsense smile. It was a strange contrast, but it was very effective. He watched Neville give two students — both were whispering — a fixed stare, and they quieted down without him ever telling them to do or raising his voice. In fact, Teddy noted that Neville never yelled. If Neville ever turned upset, his voice would change in its inflection, and Teddy could hear the disappointment underlying his deep voice

As each day passed, whenever Teddy had Herbology, his respect for Neville grew. Neville was very fair and firm, but he always acted in such a gentle manner that nobody would dare try to disappoint him. Teddy really liked that in Neville, and Neville quickly became his favourite professor after Professor Nott — who was the Head of his House and the Arithmancy professor.

One day he had been outside by the lake, enjoying the autumn breeze, reading at the docks, and again trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Giant Squid. He had no luck, though, and he was on his way back into the castle when he bumped into Neville.

“Hello, Teddy! What are you up to?” Neville asked cheerfully.

“Oh, Nev– I mean, er, Professor Longbottom. I was just reading outside.” This was the first time he had the chance to talk to Neville outside of class, and he had almost called him “Neville”, which was what he’d always called him before.

“I see. Good book?”

Teddy nodded as they stopped outside the main entrance. Now that he was alone with Neville, he had no idea what to say. Their relationship had changed somehow since he started at Hogwarts; they were now in the student and teacher relationship. Teddy wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. It wasn’t bad per se, but it was awkward. As much as he liked Neville as a teacher, he also missed their easygoing friendship they had before he started school.

“It seems like you’re really enjoying Hogwarts. I’ve heard that you’re doing well in your other classes and I see you’ve made new friends.”

Teddy nodded eagerly, glad that there was something to talk about. “Yes! I love it here, and I really like the whole castle. It’s such a wonderful place, and I do like my new friends.” He and Helena were great friends now, and they were both still friends with Jacob despite their different houses. Whenever they could, the three of them would study together in the library or spend time exploring the castle and visiting the kitchen for a snack.

“That’s great to hear. If you ever have any problems or want to talk about anything bothering you, do stop by my office or my personal greenhouse, okay?”

“All right, Professor. Thank you.”

Neville opened the door to the castle, and he turned and gave Teddy a big smile. “Also, whenever we’re alone, you can just call me ‘Neville’. Just don’t call me that in class, or I will assign a week’s worth of detention with Mr Filch.”

Teddy grinned. “I won’t call you that in class.”

“Have a pleasant day, Mr Lupin.”

“You, too, Professor.”

There were plenty of things for Teddy to learn at Hogwarts. He was taught all about the wizarding subjects — some more fun than others. He discovered that he enjoyed Potions, Herbology, and Transfiguration the best, while he detested History of Magic and Astronomy. Also in his studies, he enjoyed doing the practical lessons more than listening to the theories in lectures.

Aside from school, he learned much about his social life, too. He was slowly finding that not all Slytherins were aloof and scary as he had thought on his first day here. He realised here and there that not everyone would be friends with him, and that was fine with him. He’d always preferred having small groups of friends, and he was happy with Helena and Jacob. And even though he had one unique skill that not many had, he didn’t want to use it all the time and appear like he was bragging. Though, depending on his mood and stress level, it was a bit harder to control his hair or eyes from changing colours when he least expected.

Lastly, Teddy learned, in the beginning of his second year, that there were different kinds of respect. Especially with his professors. He respected most of his professors and listened to them — even if Binns was a boring ghost — and he liked all of them. He valued Professor Nott, his Head of House, and he knew that Professor Nott always had his door opened for the Slytherins if they ever had any problems that needed to be addressed. However, he noticed that he respected Professor Nott differently from Neville. With Neville, he wanted to go talk and get to know him. With Neville, he felt comfortable to the point where he could talk to him about his personal problems; with Professor Nott, he only could talk about school-related topics.

That was why, one day when he struggled with a personal problem of his, he sought out Neville instead of Professor Nott. Yet even though Neville had told him that he was welcome to visit whenever, Teddy still felt a bit jumpy when he knocked on Neville’s personal office door.

“Come in.” Teddy opened the door and entered with his hands behind his back. Neville’s office was a nice, cosy room; sunlight streaming inside gave it a warm and inviting feel. The earthy colours Neville had picked out for his curtains, carpeting, and furniture was a nice change from the rich and high-class office Professor Nott kept. Then there were the various flowers and plants Neville had all over the room. He saw a bonsai tree in the corner, and he remembered the time Neville had shown him how to take care of it. Teddy hoped to keep a bonsai tree of his own one day.

Teddy walked closer to the front of Neville’s desk. It was a large desk, and it was covered with papers. He looked at Neville who, with a quill in one hand and an essay in another, appeared quite occupied. Teddy had a feeling he’d come at bad time. “I . . . are you busy?” Teddy asked, his foot scuffing up the carpet.

“Oh, no! This is my last essay, and then I’ll be done . . . although the mess here probably makes it look like I have more to go . . . do excuse it. I kind of like having my desk all covered up with papers,” Neville explained cheerfully. He set the parchment and the quill down and gave Teddy his full attention. He gestured at the chair that was next to Teddy. “Have a seat. What can I do for you? Oh, would you like some tea and biscuits?”

After getting his own cup of steaming tea, Teddy took a sip and nibbled on a biscuit. “I . . . I need some advice.”

“Oh?” Neville’s brown eyes twinkled, and he lifted one dark blond eyebrow. For a few seconds, that eyebrow distracted Teddy. It wasn’t elegant and thin like Professor Nott’s or bushy and wild like Hagrid’s, but it was in between and nicely-shaped. Teddy didn’t think Neville would cast an eyebrow shaping spell like his grandmamma did, so those brows had to be natural. He decided he’d try to transform his just like that later when he was alone in the loo.

“Grandmamma’s birthday’s coming up. I want to get her a special gift, but I don’t have a clue on what to get her.”

“Well,” Neville said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands together, “what did you get her before?”

“Usually a card with a drawing or something, but I want to do something different this year . . . ” Teddy explained. “I’m coming up with a blank on what I could get her.”

“What are some things she likes?”

“She likes tea, flowers, books, and sewing, but those aren’t anything special for me to get her,” Teddy listed, staring at the teacup in his hand.

“Teddy? Anything you get her will be special since it’s from you.”

“I know . . . but I want to do more.” Teddy wasn’t sure how to explain it, but he really wanted to get her something extraordinary. “I was hoping you could give me a better advice than Helena and Jacob did. Helena told me to get her a subscription to Witch Weekly, and Jacob suggested I get her a bunch of sweets I can nab from her later.”

“Hm.” Neville pondered after he laughed at Teddy’s story. “When is her birthday?”

“In about a month.”

“Why don’t you try to make a handcrafted gift? You can personalise it to her liking, and since you made it yourself, it will really make her happy.”

Handcrafted? Like what? It wasn’t like he knew how to sew or anything. “I don’t know how to do that kind of thing. I can’t sew or knit.”

“Do you know Luna Lovegood-Scamander?” Teddy nodded. Since she was friends with Harry and Neville, Teddy knew of her slightly. “She’s really good at making all sorts of stuff. Maybe she could show you how to make a bookmark or something? You could also learn a stasis charm that will freeze your grandmother’s favourite flower into staying in its beautiful state forever, and you could add to the bookmark. Those are some suggestions.”

Teddy thought about it. It wasn’t something grand like he was originally thinking, but it was a great idea that would allow him to make a unique gift for his grandmamma, and it would be special since he made it personally. “That’s a good idea,” Teddy spoke with a smile. “But I don’t know Ms Lovegood-Scamander well enough to contact her . . . ”

“Then allow me. I’ll contact her. She’ll love to teach you all her neat tricks, and plus, you will be a new audience for her. She’ll love to talk about the Nargles with you.”

“Nargles?”

Neville smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

Intrigued as he was by Neville’s vagueness, Teddy was happier with the fact that he finally had an idea for his grandmamma’s birthday present. Joyfully, he drank and ate more of his tea and biscuit, and he said, “Thanks, Neville.”

Neville’s deep voice answered, “You’re welcome,” and the rest of the afternoon passed by pleasantly as Neville and Teddy talked about Hogwarts and Herbology.

“I hear you’re having some problems in your DADA class,” Neville said, placing a teacup and a saucer in front of Teddy.

Teddy came to have his weekly Saturday afternoon tea with Neville. Somehow, ever since that time when he went to talk to Neville about his grandmamma’s birthday present dilemma, they both made this get-together a weekly ritual. Teddy enjoyed their weekly meeting, but today, he wasn’t in a good mood and he scowled when Neville mentioned “DADA”.

“It’s that Boggart! I . . . I hate that thing!” Teddy exclaimed. He really did detest that creature, and he hated how its main purpose was to scare individuals by revealing their deepest fears out in the open like that. His deepest fear was loneliness, and although the Boggart would transform into this ball of darkness, and although he could see that it puzzled his schoolmates, he didn’t want them to know what his real fear was. Even though it was rather humorous to see his friend’s deepest fear — Helena was afraid of some weird looking people with white make-up on their faces, giant noses, weirdly painted mouths, colourful curly hairs, and these bizarre, puffy, polka-dot outfits — he still didn’t want to display his vulnerabilities.

“I don’t blame you. I didn’t really enjoy those either, but your father turned our Boggart class into a fun one . . . at least for me.”

Teddy brightened at the mention of his father. Harry had told him stories about his father as a professor, but Neville never mentioned about his experiences with his father. And since Neville never talked about it before, Teddy had almost forgotten the fact that Neville was a student of his father’s.

“Will you tell me about that class? Harry had already told me, but . . . I’d like to hear it from your perspective. And how come you’ve never talked about my father before?” Teddy didn’t mean to sound so curious and invasive, but he wanted to hear about his father. His grandmamma had plenty of stories to tell about his mother, but aside from Harry, there weren’t a lot of people he could talk with about his father.

Neville laughed lightly. “Which one do you want me to answer first?”

With his face and his hair turning red, Teddy stammered, “I, er, that is . . . ”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just joking.” Neville sipped on his tea before continuing. “Your father, as I’m sure Harry had told you, was a wonderful professor. Patient and kind, he allowed me to grow at my own pace, and he never once made me feel like I was a failure. I almost want to say, he’s probably the first adult who really instilled any confidence in me.”

Teddy listened to the Boggart story. He’d already heard about that particular class from Harry, but hearing the same story from Neville, it sounded different yet still very familiar.

As he listened and processed this precious bit of information, he realised that his father had left an impact on quite a few people. Sure, his father had only taught at Hogwarts for one year, but he knew, whether it was a day or a decade, single or multiple encounters, one person can leave a lasting impression on someone, leaving a bit of themselves behind.

His father had done that. Teddy felt like his father was more tangible after hearing these stories, and since he heard it from Harry and Neville — the two people he felt most connected to — he understood then that he was not alone, and he should never fear loneliness.

His father had given Harry and Neville confidence. Now, it was his turn. Indirectly, he received confidence from his father through Neville, and he’d tackle that bloody Boggart now!

“I can see you’re ready to challenge that Boggart. Shall we do that?” Neville asked, smiling as he stood up.

Teddy grinned. “Ready. Oh, and Neville? Thank you.”

He didn’t have to clarify on what he was thanking Neville for. Neville already knew.

Teddy grumbled and glared at the blank parchment, wishing he could burn it up with his eyes. He couldn’t concentrate on anything at the moment, especially not an essay; all he could think about was his latest argument with his grandmamma.

Behind him, he heard Neville shuffling about, seeing to his plants. It wasn’t a Saturday; Teddy only came here today to work on his dreaded Muggle Studies essay, wanting a quiet place with no distraction. Yet he was too high-strung to get the words out.

He startled when he heard Neville ask, “All right there, Teddy?”

Teddy grunted, watching the ink from his quill drip onto the clean parchment, wondering if he could at least train his eyes to do telekinesis and draw an unflattering image of his grandmamma. He decided against that idea. Knowing her psychic abilities, she’d find out and chew his ears out since she was obviously part-Harpy. Or at least distantly related to one.

He looked up when Neville sat across from him, who said lightly, “Sorry, but I don’t speak or understand cave-man language. Care to speak in English? Or maybe Welsh? I know a bit.”

Teddy bit his tongue. It really wouldn’t be wise to tell a professor — no matter how close they are — to bugger off. He thought for a minute before he asked, “How come you stopped being an Auror?”

Neville blinked before he said, “It just wasn’t for me. I’ve always preferred Herbology.”

“If you’ve always preferred Herbology, why’d you become an Auror?”

“To be honest, I wanted to still try it. It was something my parents did. I wanted to try it and see if I could feel closer to them. And Gran, who raised me, had this idea that I’d be like my father, her only son.”

It was Teddy’s turn to blink. “That’s it!” he blurted. “That’s the same thing Grandmamma’s pushing me into! She wants me to be an Auror. She insists that it’ll be a good career and it’ll let me work with Harry.” He looked off to the side, trying to suppress his bitterness. He tried to keep the words from coming out, but they escaped him. What he said next wasn’t exactly true, but he was just so frustrated that the words tumbled out. “I think that’s all she sees me as. I look more like my mum. I’m a Metamorphmagus like my mum. I like to be a night owl like my mum. Apparently, I am my mum’s clone! Grandmamma doesn’t see me as me. I’m just a male version of Mum!”

Breathing hard, Teddy angrily looked away as tears stung his eyes. He hated to lose his composure, but after days of keeping his feelings bottled up, he just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Neville didn’t say anything, and Teddy realised then that he probably sounded really immature and bratty. Bowing his head, his fringe covering his eyes, Teddy mumbled, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Neville answered calmly.

Teddy looked up then, and he saw something in Neville’s face. He didn’t see disgust or pity; he saw support and understanding in those brown eyes. “You understand,” he said simply.

Neville nodded. “What is it do you want to pursue after Hogwarts? What is it you really want to do?”

“Potions. I . . . I want to study it and be a Potions master.”

“Have you ever tried to tell your grandmother what you just told me?”

Teddy shook his head. “I didn’t think she’d listen. She’s . . . stubborn.” He stopped himself in time from saying “an old cow”.

“You should do so. Granted, like you said, she’ll be stubborn, but she’ll come around. Gran did for me. Eventually.” Neville grinned. “Just don’t do your screaming banshee act, all right? Believe me when I say that older women are not to be messed with. They are quite . . . formidable.”

Teddy snorted. “And strange.”

“I can’t disagree with you on that.” Neville laughed and shook his head. “Then again, my grandmother likes to wear vulture hats.”

“That’s nothing. Mine thinks sauerkraut with liver is tasty. I think she’s mad. Those two things are nasty, and that sauerkraut stinks up the whole house when she makes it. I swear, her nose is fully clogged.” Teddy sniggered at the green tinge on Neville’s face.

Neville coughed. “Well, we’ll have to exchange grandmother stories later.” He eyed Teddy’s parchment. “Is that your Muggle Studies essay?”

“Yeah.”

“You better start writing that essay. Now that Luna’s the new Muggle Studies professor, the consequences are not pretty if you don’t do well on your assignment.”

Rolling his eyes, Teddy dryly said, “I don’t mind listening to her talking about the Nargles. She does that whenever she helps me with Grandmamma’s gifts.”

“Oh? That’s only like a few hours.” Neville’s face turned green once more. “Try ten hours and throw in twelve hours of her talking about the Blibbering Humdinger and Crumple-Horned Snorkack to the mix.”

Teddy stared at Neville and then quickly looked at the parchment. “Er, I suppose I should concentrate fully on the many uses of a Karaoke machine.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Teddy groaned as he lifted up his blanket to see his morning greeting. This had become a daily occurrence, and he knew this was normal for a boy of his age, but the content of his dreams confused him. Instead of soft and gentle curves, dainty and pretty hands, perky breasts, and a gorgeous female seducing him, he had hard angles, large and callused hands, a flat chest, and a handsome male seducing him.

He wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact that it was a faceless bloke invading his sexual fantasies. Then again, he’d never really thought about his sexual orientation that much before. He’d just assumed he liked the ladies; the idea that he’d prefer the gentlemen had never really occurred to him until these dreams appeared almost out of nowhere.

Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him something. He sensed something familiar about the faceless bloke, but no matter how much he mulled over that pesky implication, he was unable to figure out the faceless bloke’s identity.

He needed to talk about this with someone, someone who wasn’t an adult and who wouldn’t judge him.

He decided to tell Helena first; he was slightly closer to her anyway. He’d tell Jacob later.

He told her at the docks. It was just the two of them enjoying the warm spring sunshine and the flower-scented breeze. He took a deep breath and said, “I think I’m gay.”

Helena’s gum went flying and landed in the water with a plop. She turned and stared at him as her mouth moved without making a single sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Not that I care, but why do you think you’re gay. It’s either you are or you’re not. Or you could be bisexual. If that’s the case, your Metamorphmagus skills will come in handy if your next man or woman decides they want to experiment having sex with the opposite gender.”

He gave her a horrified look. “How can you say all that with a straight face?”

“It’s in my nature.” She smirked at him. “Now, don’t change the subject. Why do you think you’re gay?”

“I . . . I just think I am?” No matter how close they were, he decided to keep his fantasies and dreams a secret only privy to himself.

“Look,” she said exasperatedly. “Are you asking me to help find out if you are? Is that what this is about? You want me to plant you a big, wet kiss or something?”

Unsure if she was serious or not, he slowly said, “I guess?”

“Fine, fine.”

Before his brain could decipher her response, she grabbed him by his arms, and her grip was extremely strong — not surprising since she was one of the Beaters. As his arms protested against her iron-clad hold, she pulled them together, with her breasts squashing into his own chest. He didn’t find them pleasant or soft. When their lips met, her teeth clashed into his, but after that initial bumpiness, they stayed still, hers pressing against his, and he waited for some sort of a spark or a “zing” he secretly read about in his grandmamma’s trashy romance novels from her own hidden stash.

He felt nothing. No spark, no zing, absolutely nothing.

They parted, and she grinned. “You didn’t like it.”

He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so–”

“Don’t apologise. You don’t need to. At least we’ve established that you don’t like kissing girls — or at least me. Are you going to test your gay theory by kissing Jacob? That would actually be a very interesting way to come out to him.”

“Helena!” he yelled. “Ew! Just, no! I think he’d punch me if I tried!”

“True. A shame, though. I’d kill to have a picture of you two snogging. That could be my personal wanking material . . . ”

He covered his ears and shouted, “Too much information!”

Helena’s laugh could be heard all the way to Wales.

“I have a question,” Jacob said, blowing on his hands. “That damn warming spell is not helping.”

“That’s,” Helena said witheringly, “not a question.”

Teddy snorted as he watched the people pass by. Many were Hogwarts students enjoying their Hogsmeade weekend, but there were older wizards and witches bustling through the busy town.

Jacob glared. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, but my previous comment goes well with what I’m about to say next. Why, for the love of Merlin, are we people watching out in this freezing weather?!”

“There’s more to see out here,” Helena explained. “While Teddy and I admire the handsome wizards walking around, you can drool over the witches and imagine them propositioning to you. A shame it’ll never happen in reality.”

“Oi!” Jacob shouted while Helena threw her head back and laughed. “I don’t see any wizards coming up to you or Teddy! Teddy, why are you letting her abuse me like this?”

Holding back his own laughter, Teddy held up his hands and backed away. “Don’t drag me into this. You and I both know that it’s pointless trying to outwit her.”

Something caught Teddy’s eyes. Ignoring his two best mates bickering as usual, he squinted his eyes, barely making out the two people in the shadows of the dark alleyway. His eyes widened a bit as he watched the two of them in their private snog fest. He could see one of them pressed against the wall; he took in that wizard’s strong grip on his partner’s hips. The way the two moved against one another appeared so powerful, so needy yet beautiful, that Teddy had to force himself to look away. Yet he couldn’t help but feel something off about this, feel like he should know one of those wizards.

Helena and Jacob hadn’t noticed anything. They were still arguing with each other, so Teddy walked away from them and he leaned against a wooden fence and dug through his bag of sweets. He picked out a Chocolate Frog and unwrapped it, holding onto the sweet tightly so it wouldn’t escape. Just as he took a bite, he saw one of the wizards walk out from the alleyway. He looked at the wizard’s back, looked at the familiar dark-brown robes, the slightly shaggy dark-blond hair, and he stilled. The chocolate in his mouth melted, but he couldn’t taste anything. He just stared at the wizard’s back, feeling something igniting deep inside of him.

“Oh! Hello, Professor Longbottom!” Helena’s distinctively loud voice pulled him out from his stupor, and Teddy now stared into Neville’s slightly flushed face.

And Teddy knew why Neville’s cheeks were pink, he knew why Neville’s lips were swollen, and he knew why the back of the robes looked slightly dusty.

He knew.

His feelings hidden inside of him intensified. Anger, happiness, sadness, eagerness. They all warred against each other within him. All those times he’d spent with Neville, the advices, the conversations, those dreams . . . he’d somehow fallen for Neville Longbottom.

He was in a daze. He could hear Helena and Jacob talking to Neville. He heard himself telling Neville that he’d just bought some sweets. When Neville walked away, Teddy didn’t miss the concerned looks from him. And when Helena and Jacob asked if he was all right, he answered in a monotonous voice.

At the castle, when he was finally alone in his dorms, his mind cleared up a bit. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes, and it wasn’t long before his imagination took over. He thought about what it would be like if he’d been the one pushing Neville against that dirty wall, wondered how tight Neville’s hands would be on his hips. Those same hands were always gentle and caring towards any plant life. Would there be dirt under the nails? How would Neville’s callused hands feel when they touched him?

He thought about the kiss, remembering how that one kiss with Helena left him feeling nothing. Somehow, he just knew that kissing Neville would be different. The “zing” he so craved, he almost could sense it on his own lips. He then pondered on how Neville would taste. Would he taste the tangy flavours of Earl Grey — Neville’s favourite tea — or would it be something different? Something spicy? Sweet?

In a joint effort, all of his senses and his mind worked overtime as he fantasised all of this to the point he almost thought Neville was actually in the room with him — kissing, touching, never stopping, and always encouraging.

After hours of lying on his bed, Teddy whispered, “Blimey.”

With this huge revelation, he knew that everything had changed for him.

Their Saturday get-togethers occurred less. Teddy told Neville he was too busy studying for his NEWTs, a perfectly good excuse he used all throughout his seventh year.

Honestly, though, being away from Neville was a blessing and a curse. Teddy hated being away from him, hated that he had to lie and pretend he was too NEWT-obsessed to be in the same room as him. Even his Herbology classes were doing a number on his libido. Every time he saw Neville do something, he wanted to jump him. Just hearing Neville’s deep voice and watching those wonderful hands touch a plant in a caressing manner made Teddy instantly aroused.

It wasn’t long before Helena and Jacob cornered him at the docks to question his strange behaviours.

“What’s the matter with you? I know I always say that we’re an odd bunch, but you’re acting really weird.” Jacob punched Teddy’s shoulder, making him wince.

Before he could punch Jacob back or shove him into the lake, Helena announced, “I think I know why. Ickle Teddy Bear is in love.”

“That’s your theory. My theory is better,” Jacob said, cutting Teddy off once more.

“What’s your theory? You know I’ve got the brains, right? You’re just too busy fumbling around in Myrtle’s bathroom with whatsherface to come up with a good theory. You’re just going to say something like ‘He needs to get laid’.”

“Oi!”

“You know I’m right.” Helena smirked before turning her attention to Teddy. “Now, fess up!”

Teddy hesitated. He knew his friends wouldn’t judge him, but he wasn’t sure if he could tell them yet. He chose to be vague. “You’re right, I suppose.”

Jacob gave him a wary look. “She is?”

Helena ignored Jacob and gave Teddy a long look. “With who?”

“I don’t really want to say right now.”

“You’re spoiling the fun here. You’re supposed to launch onto about the love of your life and how you’d bring them the moon and the stars or something sappy like that.” She grimaced. “Never mind. I should know better than to believe in those crap-filled romance novels.”

Before Teddy could retort with something witty, Jacob, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, said, “It’s Professor Longbottom, isn’t it?”

Teddy swallowed loudly, fighting hard to keep his purple hair from changing colours. He could have easily denied his friend’s claim and lied. But he found himself unable to deny the truth now that it was out in the open, especially when his two best friends were right in front of him. Closing his eyes tightly, he nodded.

Nobody said anything. Teddy could hear the splashing from the lake, the distant chattering of students, and Fang’s barking. There was a breeze, and the pages of his book fluttered under his thumbs. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and forced himself to look at his friends.

He nearly fell off the docks upon seeing their grins.

“We knew it. Or at least we guessed it, but I was the one who thought of Professor Longbottom.” Jacob turned towards Helena and gleefully said, “I was right. You owe me now!”

Grumbling, Helena muttered, “For once. I mean, it was kind of obvious, so even you could have picked up on Teddy’s sudden mood changes and the changes in his schedules.”

Teddy blinked. “You guys were betting on me?”

“Not really. We were just guessing.” Helena sat next to Teddy and put an arm around his shoulders. “I have to say, you have good taste. That Professor Longbottom does have some nice arse.”

“Please! I respect the bloke. Really, I do, but let’s not talk about his or anyone’s arse at the moment?” Jacob intervened.

Laughter escaped Teddy’s mouth, and he felt tension leaving his body. He should have expected his friends to make a serious situation into a fun one.

Helena rolled her eyes at Jacob’s statement. “I’m going to pretend you’re invisible. I’ll just talk to Teddy. Anyway, Teddy, dear, what are you going to do about your great love for Professor Longbottom?”

“Nothing,” Teddy sighed.

“Nothing?” Jacob and Helena said together.

“Yeah, nothing. I mean, I . . . ”

“Is it because you don’t want to broach that student and teacher relationship thing?” Helena asked.

“No, that’s not it . . . ”

“Is it because you don’t feel like you’re — how should I put this . . . oh, sod it. You don’t feel like you can confess anything to him until you feel like you’re his equal or something?” Jacob questioned seriously.

Helena and Teddy gaped as if Jacob had grown another head and a tail.

“What?” Jacob looked annoyed. “Despite what you two might think, I am not an idiot.”

“Ah.” Helena snapped her finger with a smile. “You’ve been reading those psychology books of yours, haven’t you? Well, you’ve always been a bit sex-crazed, so all those Freudian stuff should be a no-brainer for you!”

“Aw, stuff it, Helena!” Jacob gave Teddy his full attention. “Anyway, if that’s the case, then the solution is simple! Go out into the real world, live a little, and then when you’re ready to conquer Professor Longbottom, go after him.”

“Yeah, follow Jacob’s plan. I hate to admit it, but it’s actually a good one. You need to be wiser and gain more self-confidence to go after a man of Professor Longbottom’s calibre. You can do it, Teddy.”

“Oh, you two!” Teddy laughed once more and crushed them into a three-way hug. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Don’t thank us. Thank Professor Scamander. Have you been talking to her lately? She made me and Jacob have a meeting. A three-hour long meeting, sprouting about Nargles or something, saying that they’ve possessed you, and that we need to talk to you.” Helena made a face. “We don’t take Muggle Studies like you do. Does she go on like that all the time?”

“Well, the last time I met her, my head was in the clouds . . . ” Teddy gave them a sheepish look. “Yeah, she tends to ramble, doesn’t she?”

“Definitely,” Jacob affirmed. “Not that it’s a bad thing, I suppose. Her theories were interesting. Strange, but interesting.”

“Enough with this love fest between us. Let’s talk more on this later. I want to go to Hogsmeade. You two come with me.” Helena got up and stretched. “I want some sweets. Race you two!”

She dashed off, with Jacob running after her, shouting that she’d cheated. Teddy ran after them, his book in hand, and he decided he’d just have fun with these two now and think about Neville later. He had time, after all.

Teddy felt like an idiot.

He watched the closed doors to Neville’s office, shifting his feet. He’d stayed there for the last fifteen minutes, wishing he’d brought that letter with him so he could have just easily slipped it under that door.

“I should have just endured Helena’s screeching lecture and just went about it my own way,” he muttered to himself, thinking back to the conversation he had with his two friends earlier. He and Helena and Jacob were technically no longer Hogwarts students as of this afternoon, but they were spending one final night here before they all separated tomorrow.

Teddy took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He’d told his friends that he had a plan, a simple plan consisting of him confessing his love to Neville. In a letter.

He regretted telling them his plan. Helena had balked at the idea, claiming that it was very impersonal and a coward thing to do. In fact, her exact words were, “I know you and I are the intelligent Slytherins, and we like to tackle stuff seamlessly and quietly, but I know you’ve got some of that Gryffindor traits in you. Find it, grab their bollocks, and go tell Professor Longbottom in person!”

Even Jacob had agreed with her. Damn him for being so diplomatic about it, too, with his, “She’s right, you know. She and I both say go tell him in person. You’re the one who wants to send him a love confession on a parchment. That’s two against one. Majority rules in this case.”

“Traitors, the lot of them!” Teddy continued to mumble to himself.

He groaned, hearing Helena’s waspish voice in his brain again. He clearly heard her, “Knock on that door, you idiot! Now!”

Teddy stepped closer to the door, raised his shaking hand, and knocked.

“Come in,” Neville’s pleasant voice rang out; the deep tone made Teddy’s stomach do flip-flops. He realised then that it had been ages since he’d last came to visit Neville, and he wished he hadn’t been so stupid to forgo his Saturdays like that. Forcing himself to stay away from Neville had caused Teddy to miss him more.

Teddy entered, and he saw Neville’s expression, a mixture of surprise and something else. Expectant? Was Neville expecting him?

Neville’s face transformed, displaying his gentle, familiar smile. Standing up, he gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. Do you want some tea? Juice?”

This all felt familiar and comforting, but that didn’t ease his nervousness at all. Teddy shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pocket before saying, “I’m only here for a bit. I just want to tell you something.”

“Oh?” One of Neville’s eyebrows quirked up, and Teddy had to clench his fists, preventing one or both of them from reaching out. He couldn’t allow his hands to touch Neville. He knew if they touched Neville, they would never stop.

Teddy mentally slapped himself. He had to do this. He wanted to do this, wanting no regrets or having questions about all the “what-ifs”. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “I like you.”

Neville blinked. “I like you, too, Teddy.”

“No!” Teddy lowered his voice. “I mean, I like you, Neville. I’ve liked you for a while, probably for a long time, but I didn’t realise it until . . . ” He bit his lips, realising it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention his accidental voyeurism at Hogsmeade.

“That day in Hogsmeade. You saw me and my lover then.” Neville’s calm statement was just that, a statement, not a question. “You also stopped our Saturday get-togethers.”

Teddy gaped at him. He’d imagined all sorts of conversations from the result of his confession, but this scenario had never occurred in his head. “I . . . how’d you know?”

“Teddy,” Neville sighed. “I thought about this, and only two things came into my mind. One was that I did something to upset you. I wasn’t certain what I might have done, but I must have done something to make you uncomfortable with me. The other possibility was that you’ve developed a crush on me, and that made you uncomfortable instead. With you here, visiting me on your final night instead of out partying with your friends, I figured the second possibility was the most logical.”

Once again, Teddy felt like an idiot, but he hurried onto his next question, figuring he had nothing to lose. “How do you feel about me?”

Neville was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Teddy, I’ve known you since you were a child. You’ve grown up to become a fine wizard, and I admit you’re very easy on the eyes, but . . . ”

“Don’t say it. Don’t say I’m too young and don’t know any better.”

“Teddy, have you even been with anybody?”

“Well, no, but . . . ”

“I don’t want you to mistake your affection towards me.”

“It’s not a mistake!” Teddy felt his hair changing colour. He knew, without looking, it was fiery red right now. He pursed his lips and breathed hard through his nose as he tried to calm down. In a softer voice, he said, “It’s not a mistake, nor am I confused. I know what I want, and I know my feelings well to know that I really do like you. That day, when I saw you in Hogsmeade, I was jealous of that guy. I was wishing I was in his place instead of him. I . . . I’m no longer your student. I’m of age, and I know what I want. I want you.”

Neville stayed quiet, his usually warm brown eyes were void of any emotion, but Teddy saw it. A tiny glint of emotion. He wasn’t sure exactly what that glint was, but his instincts told him it was something akin to desire and astonishment.

It was enough to give Teddy courage to say, “Kiss me, please. Kiss me. I want to . . . I want to try it with you.”

Neville’s eyes narrowed. “You know I can have my wards kick you out?”

Teddy nodded and declared, “But you won’t.” Again, following his instinct, he stepped around Neville’s desk and stopped in front of Neville. Teddy could feel Neville’s warmth, and it made him feel warm, his palms beginning to sweat. He took his hands out and reached out to tilt Neville’s head slightly. In the last couple of years, Teddy had outgrown Neville by a couple of inches. Their eyes met, and this time Teddy didn’t miss the glint of suppressed desire.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Vividescent.

Slowly, Teddy moved closer, angling his head slightly. He could feel Neville’s hot breath against his cheeks, and he stilled when only mere centimetres separated them. Teddy waited, wondering if Neville would push away or punch Teddy’s noggin hard.

Neville did neither. Who made the next move, Teddy wasn’t sure, but the gap between them closed and lips met each other. Neither moved, just two lips pressed against each other, both chapped but warm. The light pressure didn’t give Teddy the spark he sought, so he was about to break it off, disappointed, but then Neville slightly parted his lips, and Teddy parted his, too. Their tongues, both hot and wet, encountered then, and that was when Teddy felt that delicious, powerful, and mind-blowing zing.

Blood rushed through Teddy’s body, and he had a sensory overload as he tasted, smelled, and touched the man he’d been wanting for ages. All those dreams of him kissing and touching Neville were nothing compared to the actual real thing right this moment. He intensified the kiss, his tongue reaching deeper into Neville’s sensual mouth. His hands, originally around Neville’s hips, began to move and dance all over Neville’s broad back and shoulders. While his mouth and his hands busied themselves, he pressed his whole body against Neville’s, loving the hardness of a man’s body and discovering just how wonderful Neville fit in his embrace.

Teddy wanted someone to freeze them, desperately wishing he could always savour this exact moment, but his longing went unanswered as Neville gently broke the kiss and stepped back as he panted lightly.

Panting himself, Teddy could feel disappointment growing inside of him. He struggled to keep his face neutral. “You didn’t like it, right?”

Neville shook his head. “On the contrary,” he said softly, reaching out to place a hand on Teddy’s shoulder, “it was quite nice.”

“Nice?” Teddy echoed. “Nice? It was beyond nice! I . . . kissing you was brilliant! It was so much different, so much better, so much . . . way better than kissing Helena!”

“Helena?” Neville started to laugh. “I see.”

Teddy wasn’t sure what made him say his next statement, but he did. He grabbed Neville’s shoulder and looked at him fiercely. “You enjoyed it. You felt that zing, too.”

“Zing? Is that what the younger crowds call it now?”

Teddy, embarrassed by his choice of word, ducked his head, blushing hard to match his hair colour. “Well, yes, zing. I blame my grandmother’s secret stash of romance novels. I think that’s where I picked up that word–”

Neville’s hand went through Teddy’s hair, and that calmed Teddy down. His fingers, so long and big and protective trailed down to touch Teddy’s cheek. His voice gentle, he said, “I felt it, too. That spark. I’ve been with a few partners now, but kissing you, I felt that connection. Kissing you is different from the others.”

Teddy’s eyes brightened, and his hair changed to turquoise while his face still remained red. “Does that mean–” He couldn’t continue it. Instead, he gave Neville a hopeful look.

“Well . . . ” Neville’s hesitation caused Teddy’s stomach to plunge unpleasantly. “Teddy, I do like you, and I am attracted to you. However, I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to start up a relationship with you so quickly.”

“I see,” Teddy said slowly. He heard the unsaid words. He knew Neville thought he was too young, not ready to get into a relationship with someone seventeen years older. He still had some growing up to do in Neville’s eyes. He’d matured from a little child to a man now. He’d gone through many changes that were physical and concrete or mental and abstract. He’d evolved, and he wasn’t finished. Neither was Neville, nor anybody else. Evolution was everywhere, inevitable and inescapable, but it could be manipulated, and that was exactly what Teddy planned to do. After all, he was a Slytherin.

Neville looked at him warily. “You’re smiling. Rather dangerously. Should I worry?”

Teddy shook his head. “No, I plan to woo you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I agree we should take this slow. You know I’ve taken up an apprenticeship to become a Potions master? I’ll be doing that with Professor Slughorn. That means I’ll be in Hogwarts a lot. That also means . . . ”

Neville chuckled. “I can’t get rid of you that easily, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, get that mastery first, and then we’ll take the next step.”

“Wait, what?” Teddy glared, wondering if he’d just been outwitted by Neville, a Gryffindor of all people. “That might take a couple of years!”

Neville just laughed again. “We’re wizards. We’ve got a pretty long lifespan, so why are you going to let two or three years hinder your goal?”

“When you put it that way . . . ” Teddy rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine! It’s obvious I can’t win with you!”

Neville responded with a soft kiss to Teddy’s cheek. “Glad you realised that. Now, do me a favour? Go out and party with your friends. You don’t need to hole yourself up in here with me when your friends are leaving tomorrow.”

“Can I have another one of those ‘zinger-fied’ kisses? On the mouth?” Teddy couldn’t help asking.

“Fine, fine. But after that, I’ll kick you out. I need to go water Maurice and Alec, and I’ll have to make sure Clive is recovering from a burn one of the first year students caused, all right?”

“All right.” And Teddy puckered up one last time for the night.

Now that he had hope, he would use it to his advantage. And his next goal was to convince Neville to take the next step sooner than later by asking Helena and Jacob to come up with a plan — never mind that their plans had a tendency to work or backfire or both.

Teddy was ready for anything.

Harry!

— Gred and Forge

As the powerful stench of garlic invaded his nostrils, Harry took trepid steps into the dangerous room known as the WTTR — Weasley Twins’ Testing Room — or the “Lair” as the twins fondly called it. Whatever they called it, it was a room no sane human — Muggle or magical — would enter. That was especially true for vampires or anybody allergic to garlic.

Harry watched Fred and George mumble to each other, and he cautiously peered into an open box, curious to see what their latest new product was.

Well, he didn’t exactly see a product, per se, but he did see a ton of garlic, all peeled and proudly displaying its pale, yellow-coloured exterior. He reeled back from their familiar scent; he could practically taste the garlic.

“Oh, hello, Harry!” Fred cheerfully said.

“Real glad you could come, mate!” George added.

“What . . . what are you making here?” Harry managed to wheeze out. He was starting to feel light-headed, and oddly enough, he began to crave garlic bread of all things.

George pulled out something, and it took Harry few minutes to figure out what it was. “What do you think?” George asked.

“It’s . . . it’s a bra, right?”

“Yes,” Fred answered.

“Made out of garlic.” He stared at the bra, stared at the breast covering and the straps, all made with garlic.

George nodded eagerly. He dangled the bra closer to Harry. “The cloves are magically attached to each other, and it took ages for us to figure out how to make it flexible so that once someone puts the strap on, it will magically clasp itself in the back. It will automatically adjust to fit any breast size.

“And,” Fred continued, “this is our other design. For the kinkier folks.”

Harry ogled the second design. The garlic cloves were put together to form an outline of the bra, and in the centre of each breast covering part — he had no idea what the proper term was — there was a single clove of garlic there, obviously meant to cover the nipples. Otherwise, the breasts would be fully exposed if it was worn. He coughed. “Well, it’s certainly . . . kinky? But what’s with this fascination with garlic?”

“You know how we went to South Korea to see if we could expand our business there?” Fred explained. “Well, we discovered that the Koreans there are absolute fanatics for garlic in their cuisines. Everything they make–”

“–garlic is always included,” George piped in. “In fact, one of our potential business partners joked that South Korea is one country vampires would never visit because of all their garlic. That’s when we had this idea . . . ”

” . . . to make garlic undergarments!” Fred finished with a beaming smile.

Harry’s mouth dropped opened. “I guess it’s a creative idea, but how is this going to appeal to the public?”

“It will. Especially when we finish the Speedo-style pants. This will be perfect for those who want to ward off unwanted advances,” George spoke as he jotted something down on his notebook.

“And if they want the advances, all they have to do is say ‘Allium sativum’ — that’s the Muggle scientific name for garlic, mind you — and it will change to chocolate, which is perfect since we all know chocolate is a delicious aphrodisiac!” Fred clapped his hands once. “Now, we’d like you to test this product for us.”

“Excuse me?” Harry couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “Test it?”

Fred and George both nodded with evil, identical smiles. George summoned something, and he promptly gave it to Harry. “As our silent partner, you have the honour of getting the first garlic boxers from our store. Thankfully, we know your lover likes both garlic and chocolate.”

Flushing, Harry felt warmth in his cheeks and his ears. “Well, I suppose Neville likes both, but–”

“No buts!” Fred began to push Harry out the door. “We won’t accept your refusal. Just try it out and let us know how it goes. And don’t worry. We’ve charmed it so the garlic won’t be so spicy that it hurts your privates or wherever it touches!”

“Good to know,” Harry muttered as he walked out the door.

“Let us know in twenty-four hours how it went!”

Not sure and not caring who said that last bit, Harry Apparated to his flat — the one he shared with Neville — in a daze.

The Quibbler
Special Edition #10 — March 2001

Endorsed by war heroes, Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, these products have gained quick popularity. We at The Quibbler theorised that the Nargles and the Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks also like these products, and they are affecting the wizarding society’s sexual behaviours, making wizards and witches of all ages enjoy these unique bits of paraphernalia.

If you haven’t tried these ingenious undergarments, we highly recommend it. Perfect for those who love garlic and chocolate, and excellent for those who wish to ensure no vampires will sneak into their bed as they sleep.

“Mum? Dad?” Hugo shuffled his feet and stared at the ground, trying to think of a way to force out the words he didn’t want to say.

Rose was in her room, most likely drawing or painting one of her new art projects. His parents were in the sitting room, relaxing with some tea and their own quiet activities — chess for his dad and a thick book for his mum. He didn’t want to disturb the peace there, but he had to do it. Had to ask the burning question that lingered in his mind.

His parents looked up and smiled. “Yes?” his mum said, setting her book down in her lap.

Hugo’s bottom lip quivered, which made him swallow hard as he tried to control his emotions. “Am I . . . ” He couldn’t say it. The words refused to come out.

“What is it, son?” his dad asked, tilting his head in a familiar way.

“Come,” his mum said, patting next to her on the sofa. She looked worried. “Have a seat.”

Hugo stayed where he was — he simply couldn’t move; his feet felt as heavy as lead. Instead, with his head still hanging down, he blurted out, “Am I going to Hogwarts in September?”

Silence permeated the room; Hugo could hear the tick-tocking of the clock and the steady breathing of his parents. He could hear Rose’s soft muttering somewhere above him. His parents shared a look, and he saw them shift uncomfortably.

He saw his dad looking darkly at his chess pieces, but that dark expression quickly disappeared, and Hugo wondered if he’d imagined that look. His mum, on the other hand, looked straight at him, and he could clearly see the guilt on her face. Hugo always thought of his mum as pretty — pretty and young; now, she appeared almost as old as Grandma Weasley.

His mum broke the silence first. “Hugo, darling, I’m afraid not.” Her voice held a hint of remorse and sadness, and that made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

“I’m not?” he said emotionlessly.

“I’m sorry, Hugo, but Hogwarts will not accept–”

He didn’t want to hear it. That word. That dreaded word. Spinning around, he ran out of the room, ignoring his parents calling after him. With tears streaming down his face freely, he ran hard to the front door and exited the house. The tears had blinded him, so he didn’t see two blurry figures coming down the path, where he promptly crashed into someone not much taller than him.

He paused only to see who he’d crashed into. It was Scorpius, Al’s best friend. A new wave of mortification came over him, and he shoved Scorpius aside and sprinted down the street, wanting to get away from everyone and everything.

He ran until his stomach cramped up and his lungs burned from the exertion. Panting, he reached the small park near his house. It was quiet and still — nobody else was there but him. He found a bench, half-hidden by trees, and he sat there, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. His harsh breathing broke its stillness, as well his new round of sobbing. Fresh tears covered the tracks of his old ones.

He heard a branch snap, and that made him swipe his face. Hugo looked up and saw that he had company. Of all the people, it had to be Scorpius Malfoy.

Hugo scowled. “Go away!”

Scorpius didn’t leave. Instead, to Hugo’s dismay, he sat down on the bench. But he didn’t look at Hugo or talk to him. He just stared directly ahead with a calm expression.

That made Hugo uncomfortable, and he glared off to the side, wondering if this bloke was deaf or not. He sniffled and wiped his eyes until they were dry. Several minutes passed before Hugo felt ready to yell at Scorpius, but before he could say anything, Scorpius beat him to it.

“Are you feeling better?” Scorpius was no longer looking at the blank space ahead of him. His concerned hazel eyes were looking at Hugo.

Hugo’s own blue eyes narrowed, and he petulantly responded, “No.”

“You’ve stopped crying. That’s an improvement.” Scorpius hesitated before continuing, “I’m not quite sure why I followed a bawling pre-teen to this park–”

“Then you should’ve just left me alone!” Hugo interrupted loudly. “And I’m not a bawling pre-teen.”

Scorpius chuckled. “Well, you’re not now. Now you’re on your way on becoming a rebellious, loud pre-teen.”

Another wave of sadness and anger hit Hugo, and he muttered softly, “Yeah, a rebellious, loud pre-teen who’s a Squib. A Squib who’s unable to attend Hogwarts.”

He’d expected Scorpius to spout out some meaningless, fake lines of sympathy, the kind Victoire gave out, which always made his teeth hurt from the words that dripped with sugar-coated cheeriness. Hugo thought he might explode if heard “I’m sorry, don’t worry about it” right now. He hated how easily people said those lines. Instead, Scorpius’ response surprised him.

“So? There’s nothing wrong with being a Squib.” Scorpius’ tone was so matter-of-fact, as though it really didn’t matter at all.

Hugo stared at him before shouting, “That’s easy for you to say! You’re already at Hogwarts with my sister and my cousins!”

Scorpius ignored his outburst, and that only made Hugo more confused and angry — especially when Scorpius asked, “What are your plans now?”

“Plans?” Hugo snorted. “I don’t know! Lock myself in my room? Might as well, since I can’t go to Hogwarts!” He knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, it wasn’t as if Scorpius was an adult, not when he was only two years older than Hugo!

“Let me get this straight. You want to lock yourself in your room for the rest of your life all because you can’t go to Hogwarts?”

“Well . . . ” When Scorpius put it that way, the idea did sound silly, yet Hugo was not going to admit that.

“That sounds awfully boring,” Scorpius continued in a solemn voice.

Growing indignant, Hugo exclaimed, “I’m not really going to do that! I’ll find a new plan!” He remembered his dad’s favourite phrase, a phrase his dad always used on his mum. “Must you take everything literally?”

Scorpius grinned, an easygoing smile that put Hugo at ease. “Yeah, I do take things quite literally. Guess that’s why I ended up in Hufflepuff.”

Hufflepuff. Scorpius was in Hufflepuff.

Even though he’d already known this little fact, it still gave Hugo a huge epiphany. Scorpius was a Malfoy, and he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. Hugo was pretty positive that there had never been any Hufflepuff Malfoys. Occasionally one ended up in Ravenclaw but even that was pretty unusual. This meant that Scorpius could understand the awful whirl of emotions that currently raged war deep inside of Hugo. Scorpius understood on being different from those around him.

Scorpius didn’t have to say anything. He knew and felt Hugo’s pain, and it was because he’d been there before.

So if someone like Scorpius and even Albus — who’d been sorted into Slytherin — could understand and accept their situations, then so could he.

Even if it’d be very difficult.

But Hugo was anything but a quitter. He’d once overheard his aunts and uncles talking about how Albus was quite flexible and had this ability to adapt to unfamiliar territory. Hugo himself was also mentioned to be quite adaptable, too, and while he never realised it before, he knew that it was all true. He, too, could adapt and be a successful Squib somehow in the wizarding world. And he’d never achieve that if he sulked and locked himself in his room! Or stay on a park bench.

“Hugo?” Scorpius’ voice jerked him back to reality. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. The big realisation apparently took his voice, but the truth was simple; he was really struggling not to cry again. Scorpius’ calm support, without any unwanted lecturing and nagging, made Hugo feel grateful. It made him feel like he was being treated like an adult, and that somehow encouraged him to act more adult-like than he would have in his current situation.

“Ready to go back then?”

Again, Hugo wordlessly nodded.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Hugo stubbornly kicked the kitchen counter. He’d had a terrible day. He’d just come back from a Muggle school. It wasn’t anything special. He and Rose had grown up attending Muggle schools before they were to go to Hogwarts. It was their mum’s idea — she’d wanted them to grow up integrated in the wizarding and Muggle world. Rose, that lucky bint, didn’t have to attend any more, but he was stuck doing so. For him, Muggle schools were quite boring!

Aside from a tediously long day at school, his new jacket was ruined from a car splashing mud on it, and he was hungry and craving something sweet, flaky, and warm.

In other words, he wanted some pains au chocolat.

But he had no money on him, what with him spending it on that new jacket that got dirty on the first day he wore it!

And the pastry he craved wasn’t in the house.

The only thing he found were the ingredients to make pains au chocolat, and the recipe was written in Aunt Fleur’s delicate, flowy, and tiny handwriting, which was unsurprisingly stashed in the back of his mum’s personal recipe book.

He glared at the assembled ingredients and the recipe, wishing they’d magically come together to create the treat he desperately wanted.

Nothing happened, though, and he resignedly sighed and grumbled, “Well, I know I’ve succeeded if the kitchen stays intact when I’m done. Besides, after Rose’s disaster with that chocolate cake one summer . . . I’m sure whatever I try will not be as bad!”

With his parents at work, he happily turned up the stereo in the sitting room to its maximum volume. He’d always preferred the Muggle stereo system over the wizarding wireless. He liked having control of his song selection. Singing along to his latest favourite album, he began the lengthy process of baking some of that pain au chocolat.

He didn’t know if “pain” meant the same thing in French or not, but he figured it had to be similar. It was quite a pain to make them! All because of his aunt’s extremely small writing. He could barely read and understand her instructions, and it wasn’t long before he began to wish for a magnifying glass. Better yet, a microscope!

With his eyes straining to read the words, he measured everything accurately, stirred until his arms were about to fall out of their sockets, kneaded with skills that made him wonder if he should become a masseur, and stuck the pastries in the oven. It was all done as meticulously as possible. Yet even though he did everything carefully and precisely, he stared at the gigantic mess in the kitchen and on himself. Flour was all over the counter and on him. He was sticky and greasy from all the kneading he did. He could see chocolate fingerprints smudged on the counter.

Thus entered the second “pain” of all this — cleaning! He knew he could have easily asked his mum or dad to help clean by magic, but he didn’t. He wanted to be independent from magic as much as possible. Since he was unable to use them himself, he didn’t want to be reminded of that little fact all the time.

Sighing, he looked at the chaotic looking kitchen, and he got to work. It took him about three hours to make this mess, and he somehow managed to clean it all up in fifteen minutes — the amount of time it took to bake the pastries.

“At least they smell like what I’m trying to make,” he muttered as he scrubbed down the mess. That smell soon filled up the entire house, and it made his mouth water.

He finished cleaning up the last bit of his mess, and after the timer went off, he went and pulled out the tray. As the pastries cooled off, Hugo studied them. They were nicely golden brown, it looked deliciously warm and flaky, and the buttery, chocolate scent wafted straight up his nose. All this made him salivate more.

The pains au chocolat came out perfectly. In fact, they didn’t look that amateurish at all!

“Now, let’s hope it tastes just as good as it looks!” He grabbed one off the tray and bit into it.

His tongue practically exploded in orgasmic pleasure. In all his fourteen years of being alive, he’d never thought it was possible to achieve this level of culinary delight. Despite the tedious prepping he’d just gone through to make these, the end result was way better than he’d expected.

Even better than wanking! Much better.

And when his parents tried them, their praises, “Hugo, these are wonderful! I’ve never tasted anything this great from other pâtisseries!” (his mum) and “These are bloody brilliant, son! Who did you inherit these great skills from? I know it’s not from your mum or me!” (his dad), sent him into an even higher realm of bliss and pride.

Later, when he finally took a break in his room, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He basked in his achievement for the day. Humming one of the songs that blared earlier, his mind drifted to the conversation he had with Scorpius three years ago. He was asked what his plans were with Hogwarts not being an option. For three years, he hadn’t any clues except to attend Muggle school for his mum’s sake and get over the huge disappointment of being a Squib. Every now and then, he would feel the pangs of unhappiness with his fate, but he’d accepted the simple fact without much remorse. However, now he finally had some plans for his life.

New dreams of being a famous pâtissier in the wizarding world bounced around in his mind, and a smile came onto his face as he closed his eyes and imagined this new scenario. He knew a lot of wizarding folks used magic to bake, but he’d show them what a difference it made to bake by hand. He’d prove to them that Squibs like him can be an asset to the wizarding world.

“Argh!” Hugo threw his hands up in the air, and he glared at the rather crumbled-looking croquembouche.

In the past couple of years, Hugo had been self-teaching himself how to be a pâtissier, and the pastries all turned out wonderfully whenever he practised. Choux, financiers, macarons, éclairs — like magic — they’d all come together to transform into the perfect pastries he would share with his families and friends. He must had bountiful luck by his side since whatever he made, even if it were his first time, the pastries came out terrific.

However, that blasted croquembouche was mocking him. He could not understand why a bunch of choux refused to stick to each other and form a tree! It was as if the caramel snubbed him.

He glowered at the mess in front of him and said, “Fine! I don’t need to make you for Christmas, you bloody–”

“Why are you yelling at a pile of pastry?”

Hugo jumped, yelped, and whirled around to see his sister standing in the doorway. Rose stood there, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. She smirked before saying, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, what with you too busy conversing with . . . whatever you call that thing.”

“Croquembouche,” he answered sourly. “At least that’s what it’s supposed to be, but it’s not coming out like one!”

“That’s all? I thought you were being attacked down here, what with you yelling like a batshite-insane-banshee. And I come down here to see you mouthing off to those?” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You need a life.”

“Oh, shut up. I do have one! At least I’m not the one going mad over the NEWTs six months before the actual examination period!”

Hugo and Rose tried to stare each other down with furious looks. She, never once breaking eye contact, edged closer to the choux. He had a bad feeling about this, and he was proven right when she picked up one of the choux and threw it at him, hitting him right in the middle of his face.

“Hey!” he sputtered, trying to wipe off the sticky crème. “What was that for?!’

Rose picked up another choux before she explained, “Remember that one time you said I’ve got an awful aim? I’ve decided to prove you wrong.” Before Hugo could react, she threw the second choux at him, and that impacted his left cheek.

“Bloody hell!” Quickly, he grabbed the first thing his hand landed on, and he flung that, grinning crazily as he heard the satisfying splat on Rose’s shirt. He watched as the yolk dribbled down her torso, and he looked up to see her mouth wide opened. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“You–!” Rose’s hurled another choux and an egg at him, but this time they both started to laugh as their food fight continued.

It wasn’t long before the whole kitchen was a disaster area and both were covered in all sorts of goo. They were still laughing as they cleaned up.

“Next time, let’s just have a pillow fight. That’s a lot less messy and sticky,” Hugo said, throwing away the ruined food as Rose washed the dishes.

“Yes, it would be a lot cleaner that’s for sure. But watching your ugly face get creamed was quite a sight,” she said, giggling.

“I wished I had a camera to capture your face when I threw that egg at you!” he retorted with a smile. He picked up the remainder choux and sighed. “And as for the croquembouche, I give up. I refuse to ever make it.” It was his vow. Once he made a vow, he kept it, no matter how silly it was.

“Just because it’s the first thing you didn’t succeed with on your first try? I think you’re overreacting.”

“M’not! Besides, Ms-I’ve-Gotta-Study-Six-Months-Early-Queen, look who’s talking.”

“Is that the best comeback you can think of? Studying in advance is not me overreacting. At least it’s beneficial–”

Their dad’s loud voice boomed from the sitting room. “That kitchen’d better be cleaned in the next five minutes! You two stop bickering and clean it. When your mum comes home and sees it, there’ll be major overreacting from her, and you two will be the one to deal with her. Not me!”

Rose and Hugo stared at each other in confusion.

“When did Dad come home?” Hugo whispered.

“Who knows, but if he’s home, Mum won’t be far away. Let’s hurry up or we won’t escape from her infamous long lecture.”

Hugo shuddered at the imagined scenario, and he and Rose quickly finished cleaning the kitchen, just mere seconds before their mum arrived.

“La Pâtisserie des petits plaisirs exotiques,” Hugo muttered, not caring that his French sounded terrible. He’d no idea what the whole thing meant. He only knew it was a pastry shop. He set The Quibbler down on top of The Daily Prophet. He was quite surprised to see such a normal sounding pastry shop job in The Quibbler, and he was even more puzzled on why that job wasn’t listed in the Prophet.

However, he didn’t question on that long.

All he cared about was the pâtissier job. A pastry chef at a pâtisserie. A pastry shop in Diagon Alley of all places.

Regardless of the location and all the other fine details, this was his absolute dream job.

The best part? The listing said he didn’t need to have any professional training like those elite pâtisseries in France. Since he was a self-taught pâtissier, he hadn’t had much luck with employment in France or in England since many pâtisseries in the latter preferred the French’s method of hiring certified pâtissiers. Of course, his dream was to be the best pâtissier in the British wizarding world, but he really couldn’t achieve that without actual experience, and he didn’t exactly have the funds to start up his own pâtisserie. But yet, pâtisseries in the wizarding world were unheard of. There were maybe one or two small coffee shops that sold pastries in Hogsmeade, but that was it.

Until now. He’d no idea who came up with the idea to have a full pâtisserie in Diagon Alley, but he wasn’t going to complain. As long as he got the job, he’d be excited with this new turn of event. It looked like Lady Luck was shining on him for once.

Grinning, Hugo jotted down the address, and he saw that they accepted walk-in interviews, quite atypical from most workplaces he knew of, but he wasn’t going to focus on that little titbit. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only eleven o’clock, so he could reach the place in a couple of hours after he freshened up.

Since he lived in his own tiny flat, he tossed his t-shirt aside, not caring where it landed, glad that his mum or sister weren’t there to nag him about the clothing. He stepped into his small bathroom, and he studied his reflection in the mirror.

A young bloke with shaggy, light-reddish-brown hair, its fringe almost covering his blue eyes, stared back at him. He could see the three cartilage piercings on one ear, and he watched the way the light shined on the silver rings. He pulled his shaggy hair back into a small ponytail, wondering briefly if he should cut it or not. His mum and Grandma Weasley wanted him to cut it, but others told him to grow it out until it was just as long as Uncle Bill’s.

He made a face. Sure, with longer hair, he might resemble Uncle Bill from back in the day, but their hair were the only resemblance, along with their height. He wasn’t as broad-shouldered or muscular like his uncle. He ran his hands down his shapeless torso and sighed. He was too skinny, but he was much too busy to go pump himself up at a gym. And exercising was bloody boring. Plus, he really didn’t mind his slender frame compared to all that freckles he’d inherited from his dad. Rose was really lucky that she’d inherited their mum’s skin than their dad’s.

He splashed some water on his face, and he stopped to stare at the one thing he really liked about himself. It was always half-hidden by his pants or trousers, like right now, but he could see it peeking out. His tattoo, the one he got on the side of his hip. It wasn’t an elaborate design; his tattoo was simple. It was the Japanese character for love. At least, that was what his friends had told him. He pretended to forget the little fact that he and his friends had been rather pissed when they had all decided to get tattoos done together. Not one of his best decisions, really, but he told himself that it could have been worse — like getting accidentally amputated. Thankfully, he did like the tattoo, and he slowly traced it with his fingers, going over the familiar calligraphic design and studying the contrast of the dark ink against his pale (and way too freckly) skin.

Figuring he had enough taste of vanity for the entire week, he quickly finished washing up, and he pulled on an outfit that hopefully made him look good — besides, how could anybody go wrong with black trousers, white button-up shirt, a jacket, a tie, and a robe on top? — and he took the tube to the station closest to the Leaky Cauldron.

It didn’t take him long to find the place. The shop wasn’t opened for business yet, but from the outside the place looked quite friendly. The window at the front was huge, and he could see comfortable tables and chairs, all donning earthy colours, that made the place even more welcoming. The shop’s name was on the window, in a flowing font face that fit the shop’s atmosphere. Near the front of the shop, he saw an empty display case, and he briefly closed his eyes to imagine the case filled with pastries, all freshly made by him.

He hoped he’d be the one who could fill the case up.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the shop. The bell above the doorway let out a pleasant ding, and someone came out from the back. Hugo did a double-take. His eyes grew wide and he said, “Scorpius? Scorpius Malfoy?”

Scorpius smiled, making his hazel eyes twinkle with warmth. He ran a hand through his short almost white blond hair. “Hugo? It’s been a while.”

“You work here?” Hugo blurted out. He was surprised. Last time he’d heard from Albus, Scorpius had gone off to France to deal with something business-related. Hugo hadn’t asked for details — he didn’t have any reasons to. Ever since that day Scorpius had helped him accept his fate, Hugo never really had any reasons to talk to him, not when Scorpius was Albus’ friend. Then there was the little matter where Scorpius and Rose mutually didn’t like each other. He’d never heard Scorpius’ side of the story, but he’d heard Rose bitching about “that pompous Malfoy prick trying to steal her number one spot in the academics” or something like that. Really, Rose had a tendency to exaggerate everything, so he was certain that her views were quite skewered.

Nevertheless, after many years, Hugo was now facing Scorpius, and he couldn’t really stop staring at the good looking bloke. Scorpius was well-built, slender like him, but with more muscles. He was taller than Hugo by a couple of centimetres. He didn’t have on a robe, but Hugo wasn’t going to complain. Wearing only a rather tight black jeans and a beige-coloured jumper, Hugo was able to see how appealing Scorpius’ body was. Not to mention the way the jeans hugged his arse. God, that bloke had a lovely arse.

And Scorpius’ voice sounded so smooth. It was as if the world’s softest velvet was brushing against his whole body. Hugo couldn’t remember the last time any guy made him feel this way. Not since that one bloke from two years ago, some Carlos guy from Spain who was quite a looker but way too jealous and clingy for Hugo’s tastes, did he feel such attraction.

To say the least, this job was looking more and more interesting.

That sexy voice brought Hugo back to reality. “Yeah, I’m working here — as a manager, more or less. Are you here for something?” Scorpius leaned against the counter, with his hands in his pockets.

Hugo’s eyes really could not stop staring at Scorpius’ lower body. He forced them to look upward, and he said, “I’m here to interview for the pâtissier position . . . if it’s still available?” He was worried. What if the position was already filled and he was too late?

“Oh, it’s still opened. Are you ready for the interview?”

Hugo nodded, even though his stomach swirled unpleasantly. He hated interviews. He had this terrible tendency to always mess them up. But this time he would try his best with all the confidence he felt deep inside of him. After all, if his parents could go through a war at a much younger age than him, then he could do a ruddy interview.

“Excellent,” Scorpius said. “Come with me to the kitchen!”

Once in the kitchen, Scorpius asked him the standard interview questions.

“How long have you been making these pastries? What is the best thing you can make? Have you studied at any school? Are any of these recipes your own personal ones?”

Hugo answered them to the best of his ability. Then he was told to make some sample pastries. The ingredients and the dough were already prepared, so he just had to make some choux à la crème, éclairs, and financiers as his samples.

Scorpius ate each ones carefully, and Hugo held his breath, hoping that he’d past this test.

“They’re great. You’re amazing. If you hadn’t told me you were self-taught, I would have never guessed it! These are better than some of the pastries I’ve tried in France!”

Blushing, Hugo replied, “Thanks.”

Scorpius’ face turned serious, and he studied Hugo. “Are you well aware what kind of shop this is?”

Confused, Hugo tried not to frown at the strange question. “This is a pâtisserie. You tell me what to make. I make pastries. Then they get sold to the customers. That’s the kind of shop this is, right?”

“Yes, you’re correct.” Scorpius sounded like he wasn’t done explaining, but Hugo didn’t push the matter since Scorpius said, “Now, one final test. Well. Not really a test, I guess, but we have one more thing to do before I can officially hire you or not.”

Hugo looked wary. “What’s this test that’s not really a test?”

Scorpius hesitated and took a deep breath before saying, “Swimming.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve magically-charmed swimming pools at the manor. Let’s go swimming and have fun. Albus and some other people will be there as well.” Scorpius went on before Hugo could question this madness. “You can just consider it as a part of your job interview. Would you like to join the party?”

Hugo was very puzzled at this unexpected proposition. It was very strange and he couldn’t fathom what swimming had to do with pastries, but he didn’t mind swimming. He liked swimming, and if Albus was at least there, then he could just say this is a strange get-together-but-still-part-of-an-interview thing. Shrugging, he touched the Portkey that was offered, and he concentrated on making sure he didn’t land on his face.

Thankfully, Hugo landed on his feet, but his balance was off. His impending fall was prevented when Scorpius’ strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. His shoulders burned from the contact, and he found himself remorseful when the hands left him. “Sorry. M’not used to Portkey travelling much.”

“Not a problem,” Scorpius answered smoothly. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” His head turned to the side. “The pools are over there. As well as the changing room. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Hugo just realised something vital. “I don’t have my trunks!”

“It’s okay. I’ve got plenty. You can borrow one of mine.”

As they walked to the changing room, Hugo hoped Scorpius didn’t look that hot almost naked. He already thought Scorpius looked quite good fully clothed. If Scorpius looked even better in a pair of trunks, then he’d have an interesting time fighting down his own desire that would be evident through his own trunks.

Once in the changing room, Scorpius snapped his fingers, and with a loud popping noise, a house-elf wearing some kind of towel appeared. “You called, young master?”

“Please bring us two swimming trunks.”

“Yes, young master. Diddy brings them.” Diddy disappeared and re-appeared in about three seconds, which startled Hugo. Even Kreacher had never been this fast!

“Thank you,” Scorpius said, accepting the two trunks — one in a deep, rich shade of blue and one in shiny black. He handed the blue one to Hugo.

Taking the trunk, Hugo thanked Scorpius, who walked into one of the stalls to change. Hugo did the same and went to an empty stall. In there, he looked at the trunks closely. He saw that they were the tight Speedo variety. He gaped at them. He was more used to the looser boxer kinds. He’d never really liked the Speedo ones because they made him feel too exposed. He wasn’t fond of showing off his body to the public as much as say James — who was practically a natural nudist — but he wasn’t exactly a prude either. He just didn’t really like the idea of being this bare in front of his future boss.

But his future boss did invite him here, and it would be rude to just leave right at this point.

He slowly began to strip his clothes, and a realisation came to him. Scorpius would also be wearing the same kind of trunks. That awareness made him feel a bit better; after all, he could see how Scorpius looked underneath the clothes. He didn’t mind the eye candy, yet he also hoped Scorpius didn’t look that great. He’d really have a hard time hiding his hard on in these trunks.

His prediction came true.

The next two hours at the majestic pools — yes, pools, there were two of them — would have been a dream come true for anybody who enjoyed pool parties. The pools were spacious, there were floating trays of food and drinks everywhere, there were loud music blasting the entire perimeter, joyful cheers and shouts echoed all around, and it was a veritable paradise for everyone there.

Everyone but Hugo. He was too busy thinking of unattractive and traumatising images of old people — like his former teachers who were all hags and trolls — in costumes that ranged from BDSM-type outfits to ballet costumes. He really didn’t enjoy picturing Mr O’Reilly in a hot pink tutu, but it did the trick of making his libido non-existent while he was at the pools. Never mind that it was a bloody difficult task. Why must Scorpius Malfoy be that good looking with or without clothes?!

Hugo recalled the pale skin that looked better than his own, the two contrasting nipples on the nicely toned torso, the water droplets on the long muscular legs, the friendly smile and the hazel-coloured eyes that sparkled when he laughed, and that little black trunks. He could see the outline in the front, and he almost wished he could see the cock hiding behind the tight material. But it was the backside that really captured Hugo’s attention. Scorpius really did have a lovely arse, where it appeared firm and “grabbable”.

Hugo was definitely going to be busy tonight.

At least one thing good thing came out of this lovely torture. When the party began to dwindle, Scorpius came up to him. “I hope you had fun? I know this was an unusual interview, but this shop’s going to be different from the others, and I figured I’d try things a bit differently.”

Hugo briefly wondered about that. Just what did Scorpius mean by different? That it would be the first pâtisserie in the wizarding world? He tried not to analyse this to death — not when he was busy holding his desires at bay. He forced a smile and said, “I had fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

“I’ve decided you’ve passed everything. You start Monday at eight in the morning.” Scorpius dragged a towel over his chest, and that momentarily distracted Hugo. “Whenever you’re ready to go, there’s a Portkey on top of your clothes. Say the word ‘éclairs’, and it will take you back to Diagon Alley.”

“All right. Thanks.” Hugo wished his voice didn’t sound so strangled, but luckily, Scorpius was called away then, and that made him hope that Scorpius hadn’t noticed anything odd.

Drifting away from the crowd, he waved to Albus, but he didn’t stay to chat. He wanted to leave the place as fast as possible. Once out, he was back in the changing room and he muttered, “So I don’t start until Monday? Fuck.”

That meant he’d be busy wanking the entire weekend. Not just tonight.

Images of Scorpius in the trunks bombarded his mind for the millionth time in the last couple of hours, and Hugo decided that he’d held out long enough. It was time to go home! After he stocked up on some lotion.

After a long weekend of spending time with his hand and images of an almost naked Scorpius, Hugo was glad Monday arrived. He could start his job, and he could concentrate on making the pastries instead of Scorpius’ chest or any other body parts. He was sick of his overly active sexual imagination.

When Hugo arrived at the shop, he was greeted pleasantly. “Good morning. Did you have a nice weekend?” Scorpius asked with a smile on his face and a folder in his hands.

Hugo eyed Scorpius’ hands, noticing the long fingers, wondering how it would feel . . . Hugo mentally shook his head. He did not need this now! Clearing his throat, he replied, “It was fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” Scorpius handed him the folder. “Here. These are a list of pastries I expect you to make. Along with the regular pastries, there will be a special pastry for each day of the week except on Sunday. Each day, I plan to have a Monday special, Tuesday special, and so forth so on.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Hugo said, opening up the folder to glance at the list that was all in French. Not wanting to show any signs of panic, he swallowed hard before continuing. “I, er, I don’t understand French.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. I never learned it.” To be honest, he’d never wanted to learn any of the Romantic languages. When he was in school, he’d opted to learn German, but now it was looking like he should have picked up French like Rose and his mum had tried to tell him.

He mentally cringed, hoping Scorpius wouldn’t say anything about how someone can be a full pâtissier without knowing French, but Scorpius surprised him by saying, “That’s not a problem. I’d be happy to translate the list for you.”

“Thanks!” Sitting down at a table, Hugo pulled out the list and looked at it. He recognised the names of the pastries he’d been making for years. When he reached the specials list, that was when he needed Scorpius’ help, especially when the specials list looked like this:

Monday: Éclairs en forme de verge
Tuesdays: Mont-blancs avec deux amants dessus
Wednesdays: Macarons en forme de mamelon
Thursdays: Pains au chocolat en forme de torse bien ciselé
Fridays: Choux à la crème en forme de fesses
Saturdays: Financiers en forme de menottes
Sundays: Notre spécialité la plus attendue ~ Le Spectacle d’Hugo, le pâtissier à demi nu

He grew very curious at what these specials were, especially on Sundays! Why was his name on the list? “Can you translate the specials list?”

“Sure,” Scorpius said. Grabbing the list he wrote down the translation. Upon completion, Hugo read:

Monday: Penis-shaped éclairs
Tuesdays: Mont-blancs with two lovers on top
Wednesdays: Nipple-shaped Macarons
Thursdays: Well-chiselled torso-shaped Pains au chocolat
Fridays: Arse-shaped choux à la crème
Saturdays: Handcuff-shaped financiers
Sundays: Our Most Awaited Speciality ~ The Hugo Show, the Half-Naked Pâtissier

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Heldrad.

“You’ve to be joking!” Hugo exclaimed. “What kind of a pâtisserie are you trying to run here?”

He did not like the way Scorpius had blinked his eyes in obvious confusion. He especially didn’t like Scorpius’ soft answer to his question. “I thought you knew what kind of a shop this was.”

Hugo felt like someone had just spun him around for a good five minutes. Feeling dizzy and faint from this unexpected menu, he said, “How? You never mentioned this in the interview!”

“I did ask you if you were aware of what kind of shop this was.”

Hugo gritted his teeth. True, Scorpius did ask him that, and Hugo had even answered that question, but how could the fact that this was to be an adult-themed pâtisserie slipped past him? “But I don’t remember seeing anything about this shop being . . . being . . . sexual in nature!”

“It was in the fine print of the job announcement in The Quibbler. And the name of this place, ‘La Pâtisserie des petits plaisirs exotiques’, means ‘The Pâtisserie of Small Exotic Pleasures’.”

“What fine print?” Hugo definitely did not remember seeing any fine print on that advertisement.

Scorpius summoned The Quibbler, turned to the page, and pointed at the ad. “It’s there, see?”

Now that he was pointed at the fine print, he read the tiny letters that would put Aunt Fleur’s handwriting to shame. He saw the short message about this being an adult-themed pâtisserie. His mind whirled as he wondered just what he’d got himself into. And he also cursed himself for being overly enthusiastic about this job announcement to read it closely.

“If you really don’t want to work here, I understand. I can see why you’d miss that fine print,” Scorpius said kindly.

Scorpius was giving him a way out. The most logical thing to do was to say he didn’t want to work here. But Hugo was not exactly the logical sort. He was, but he thought about his current predicament. It had taken him this long to finally find the job of his dream, and it was one where he didn’t have to have any special training in France or wherever. This place was in the wizarding world, and he did want to be a famous pâtissier there as opposed to the Muggle World where competitions were stiff. Sure, he’d have to make some unusually shaped pastries, but it wouldn’t be that bad, right? This had to be better than working retail, which he’d done before and hated it with passion.

But then again, he quite worried about the Sunday special. He had a vague idea on what was being requested of him, and he did not fancy that idea at all! He thought about quitting, but then he thought about the benefits. The pay was good, he’d get to do what he enjoyed, and he had a sexy boss on top of it all . . . but were all those really great for him to ever tell anybody he worked in an adult-themed pâtisserie? All in all, he could just try this out, and if he really couldn’t handle it, then all he had to do was resign — even if he had to give up this dream job and such a hot, smart, and so far, a nice boss.

“I’ll do it,” Hugo said nonchalantly as possible. He didn’t want to give Scorpius any indication of his true feelings inside. “I’ll try it out . . . but can you give me some time to practise making those pastries into those . . . shapes?”

“That’s not a problem. We won’t open up until another week. Will that be enough time?”

Hugo nodded. “Plenty.”

“All right. Do you need anything else before you start in the kitchen?”

Hugo found himself looking straight into Scorpius’ eyes, and he almost felt like he could drown in them. The mixture of colours — the browns, greens, greys, blues, and golds — blended nicely with his features. He recalled seeing Mr Malfoy once, who looked like an older version of Scorpius, but with grey eyes. Those eyes were cold and void of emotions, yet Scorpius’ eyes are so different, so unlike those steely eyes.

“Hugo? Are you all right?”

Jolting back to reality, Hugo flushed in embarrassment, and said, “I’m fine. I’ll just need to experiment and practise!” And he headed straight for the kitchen and forced himself to walk normally instead of breaking into a run.

Until lunchtime, he worked in the kitchen. He shoved Scorpius out of his mind, and he concentrated fully on trying to make those specials. To his surprise, he found some moulds already in the kitchen. He stared at the pan he had to make the financiers in for Saturdays. They were indeed in the shape of a handcuff.

For the penis-shaped éclairs on Monday, he’d probably have to knead and shape the dough into the proper shape. Same thing with the torso-shaped pains au chocolat on Thursdays and the arse-shaped choux on Fridays.

The nipple-shaped macarons for Wednesdays would be the easiest. All he had to do was to make the macarons as usual and put some kind of a nut, chocolate chip, or something dark in its centre.

The hardest would be the Mont-blancs on Tuesdays. To make the thin chocolate-figures of two lovers would be tricky, but he could do it. He just wasn’t sure what kind of a lover Scorpius wanted. Did he want heterosexual couples? Homosexual couples? Before lunch, Hugo decided to go ask.

Scorpius was in his private office in the back. The door was opened, and Hugo quietly walked up to the doorway, and he stood there, studying Scorpius’ profile. The room was bright and cheery like the rest of the shop. The desk there was in the deepest shade of mahogany brown, and it was a wide and large desk, looking almost too rich for the place, but it matched Scorpius well. Hugo’s mind began to wander again, and he found himself lying on top of that desk, squirming on top as the parchments and books fluttered and crashed to the floor. Scorpius would be above him, breathing hard and moving closer until their lips met. Hugo would wrap his legs around Scorpius’ waist, and he’d return the kiss until both were breathless.

“Hugo?”

“Oh, er.” Hugo really needed to stop daydreaming around Scorpius! “I had a question about the Mont-Blanc special.”

“What is it?” Scorpius set the parchment down, and Hugo tried not to look at the desk.

“What kind of a lover did you want on top?”

“Ah, whatever. Any. Sexual orientation doesn’t matter when it comes to love, I think,” Scorpius explained frankly. “Make some heterosexual ones, some homosexuals ones, and so on.”

Hugo wasn’t expecting such an easy answer. At least he now knew how open-minded Scorpius was. Nodding, he said, “All right.”

“It’s almost time for lunch, isn’t it? Go on and have a good lunch.”

Hugo glanced at the clock, and he saw that he’d be late for his lunch meeting with Rose if he didn’t hurry. “Thanks. You have a good lunch, too!”

“You’re late,” Rose said with a frown.

“Sorry. Had to ask Scorpius something,” Hugo apologised, taking a seat across from her.

“I still can’t believe you’re working for him.”

He stifled back his laughter. “Just why do you dislike him so much? Other than him taking your number one spot at times? I mean, you did eventually graduate at the top, with him at number two or something, didn’t you?”

She tossed her long, bushy, reddish-brown hair. “Nothing,” she admitted grudgingly. “I just don’t like him. Though I know he’s not a bad bloke. At least he’s much better than that McLaggen bloke. Now he was a right arse. But regarding Scorpius . . . maybe Dad’s dislike of his family rubbed off of me more than I like. Speaking of which, did you tell Mum and Dad about your new job?”

“Not yet,” he sighed.

“Why? Is it because it’s an erotic pâtisserie?”

He gaped at her. “How’d you know?”

“I read that tiny print in The Quibbler.” She smirked. “You didn’t, right? I’m not surprised. You never pay attention to details unless it deals with your precious pastries.”

He coloured before saying, “Shut up.”

“Well, the name of the place sort of gave it away.”

“I didn’t know that’s what the name meant,” he mumbled.

Taking a sip of her water, she gave him a knowing look. “I told you to study French. That’s entirely your fault for learning German instead.”

“Just because you’re a magical artist who studied in France and had the chance to learn French, you don’t need to act so mighty about it!”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, I’m sure the family already knows. After all, Albus is Scorpius’ best friend, and Albus does have a tendency to gossip.” Her face turned thoughtful. “I wonder if gossiping is a Slytherin trait.”

Hugo groaned. Rose was right. If Albus knew of his job, then every single one of their family members knew now. “I doubt gossiping is a Slytherin trait alone. You’re a Ravenclaw, and you gossip just as well as he does!”

“I do not!”

“You do!”

Just then someone’s hands slapped both of their shoulders, and Hugo looked up to see Lily grinning at them. “I’m so glad I don’t turn into a five-year-old doing the whole ‘Did not, did too’ thing.”

Both Rose and Hugo said, “Shut up.”

“Nice welcome,” Lily said dryly, grabbing a chair from the next table and taking a seat at theirs. She turned to Hugo and said, “So I hear you’re working at Scorpius’ new shop. An erotic shop at that!”

Hugo buried his face on his arms and bit back a frustrated scream. He could tell this was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s okay,” Lily continued on. “I think you’re lucky. Scorpius is rather good looking. Maybe I should learn how to be a pâtissier.”

“I don’t know about that, Lily,” Rose said, scrunching up her nose. “You’re worse in the kitchen than I am.”

“I know,” Lily said ruefully. “Oh well. At least I can admire and eat those erotic pastries! You can bet I’ll be one of your most loyal customers.”

Hugo accidentally said, “Just don’t come on Sundays.”

“Oh?” Lily quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Is it because of that lovely Sunday show you’re going to put on?”

For the first time in ages, Hugo wished he was a wizard so he could Apparate away from this hell he was going through. “How do you know that?”

“Simple,” Rose interjected. “Albus.”

“And he’s going to be dead when I get off work today.”

“Stop being so melodramatic. And if you two are ready, I want to order so I can go back to work on time instead of being tardy like Hugo here.” Rose opened her menu and scanned it.

Lily gave Hugo one last smirk. “Did you enjoy that swimming party? You know the only reason why you got invited was because Scorpius had to see if you looked good half-naked, right?”

“Say what?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Think about it. He obviously couldn’t tell you to actually strip during the interview, so Albus came up with the plan for you to be invited to that party so Scorpius could see then.”

The entire idea was definitely something Albus would come up with. Hugo was mortified. He could not believe the swimming party was a cover for Scorpius to see how he looked almost nude. The entire plan was absolutely devious! And then there was the fact that Scorpius was checking him out, and even though Hugo had passed that so-called test, he couldn’t help but feel aroused and self-conscious about being checked out in that fashion. “That’s a pretty snea–”

“A brilliant plan. I was totally all for that plan,” Lily interrupted, her brown eyes twinkling.

Rose just shook her head. “And you two are the sneakiest Slytherins to ever grace this world.”

“And modest,” Hugo said not so nicely, his patience running thin. “Let’s just order now. I’m bloody starving.”

Hugo wanted to question Scorpius about the Sunday special, and he also wanted to ask about the so-called swimming party. Well, he didn’t really need to ask about the latter, but he was curious, and his curiosity always won in the end.

He didn’t get the chance to ask until a few days later since he was busy practising making those erotic pastries. Scorpius came into the kitchen to check up on him, and after seeing everything was all right, Hugo blurted quickly, “So did you really use that swimming party as a way to see me half-naked?” He blushed, and he was pleased to see Scorpius blush as well.

“Er, yes, well, I didn’t think it’d be polite to ask you to strip during the interview,” Scorpius muttered, looking down at his feet. “And Albus came up with the plan . . . but I was hesitant to do it, but I figured his way was better than asking you . . . directly.” Lifting his head up, Scorpius’ face turned apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry about that, especially if it came off as being creepy and odd. I really should have told you myself.”

Hugo felt himself softening. He could see that Scorpius was genuinely sorry, and Hugo wasn’t really one to hold unnecessary grudges. He could forgive Scorpius for the whole swimming party thing, but he was still a bit iffy on him getting half-naked for the Sunday special. Right then, though, an idea came to him, and he let out a slow smile. “About that Sunday special, how is that supposed to work exactly?”

Scorpius blinked, probably surprised by Hugo’s easy acceptance of everything so far. “Well, the plan for that is simple. We’ll set up a mini-kitchen in the front, and you’ll prepare the pastries like you normally do, but you’ll be topless. This will be more of a treat for the customers.”

Hugo knew there were some crazy people out there, so he had to ask, “There will be some barriers preventing them from — I dunno — molesting me?”

Scorpius let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, there will be magical barriers around you, so that nobody will try to do anything to you.”

“What about sanitation?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” Hugo explained. “I’ll be topless . . . if I were a customer, I’d question the sanitation of it all.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. With your permission, I’ll cast a cleaning spell over you, and it will be in full effect until you’re done.”

Raising his eyebrow, Hugo said, “Looks like you’ve got everything well planned out.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Except you forgot one thing.”

“I did?” Scorpius frowned, and Hugo could see him mentally going down an invisible checklist. “What did I forget?”

“You.”

“Me?” Scorpius sounded confused.

“If I have to flaunt around in my half-naked glory, then so do you! That’s only fair. And whoever else that works here. Though, I guess for the ladies, they can just wear a bikini or something. I think making them go topless is pushing the limit.”

Once again, Scorpius blushed, and he began to stammer, “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea!”

“Why not?” Hugo teased, not minding the idea of having a bit of fun with him.

“I . . . I . . . ” Scorpius cleared his throat and mumbled, “I don’t think I look that good to go around topless.”

It was Hugo’s turn to blink. “Excuse me? You think you don’t look good? That’s rubbish! You look better than me!”

Scorpius coughed. “Thank you, but you don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“Who says I’m lying?!” Hugo’s eyes blue eyes flashed in anger. “I don’t lie about stuff like that! I mean hell! When we were at that pool party, I could barely keep my eyes off of you! I could not stop thinking of you during that weekend!”

Scorpius stared, his mouth opened a bit, and Hugo wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He couldn’t believe he just said all that!

Before he could force out an apology, Scorpius began to laugh. “Well, thank you for, ah, convincing me. I’ll think about your idea. Like you said, it’s only fair.”

“You’re welcome,” Hugo mumbled, grinning sheepishly, but still wishing for the ability to disappear.

Scorpius quickly changed the subject and said, “By the way, I want to discuss the daily baking schedule with you . . . ”

Hugo was amazed the shop was doing well so far. It’d opened for a couple of weeks, and every day, the number of customers increased. He also read some reviews in The Quibbler — written by Luna Lovegood-Scamander, unsurprisingly — and in The Daily Prophet, and he was pleased to see good results from the reviewers, even if one of the reviews were written by Rita Skeeter. Hugo had read the article, but he wasn’t sure if Skeeter was praising or insulting the shop. He found the article to be quite baffling.

Aside from bizarre “Skeeterish” article, he was glad the customers seemed to enjoy the shop. But either the customers liked his pastries or they just had strange tastes, he hadn’t quite figured out which one yet. Then again, it could also be the Sunday special that attracted the customers. He’d noticed that was their best day during the week.

It was also a difficult day for Hugo. It was bad enough he was on display — not that he minded much — but Scorpius working nearby half-naked made it almost unbearable. Oh, he didn’t mind watching Scorpius, but trying to hold down his libido while being surrounded by drooling men and women wasn’t as much fun. Oh, and neither was watching the customers lust after Scorpius as well. He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous.

Speaking of his audience, Hugo was eternally grateful for that magical barrier. Without it, he was certain he’d be mauled by them. It was very odd. When he was at the swimming party or at any place he was half-naked, he hadn’t had anybody staring at him with a huge amount lust. But here? In the pâtisserie? It was the opposite. These men and women must all be sexually deprived to the point of enjoying this special.

Aside from Sundays, the other days of the week were a bit better. He’d noticed that the specials for each day flew off the shelves, and that gave him a sense of pride. Sure, he argued that these were erotic pastries, so it wasn’t something he should be that proud of, but his stuff, all made by him, were selling, so that mattered.

He would never forget his parents’ reactions when they first came here. They’d frozen on the spot as their eyes scanned the display case. His dad had turned red, and his glare had been directed to a very respectful and courteous Scorpius. Fortunately, his dad didn’t start on his rant — most likely diverted when Scorpius had said, “Have whatever you want. It’s on the house, sir.”

While his dad tried the pastries — never commenting on their shapes — his mum had quirked her eyebrows and said, “This is all interesting. I never knew you could make such shapes with pastries! Did Scorpius help you charm these to be magically made? No? No magic was ever used? I’m impressed, darling! You need to show me one day on how it’s done. Maybe I should do a research on all this and see if it’s possible to enhance it with magic.”

Only his mother would approach erotic pastries as a research opportunity. He was afraid Scorpius would get that bored look on his face when she’d launched on some more about the topic, but Scorpius had surprised him. He’d listened attentively and took her suggestions and questions to heart by saying, “You know, Mrs Weasley, that’s actually a very good idea. Thank you so much for suggesting it. I’ll have to look into using magic on the pastries and see what kind of visual effects we could have.”

Honestly, Hugo was impressed. All of his friends were never quite sure on how to handle his parents, especially his Muggle friends, but Scorpius was always charming and polite.

And he was a great boss. Perhaps the best boss Hugo ever had the privilege to work under. Hugo noted that Scorpius always had something nice to say about his pastries, always complimenting their designs and their tastes, always thanking Hugo for his hard work, always helping whenever something extra was needed. Scorpius was good at delegating the tasks amongst the other workers, and Hugo saw that his other colleagues were happy working here, too.

Scorpius wasn’t perfect, though. Hugo had noticed that Scorpius could be quite cranky in the morning without the right amount of coffee, and Scorpius was hard-working to the point he was always the first one here and the last one out. Then there was Scorpius’ indecisiveness. Hugo hated it when Scorpius always changed the menu on him. It just simply drove him mad!

And yet, Hugo had a small problem.

He was falling for his boss.

And in his mind, that was a recipe for disaster. He’d heard enough horror stories about inter-office romance, and he was certain liking his boss would be a very bad idea.

While his mind knew that, his heart and his physical attraction towards Scorpius didn’t seem to agree at all.

“Do you know how to make tiramisu?”

Hugo slightly frowned at the rather random question. “Yeah. I know how to make it.”

Scorpius smiled, one of those easy-going smiles that made Hugo’s stomach flip-flop. “Do you think you can make them so that it looks like two mounds on a plate instead of a rectangle or in a small cup?”

“Mounds?” Hugo tried to picture what Scorpius was describing, but he didn’t have much luck.

“Well, you know how when you scoop ice cream and put it on a plate, it looks like a half-circle?”

Hugo nodded. “Ah, so you basically want them to be semi-circular, but have two of them side by side?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Well, I can easily do it,” Hugo said, rubbing the back of his head. “And I can show you the results later, but why do you want them in that particular shape?” Just as he said that, he pictured the description closely, and he saw what they sort of resembled. “Oh.”

“Yes, if you could make them resemble a woman’s breast . . . ” Scorpius’ cheeks reddened slightly, and Hugo felt his own cheeks flame up.

“What’s up with these strange suggestions? Are you that sex crazy?” Hugo asked before he could stop himself.

There was an uneasy pause, and Hugo lowered his gaze, wondering if he’d offended Scorpius.

“I’m not . . . ” Scorpius sighed before muttering, “And these are really not my ideas.”

Not his ideas? Hugo wasn’t sure if that was what he’d heard, but he didn’t press the issue. He sensed that Scorpius hadn’t got offended, which made him relax a notch. Muttering a quiet apology, he continued, “Let me see try making the tiramisu. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Turning around, Hugo went to work. He cursed himself as he gathered the ingredient. He really hadn’t meant to say that to Scorpius, but he did, and now he felt incredibly foolish. He wanted to redeem himself by making the tiramisu Scorpius had requested.

He prepared the tiramisu, making sure the layers were all perfectly aligned, measuring the right amount of liquor, using the best cream and cocoa powder, and ensuring it resembled a woman’s breast. When he’d finished, he looked at his creation, smiling because it turned out well. He wasn’t attracted by the female body as much as the male body, but even he could see that this was perfect.

He put the plate on a tray, placed a fork next to the plate, and he took it to Scorpius, who was in his office, the door opened. “Here it is,” Hugo said, presenting and setting the tray carefully on the desk. He stepped back and waited a bit nervously to see Scorpius’ reaction, forcing himself to not bite his lips.

Scorpius’ eyes took on a serious look as he studied the tiramisu, and when he looked up, they looked friendlier. “It looks great!”

“It does?” Hugo felt warmth growing inside of him. “Try some.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll taste delicious. Everything you’ve made so far tastes fantastic.” Regardless, Scorpius lifted the fork and cut off a piece.

Hugo felt as if time had suddenly slowed right then. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He watched Scorpius bring the fork close to his mouth, watched that luscious-looking lips part. He saw the tongue dart out, touching the tiramisu, and the tiramisu disappeared into Scorpius’ mouth. Hugo observed the way Scorpius’ hazel eyes closed in absolute pleasure, giving his face a very tranquil appearance. Hugo’s gaze travelled down to Scorpius’ pale throat, which moved when he swallowed, and Hugo found himself wishing he could kiss that pale skin.

Hugo was entranced. He’d seen Scorpius eat and sample his pastries many times before, but this was the first time he could see it being so erotic.

Scorpius was eating another bit of tiramisu, and Hugo wished he was that piece of tiramisu at that moment. His own cock twitched at that idea. He was growing aroused by watching Scorpius eat.

Hugo had to leave quickly.

Forcing his own mouth to move, he asked, “Does it taste okay?”

Scorpius nodded. “It’s delicious.” He broke off another piece and lifted the fork towards Hugo. “Did you try it yet? Here.”

Hugo blanched at the sudden intimacy of this motion. He didn’t mind sharing utensils — he’d done it with past lovers — but this wasn’t something he expected Scorpius to do. He also worried on what might happen if his mouth touched that fork. He didn’t expect England to explode, but he feared he might lose his control and pull Scorpius closer and snog those soft-looking lips.

He really needed get out of the office now.

Hugo quickly shook his head. “I’ve already tried it. I’m real glad you like how this turned out. If there’s nothing else, I need to go back to the kitchen. I don’t fancy burning the place down. Excuse me!” Not waiting for Scorpius’ response, he turned and swiftly walked towards the direction of the kitchen. He bypassed the kitchen and went straight for the loo, making sure the door was locked behind him.

He sat on the toilet, not caring it was dark, not wanting to turn on the lights. He stared at the wall in front of him. He didn’t see the dark outline of the door or the light switch; he could only envision Scorpius bringing that fork up to his lips, his mouth covering the tiramisu, and oh how Hugo wished that tiramisu was his own cock.

He’d only been half-hard in Scorpius office, but in the privacy of the loo, his cock became fully hard. Closing his eyes, he unzipped his trousers, slipped his throbbing prick out from its constraint, and he stroked himself as images of Scorpius never left his mind.

Panting, his hands all sticky, it didn’t take him too long before he came. He sat there, feeling spent and strangely empty.

Wanking wasn’t enough, he realised. He needed — no, craved — Scorpius’ touch and kiss and all the other stuff he’d yet to experience. He didn’t know for sure if doing all that with Scorpius would feel that fantastic or not, but he imagined it would feel more enjoyable than a solo wank.

“God, I’m fucking pathetic,” Hugo said softly, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Why did I have to fall for him? I blame these fucking pastries!”

One night, Hugo and Scorpius were the last ones left in the shop, and they were both closing up — Scorpius out in the front and Hugo in the kitchen. Hugo didn’t mind this arrangement. This meant he didn’t have to stay so close to Scorpius, something he really had trouble doing since he’d been imagining Scorpius in many different sexual scenarios.

But to his dismay, Scorpius came into the kitchen. Hugo’s heart began to race, and he forced himself to take deep breaths to calm himself.

Scorpius smoothly walked across the room and leaned against the counter closest to Hugo. His eyes took on a serious effect. “I’ve been meaning to ask this before. How do you like working here?”

Hugo hadn’t expected that question, and he actually was touched Scorpius would even ask this. He could see Scorpius really cared about the working environment and how it affected those working here, and that made Hugo feel more appreciative towards him.

“Honestly? I like it.” Hugo grinned. “You’re a good boss, and it shows by how everything works darn well here.”

Scorpius nodded and stared off to the side.

Hugo waited for Scorpius to say something, and while he waited, he tried to come up with something to distract his libido. He really didn’t want to get horny now. His mind raced around to try to think of something non-sexual before realising something crucial. When Scorpius didn’t say anything, Hugo said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?” Scorpius looked puzzled. “What for?”

Hugo smiled slightly. He couldn’t believe he’d never really thanked Scorpius for this. “For that time when I found out I was a Squib. You’ve helped me realise that it wasn’t the end of the world to be one.”

“That?” Scorpius chuckled. “That was ages ago! You don’t need to thank me or anything.”

“Still, if it weren’t for you, I’d probably never have really got out of that anger.” Hugo’s face turned rueful. “Though I still do wish I could have gone to Hogwarts and experienced and felt the magic of that place. I think it would have been nice to have my own wand, study the magical subjects . . . ” Falling silent, he thought about all the stuff he’d missed out because of his Squib status. Every once in a while, like now, he’d feel a pang of regret, and he’d wonder and imagine how his life would be like at Hogwarts. He wondered if he and Scorpius would have got to know each other better that way. There were so many things he speculated on what just could not be.

Scorpius’ next question broke the silence. “You don’t feel like you have magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, but that’s where I think you’re wrong.”

“How?” Hugo asked with a frown.

“I personally believe that you have magic in you. It just chose to express itself differently from most people. It shows when you make pastries. I think your magic’s suppressed, but it reveals itself when you bake.”

Hugo was taken aback. “So what you’re saying is that my magic is what makes the pastries so . . . good?”

“I think that’s a part of it. I think you’re naturally gifted at making pastries, but your magic also helps enhance what you make.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Hugo admitted.

Scorpius laughed. “If you want to explore this, just go talk to your mother!” Scorpius’ eyes twinkled as Hugo started to snigger. “Your mother strikes me as someone who loves to do research.”

Hugo’s laughter increased, and he had to put his hands on the counter to support himself. “You’ve got that right! My mum would really love to research that if I mentioned it to her!” Picturing his mum at her best in front of a pile of books, Hugo shook his head in amusement.

After that little laugh fest, he had the urge to stretch, so he lifted his hands in the air and stretched, his shirt going up as well, revealing his tattoo.

“That tattoo really is nice and simple,” Scorpius commented.

“Thanks. My friends and I got it one night. We were kind of pissed, though.”

“That sounds rather risky.”

“Yeah, but it turned out all right. I rather like mine. It means ‘love’ in Japanese.”

“It does?”

Hugo didn’t miss the strange lilt in Scorpius’ voice. He only nodded before saying, “Yeah.”

“Do you know much Japanese?”

“Nope. I only know this one character due to my friends.”

Scorpius pursed his lips in a comical way. “Oh, well, perhaps you should tell your friends to review their Kanji — the writing system your tattoo is based off of.”

Hugo was quite perplexed by Scorpius’ vague statements. “Why?”

“Because,” Scorpius said dryly, “that’s not the Kanji for ‘love’. That’s Kanji for ‘Scorpio’.”

Dropping his mouth, Hugo exclaimed, “No way!”

Scorpius looked apologetic. “I’m afraid it’s true. But I’m also honoured.”

“Bloody hell!” Hugo groused. “I feel like a stupid prat! I can’t believe I took Tony’s words like that! I thought since that prat loved Japanese culture and language, he’d know his stuff, but I guess not when he’s pissed! I’m gonna go slap him silly!”

“Calm down,” Scorpius said as he began to laugh again. “I doubt slapping him would help him learn Japanese better.”

Hugo tried to glare, but he started to laugh, too, and it wasn’t long before his embarrassment dissipated. Right about then, he felt warm fingers brushing against his cheek. He stilled and stared at Scorpius, who was looking at him in a peculiar way. Scorpius had a very intense look on his face, a look Hugo had never seen before, and it made his stomach churn in a way that sent warmth all over him. His mouth grew dry, but he still managed to say, “Scorpius?”

“You had some flour there,” Scorpius explained in a husky voice, taking another step closer.

“Oh.” Hugo grew dizzy at Scorpius’ nearness. “Is it all gone?”

“Yes.” Scorpius’ other hand grabbed Hugo’s hip, the same area with the tattoo.

Hugo felt his tattoo burn from the touch, and the feelings deepened when Scorpius’ thumb circled that spot. Sucking in his breath, Hugo looked straight into Scorpius’ multi-coloured hazel eyes. Those eyes electrified him; he felt shivers of pleasure go down his spine. His eyes moved to look at Scorpius’ lips, and he slowly brought his head forward. Scorpius tilted his head to the side with his lips parting ever so slightly. With mere centimetres separating their lips, Hugo waited, wondering who’d close that tiny gap. He could feel Scorpius’ hot breath on his, and he could almost even taste him. So near, but still so far away.

Closing his eyes, Hugo decided to make the first move, but before he could touch his lips against Scorpius’, a voice from the front rang out.

“Scorpius? Are you here?”

Hugo’s eyes snapped opened, and he jumped back, ducking his head to hide his reddening face. He mumbled, “I should go now. See you tomorrow.”

Without waiting for any response, Hugo walked out of the kitchen, out to the front where he saw Mr Malfoy standing there rather stiffly, looking very out of place surrounded by the erotic pastries. If Hugo wasn’t so flustered, he’d probably would have found this picture very amusing, but he couldn’t. Not currently.

“Scorpius is in the kitchen. Please excuse me, sir, and have a good night,” Hugo said politely, right before making his hasty escape into the dark night.

Because it was so late, there were nobody else on the streets, and he welcomed that. He figured if he started to mumble to himself, nobody would be around to think he was deranged. And he knew he’d be talking to himself a lot during his long walk home. It would be a great way to get rid of his pent up emotions as opposed to riding the tube, and he had a lot to berate himself over after tonight’s incident. Plus, he knew, knew, he’d be thinking about the kiss-that-almost-happened, and his body would not let him rest until he’s been satisfied in the only way he could get satisfaction by himself.

Really, it was going to be a long night.

The next few days of work ended up being very awkward for Hugo. He and Scorpius both tried to minimise their contact with one another, and whenever they talked, they both sounded formal and uncomfortable. Hugo could barely look Scorpius in the eyes. He was afraid if he did, he’d do something drastic. Getting fired from his job for indecent act was not what he wanted to go through!

Still, avoiding Scorpius proved to be difficult. Hugo’s desire towards him didn’t lessen; it only increased, and he only wanted the man more.

Something told him to make the first move, but Hugo wasn’t sure if that’d be a good idea or not. He really didn’t want to risk anything, but he knew that something had to be done. He just wasn’t sure what needed to be done.

He didn’t really have a lot of time to think about the next step. With the Christmas holidays coming up, things at the shop were quite crazy. Decorations had to be put up, both magically and non-magically, and he had to experiment and make holiday-themed pastries, some erotic and some not. He was quite fond of the candy cane striped, penis-shaped, peppermint éclairs. They’d become instant hits with the customers. Again, Hugo couldn’t help but wonder why so many people had bizarre tastes.

Nonetheless, Hugo made what needed to be made. The demands for pastries were high, so one morning, he came in earlier than usual, and Scorpius was there to help him in the kitchen. After their exchanges of “good morning”, they silently worked together. Hugo tried not to stay near Scorpius, but once in a while, their hands would brush against each other, and these touches made Hugo tingle with suppressed needs. The longer they were in the kitchen, the more he wanted to just say “fuck it” and throw himself on Scorpius. It was all torture, and Hugo wondered if he should ask his uncle Charlie to cast a libido-suppressing charm on him or something, though he really didn’t want to explain the reason for needing that spell to Charlie, even if Charlie was his favourite uncle!

As he pondered on that idea and other workable solution, he heard something come into the kitchen, something with a pleasant twinkling sound to it. He looked up, at the same time Scorpius looked up, and they both saw a dancing mistletoe hovering above them. Hugo stared at it, and muttered, “No way.”

He risked a glance at Scorpius, whose face had gone red. The blasted mistletoe continued to dance, its cheerful tune getting louder. It shook itself hard, and Hugo saw it sprinkle something sparkly. As soon as the sparkles hit him, he knew it’d been spelled with something unusual. Before he could figure out what that something was, he felt Scorpius’ strong hands grab him at the front, and he was pulled into a crushing kiss.

“Mmph!” Hugo said against Scorpius’ soft lips, his nose smushed against Scorpius’. Automatically, he angled his head so his nose wasn’t so squashed. That made it better, and it was even better when Scorpius parted his lips, and a warm tongue traced over his lips, which allowed the tongue to slip inside his mouth, and oh, that felt so fucking good. Whatever tea Scorpius had earlier still lingered on his tongue, and Hugo found the taste to be overwhelmingly delicious.

Hugo was being snogged to death, and he did not mind it at all. He brought his own hands to fist into Scorpius’ shirt, and he tugged Scorpius closer, wanting to feel Scorpius’ body against his. His back hit the counter, and he felt one of Scorpius’ legs between his, and when that leg began to move, he moaned into the kiss, and he mentally begged Scorpius to do that again, wanting to feel that much needed friction in his middle. He became harder than he’d ever felt, and he reached around and grabbed Scorpius’ arse, the very arse he’d been admiring for weeks. Through the trouser, he massaged them, wishing he could touch them without any clothing in the way.

But that desired warmth, all that pleasure disappeared the minute Scorpius had let go and backed away with a shocked look. “I . . . I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!” Scorpius gasped out, looking horrified at what had just happened.

Dazed and feeling lost, Hugo shook his head. “No, no. No! Why are you sorry? Why? I didn’t mind this. I’ve been wanting this for ages!” He reached out to grab Scorpius’ shoulders. “Please. Don’t walk away. Don’t just leave now.”

“But . . . ” Scorpius sighed and bowed his head.

“You want it, too, right? You and me, we both want it. Let’s not fight this, Scorpius. Let’s not. I like you, I really do.” Hugo took a deep breath to calm himself. “I want this. I want to try this. Only if you do, though.”

He was relieved when he saw Scorpius’ face softened. “You really want this?”

“Yes,” Hugo said strongly. “I want you.”

Scorpius’ response was to pull him into another mind-shattering snog, and Hugo had no complaint. He eagerly kissed back, eagerly wrapped his arms around him, wanting to feel the warm body against his again. He could hear the twinkling of the mistletoe above him, and it made him feel so light and happy. Breaking the kiss, he trailed kisses down to Scorpius’ pale throat. He lightly nipped and sucked the area. Hearing Scorpius’ moaning in desire, it made him bolder, and he began to unbutton Scorpius’ shirt. He easily slipped his hand inside to touch one of his nipples. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing, what with Scorpius’ leg grinding against his hardness.

He felt like they were in another world at the moment. He felt like time had stopped around them. He had no care for the world around them. Not even the pastries he had to make. Not even the burning smell his imagination brought up. Nothing could separate him from Scorpius until they’d made love.

“Oh, how lovely! I’m so pleased to see that the mistletoe worked!” a voice rang out, but Hugo ignored the voice. He only wanted to focus on getting Scorpius naked.

“Too bad I’m not a voyeur. I would definitely enjoy this show,” the annoying voice persisted. “But I don’t think either of you would want to burn or suffocate to death. It’s getting rather smoky in here . . . ”

Hugo stopped and looked over Scorpius’ shoulder. He saw Luna looking at a stove, which had black smoke coming out. “Holy fuck!” He let go of Scorpius and ran to the stove. He turned it off, opened it up, and yelled, “Can someone cast a spell to make the smoke go away!”

The next few minutes flew by as Scorpius and Luna helped him fix up the kitchen. The burnt pastries were brought out from the stove, and the tray was set on the counter, and Hugo stared at the ruined macarons.

“Luna,” Scorpius said, “thank you for stopping us, but . . . ” His eyes narrowed. “Did you charm that mistletoe?”

She gave a serene smile. “Yes, I did! You know what I’ve always said! Unresolved sexual tension is really not great for the Nargles. They only thrive on our positive sexual energies!”

Hugo blinked at her words. He was fond of Luna, even if his mum didn’t particularly care for her, but even he could see how eccentric she could be. But what was she doing here? “Luna? Er, why are you here?”

“I came here to give Scorpius some new ideas for the holiday pastries!”

Hugo’s eyes widened. “Sorry?” He turned to Scorpius. “She gives you ideas?”

“Remember how I told you that these pastries are not my idea?” Scorpius muttered. “It’s hers. To be honest, she’s the mastermind of this place. This pastry shop and its theme were all her idea, and she somehow convinced me to run it.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She’s the one who came up with all this? Why?!”

Luna giggled. “Why not? The wizarding world needed something new and different, and like I’d already said about the Nargles, they need positive sexual energy from us, and ever since this shop had opened, the Nargles are so much more content!”

Hugo and Scorpius shared a look of bewilderment.

“Well, I do apologise for interrupting you two. I’ll just go wait in your office, Scorpius.” She hummed the cheerful tune the mistletoe had sang earlier and left the kitchen.

Hugo shook his head. “Only Luna . . . ”

“Yes. I should have told you about her earlier, but she insisted on not telling you yet. I guess she wanted to show herself to you like this . . . ” Scorpius shrugged with a small smile.

“I guess. I’ve given up trying to understand her.”

“Same.”

Hugo shifted uncomfortably, wondering what would happen next, but Scorpius surprised him.

“Tonight, after we close, would you . . . ” Scorpius trailed off.

“Would I . . . ?” Hugo prompted, hoping Scorpius would ask him what he suspected.

“Have dinner with me?”

Hugo slowly grinned. The shy way Scorpius had asked gave him warmth, and it took all of his control to not jump up and down like an idiotic git. “Sure. On one condition.”

“What?”

“Let’s go to a place Luna would not know of.”

Scorpius coughed and sputtered, and Hugo started to laugh, the tension between them melting away. Recovering from his fit, Scorpius said, “I know of a good place.”

“Great!” Hugo looked forward to their first date. Nothing — not even Luna — could prevent him from going to dinner!

“Where’s the fruit cake?”

“There’s no more Christmas biscuits?”

“George Weasley! Why is the Christmas tree decorated with exploding candy canes?!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Never mind the tree! Where are the presents?”

Hugo ignored the cacophony outside of the kitchen. He was busy making the croquembouche, and he glared at it, willing the mountain of choux to not fall on him like that one and only time he’d tried to make before. He’d sworn to not make it anymore, but Scorpius had requested it of him, and he was willing to try it one more time for his lover. Besides, along with his family, Scorpius’ family had come to the annual gathering at the Burrows, and he’d wanted to impress Mr and Mrs Malfoy with his skills.

Taking a deep breath, he placed the final choux at the top, and he stepped back, hoping the mountain of choux will stay intact. Nothing happened, and he gave it a gentle poke. They all stayed together.

“Yes!” Hugo shouted in delight. “I did it!”

“Just like I thought you would.”

Hugo turned around to see Scorpius, who was smiling with pride. “Yeah. Now I just have to take it out to the front and put the string of caramel around it.”

“Mmm.” Scorpius came closer. “You really are talented at making pastries.”

“Is that the only thing I’m talented at?”

“No. You’re also a great kisser.”

“Only great?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Cheeky, aren’t you.”

“If that bothers you so much, you can do something about it.”

“Like?”

Hugo traced his tattoo, glad that he now knew its real meaning. Glad that it matched his lover’s birth sign. He wrapped his arms loosely around Scorpius’ neck and brought their faces near. “You could kiss me.”

“I could,” Scorpius whispered. “And I don’t need any mistletoe encouraging me to kiss you.”

“Especially one that’s spelled.”

Scorpius gently kissed him. “No. Not one that’s spelled. Happy Christmas, Hugo.”

“Happy Christmas, Scorpius.”

“And a happy Christmas to all of us. Come on, you two, get a room later, all right? But first, we’re waiting for your masterpiece! We can’t call it an end until the best pâtissier of the wizarding world come and present that croquey thing!”

Hugo made a face at Charlie. “Croquembouche. Okay, Uncle. Give us a minute.”

Charlie left them, laughing. Scorpius pecked him one last time, and he said, “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Scorpius carefully picked the croquembouche, and Hugo followed with saucepan filled with caramel. Side by side, they went out to join the celebration. Sharing a secret look, Hugo was glad Scorpius was with him, glad he finally found the right person to love and spend Christmas with.

Hugo smiled widely. He knew this was to be the start of something special.

James flopped down on the sofa and buried his face in a pillow, attempting to drown out the grating, screeching noise that sounded far too much like a cat’s claw scratching down a window. He knew it wasn’t really that, but it certainly sounded like it whenever Scorpius hit a rather high note on that cello! “Scorpius, please! Give it a rest! My ears are bleeding!”

“I’ve only played for five minutes!” Scorpius retorted, dragging the bow across the strings, making James cringe from the sound. “I need to get acquainted with this. It’s a Stradivarius, you know. Father spent a lot on this for my birthday, so I can’t just let it sit and collect dust.”

“I don’t care what-a-varius it is! All I know is that I don’t like that brand, no matter how prestigious or famous, because all the silencing charms in the world doesn’t work on that wooden giant! It sounds terrible whenever you hit the high note.” James hesitated and then admitted, “You sound okay for the rest though.”

“This is a new piece I’m practising. Once I master it, it won’t sound this bad. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not that talented to learn a piece in one sitting!”

“All right, all right.” James sulked and muttered, “I don’t understand why you love a cello that much.”

Scorpius stilled and gave James a serious look. “Have you ever played a cello?”

“No, but Albus did try to learn the violin once. Those two weeks were hell on my ears.”

“So he didn’t get very far then.” Scorpius looked thoughtful, which soon turned into a smirk.

James narrowed his own eyes. He knew that smirk. Scorpius might be a Hufflepuff, but he still had many Slytherin tendencies, and James recognised a Slytherin plot easily since he lived many years with another Slytherin — his brother.

“Here,” Scorpius said, standing up, still holding onto the cello. “Come and sit here.”

“Huh? You want me to play? I can’t play, and I really don’t want to accidentally ruin that Vladimus or whatever cello.”

“Just come. You won’t really be playing.”

James shrugged and did as Scorpius requested. “Okay, I’m sitting here. Now what?”

Scorpius put the cello in between James’ legs. “Do you know what a vibrato is?”

“Don’t a lot of opera singers do that with their voice?”

“Yes, and so do a lot of instrumentalists.” Scorpius stood behind James and reached around to position the bow and his other hand on the instrument. He slowly dragged the bow, making a note, and his left finger at the top moved in that spot, creating a beautiful sounding vibrato.

James gasped. Not only could he hear the vibrato, but he could feel it very, very intimately since the body of the instrument was more or less pressing against his crotch. Scorpius did it again, and the second round of vibrations against his groin felt so good. It wasn’t enough to get him off, but it was enough to drive him slowly mad with desire. Scorpius wasn’t being merciful; he kept on playing the low notes, kept the vibrations strong, and it wasn’t long before James’ pants became constrained and his breathing became ragged.

“You feel that?” Scorpius stopped the vibration, and James immediately felt its loss, wishing it was still pulsating against him. “Now you see why I like the cello?”

“Yes,” James managed to say in a strangled voice. “Now I can see that you’re a bloody pervert!”

Scorpius grinned. “Well, I’m not the one turned on by a vibrating cello in between my legs.”

“Shut up,” James growled out. Scorpius made the cello vibrate once more. “Stop that!”

“I don’t think so. I think you like this. If I stop now, I don’t think you’ll be pleased.”

James hated it when Scorpius played dirty like this, yet if Scorpius wanted dirty, then James would act the same. “Fine. But you’re going to be the one explaining how your expensive Strabismus cello got stained in the back to your father. Not me. Granted, I am wearing clothes, so it might not get stained, but it’s up to you to take that risk.”

Scorpius froze, and James held back his laughter, watching Scorpius move the cello off to the side. “Great,” James said brightly. “Now, fix this little problem you’ve caused.”

There was a gleam in Scorpius’ eyes, making James be on his guard. Scorpius got up and went to get something from the bedroom. James gaped at the humongous red and yellow, penis-shaped vibrator. He swallowed and said, “No way.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who made a good point about the cello possibly getting damaged, so I’ve opted to use something else that vibrates.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” James moaned.

“Oh, yes. And when we’re done, I’m going to compose a concerto called ‘A Covetous Concerto’, and it will be dedicated to you.”

“Great, just great,” James complained. But even though he complained, he really didn’t mind. Whether Scorpius composed a song or kissed him, James didn’t care as long as Scorpius never used the cello like that again!