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.

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!

Bomp bomp bomp ba-ba bomp bomp bomp!

Percy awoke to the sound of elephants taking over his room. Or least it sounded like elephants. Or maybe a brass band. He couldn’t quite think clearly. Rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses on, he sat up, making the blanket puddle around his groin. The source of the noise was coming from somewhere in the flat, and he wasn’t quite brash enough to go around nude. He grabbed the dressing gown from the floor, slipped it on, and left the bedroom.

The bomp bomp bomp sounded louder out in the sitting room, but it was empty. He turned and walked towards the direction of the noise, which sounded like it came from one of the other rooms. The door was closed, so he knocked on it, but he didn’t hear any response. Just the bomp bomp bomp, which sounded suspiciously like “Jingle Bells”.

He stifled back a groan. It was already mid-December, and he was really getting sick and tired of the Christmas carols blasting all around him. It was bad enough he had to hear the dreaded tunes constantly at work, but must the songs haunt him during his personal time, too?

Quietly, he opened the door a crack, and he peered in, where he saw his lover — Kingsley Shacklebolt — playing, of all things, a tuba. Percy blinked, staring at the tuba, a silver tuba that was huge. At least it made Percy feel small. Next to Kingsley, that tuba didn’t look so enormous. And most surprisingly of all, Kingsley didn’t look quite silly playing that instrument. Kingsley long arms were wrapped around the monstrosity, which rested on his strong, pyjamas-covered thighs, and his elegant fingers were pushing down the valves. Just last night, those fingers had been dancing a tune over Percy’s body.

Percy felt his cheeks turning warm. He turned his gaze away from those fingers and looked at Kingsley’s face. He first noticed the earring, which wasn’t gold at the moment and currently matched the tuba’s colouring, but it was Kingsley’s cheeks that attracted his attention more. They weren’t puffed out like most wind instrumentalists he knew. The cheeks were sunken in, just like whenever Kingsley sucked him, and Percy moaned at that image, suddenly wishing he was the tuba in Kingsley’s lap.

The bomp bomp bomp suddenly stopped, and Percy felt Kingsley’s smouldering gaze on him. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt–”

“Did my playing arouse you that much?” Kingsley eyes were on his groin, which had a very tented appearance.

Percy flushed harder, trying not to run off. “I, er, didn’t know you played the tuba,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up.

“I used to a lot, but I haven’t had the time lately to play it. But I had this urge to play today, so I got it out to practise. Sorry if I woke you.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” Percy gestured at Kingsley to keep playing. “It sounds very good. You have a good tone! It . . . it matches your voice!” He nearly grimaced at that idiotic sounding phrase. What he meant to say was that the tuba’s deep tone reminded him of Kingsley’s sensual, deep voice.

Kingsley cocked his head to the side and then smirked. He set the tuba off to his side, and he patted his lap. “Come here.”

“Wha–?” Percy automatically obeyed and walked over. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but being pulled down into Kingsley’s warm lap was not what he’d expected. Not that he was complaining. No, sir, not when he was crushed into a powerful kiss that made him whimper, nor when a large hand cusped his arse and another slipped into his dressing gown to touch him there.

“It’s time to blow a different horn and practise a different etude. And this enticing etude is definitely more preferable than scales and other exercises.” Kingsley whispered after breaking the kiss.

And Percy really couldn’t disagree — not that he’d ever agree “Jingle Bells” was a good etude — but this — Kingsley touching in all the right places — was infinitely better than any Christmas songs or the elephant march he heard earlier.

Sirius scowled at James, who at the moment was too busy laughing his head off to even notice the angry look.

“James? Shut it! I swear, mate, your laugh is like a bloody foghorn!”

“Sorry, sorry,” James said, still laughing, his upper body bent over as he heaved for breath. “It’s just that . . . I can’t see you playing the piano, ever! Wearing all those poncy looking dress robes at recitals . . . that’s just fucking brilliant. I bet you looked like a right stiff in those!”

“The dress robes were not poncy looking!”

“Don’t lie! I’ve seen your dress robes before, the ones your mum made you wear. They were quite horrid, with all those frills, so I’m imagining the recital ones to be even worse!”

Sirius groaned and banged his head on the closed cover of the piano keys, ignoring his pounding headache and wondering why he was an idiot to tell James about his piano skills. He hadn’t meant to tell James this. In fact, he’d never wanted to tell any of his friends, but it’d just accidentally come out when he and James had discovered a rather dusty and neglected piano in the back of the Potter family’s house.

As James continued to laugh like a twit, Sirius took a seat on the hard, cold bench and turned his glare at the piano. It was a grand piano, black, looking forlorn and unused, but he could see that it was majestic back in the day when it was still being played. The upright piano at his former home was nothing compared to this beauty in front of him. It just needed some cleaning to be grand once more.

Wordlessly, he lifted the cover up, and he stared at the ivory keys, impressed that they hadn’t yellowed with age, and the black keys that punctuated the overall appearance. He glided his fingers over the smooth and cold keys, and he mentally began to hum a song, a Beethoven sonata he loved, and he could see the notes arrange themselves in front of him as his fingers moved on their own to their starting positions. His right foot found the pedal it automatically sought out, and he began to play.

He could no longer hear James’ loud laughter; he only heard the song that was coming from the piano, the song he was playing from memory and from his heart. Yes, he’d always hated those recital outfits, and he didn’t want to admit he could play since it was something his parents had forced him into, but despite everything, he loved the piano. It was an outlet for him and it was something that allowed him to be him.

When he came to the end of the song, he stilled his hands, his fingers still curved, and he opened his eyes. He glanced at James, whose mouth was opened wide, whose eyes were large behind his spectacles.

Sirius broke the silence. “Well?”

James closed his mouth and a slow smirk came onto his lips. “Well, poncy or not, I’m impressed!”

“Only impressed?” Sirius raised his eyebrow, moved the bench back a bit, and pulled James in front of him. He tugged James’ head close to his and said, “How about I show you another use for a piano . . . which will leave you not only impressed, but it will be a concerto for you to remember?”

“You seem too cocky about that,” James quipped back.

“Cocky? Why, Prongs, my boy, that’s an excellent choice of word.” Sirius moved until only a hair separated his and James’ lips. “An excellent choice.”

“Well, Padfoot, will you just fucking snog me already?”

Sirius pushed James back, ignoring the loud cacophony James’ arse made on the key. “I will, but I want to hear you serenade me . . . with your arse. And then I want you to give me a wonderful cantata of how much you worship me when I suck that gorgeous cock of yours.”

He heard James’ breath hitch. “Fine, Sirius, fine. If it’s a sexy symphony you want, then I’ll give you one hell of a show.”

Dudley glared at Hestia. “You want me to do what?”

She smirked. “You heard me just fine.”

He groaned loudly. Several months had passed since he and his parents had gone into hiding while those wizards and witches raged war against a psychopath who Dudley hoped he’d never meet. It’d been a long several months of eating nasty food, living in tense conditions, and staying in a flat that was too small compared to his home at Privet Drive.

But Dudley understood all the sacrifices. From what Hestia and Dedalus had told him, he knew Harry was going through much worse. He knew that the real world was a dangerous place compared to the cocoon of his childhood, and he was willing to do anything to protect himself and his parents. As well as Harry. Dudley had no desire to compromise Harry’s safety with any mistake.

After several months of living in this small flat, Hestia and Dedalus had received words that their current location was no longer safe. Luckily, the Order had another safe location ready. The plan was simple. Dedalus would escort his parents to the new location one way, and Hestia would escort him by another route.

However, there was a tiny catch. “I am not wearing those things.”

“You will wear them,” Hestia said pleasantly.

“It’s a bloody dress!” Dudley glared at the paisley-patterned dress. He wasn’t an expert on fashion, but even he could tell that it was the ugliest dress in the world. It was obviously a dress meant for a large woman, as he was anything but petite. He eyed the sleeves, wondering if it would even go over his bulky arms, but he quickly realised that Hestia probably did something magical with the dress to make it fit him.

“I’m well aware it’s a dress.” Her smile turned deadly as her eyes sparked with intensity. “Put. It. On.”

Heaving a sigh, Dudley grabbed the dress, but he still hesitated. “Can’t I just wear something else? Like one of those floppy hats? Or . . . or . . . a beard! That would work!” Dudley nodded eagerly, knowing that beards would fit a bloke better than a dress.

“Oh, for the love of stubborn teenagers! Look, put it on, wear the heels, and don’t forget the wig! And then I’ll do your make-up! It’s either that, or I will do something painful to you.” She paused. “Too bad I’m not allowed to cast magic on you. I would cast a permanent sex change spell on you right now if I could.”

“Hestiaaaaa. Dedalus would never do this to me!” He couldn’t help it. He was whinging, but he didn’t care.

She leaned close to him and smiled. “Although Diggle might seem nicer than me, I’m really far more lenient.”

Dudley blinked. From what he could see, Dedalus was definitely nicer than Hestia. Though Dedalus was a bit over-enthusiastic at times. “Huh?”

“Trust me when I say you do not want to know what his solution would be. Underneath that cheerful exterior lies a very sneaky and sadistic man,” she explained, tossing her black hair over her shoulders. “I know Diggle very well, so stop wasting time! Put the stuff on!”

Under his breath, Dudley muttered, “I know you’re a fucking cow. A fucking bossy cow.”

“What?” Her eyes gleamed dangerously.

“Nothing! I’ll do it!”

“Good.”

The next few minutes didn’t pass quickly enough for him. He somehow got the horrific looking dress, the tight heels that pinched his toes, and the itchy brown, curly wig on. Then Hestia quickly applied some make-up on him, which, he thought, made him look like one of those scary clowns. Like the Joker but ten times worse! When everything was done, Dudley stared into the mirror. “This isn’t going to work!” Dudley muttered to himself.

The world’s ugliest drag queen stared back at him. The dress made him look larger than he usually appeared. He stared at his wide chest; he had no tits, but he didn’t mind. He was not going to wear a bra with stuffings in them. The shoes were already killing him, and he now had a bit more respect for those women who wore heels all the time. The curly wig wasn’t soft at all; in fact, the curls were very hard and spiky. Dudley was afraid that the long fringe would poke his eyes out!

All in all, aside from the pansy-looking dress, the horrible make-up, and the spiky wig, he came to the conclusion he looked like that Trunchbull woman from Matilda.

“There, now we can go. Even though it’s midnight, it doesn’t hurt to take this extra precaution.” Hestia changed her robes into a long Chinese style dress. It was red with golden patterns all over it.

Dudley now looked at both of them in the mirror. The two misfits of the century. “I think we’ll attract attention.”

“How so?”

“I look like I’m going to go to an afternoon tea with the Joker, while you look like you’re going to go to the Chinatown or whatever that place the Americans call!”

“Dudley? Tomorrow’s Halloween. We can say we’re on our way to a costume party.”

“At midnight?”

“Why not?” Hestia grabbed his arm, and he stumbled in his heels. “Now, let’s go.”

As he was dragged along in the dark night, Dudley only hoped that this would work. Last thing he wanted to do was to die wearing all this! And when he reached the safe location, he planned to take everything off and burn them. He didn’t care if he had to shove everything into an oven. He’d do it!

“I’ll have to hit the WC. Excusez-moi,” Tonks said in her awful French accent. She stood up with a grin and trotted to the loo.

With Tonks safely out of sigh, Percy resisted banging his head on the table. Instead, he pushed his glasses further up his face and took a long sip of his ice water that was no longer icy. “Some Gryffindor you are . . . ” he muttered to himself.

Yeah, for real. You’re acting like a coward!

Percy gritted his teeth. The little voice in his head sure loved to come out at the most inopportune times! ‘Shut up,’ he said in his head.

Why are you telling me to shut up? I’m really you, so you’re telling yourself to shut up! How insane is that?

‘Oh for the love of . . . ‘ Percy rolled his eyes.

Really, why are you stalling? Grab that braveness lurking inside of you and go for the gold before you lose your chance!

‘It’s not easy. It’s . . . I don’t think it’s something I can rush into.’ Percy shrugged to himself. One of the women across the room gave him an odd look. Had he accidentally said it out loud when he shrugged? People tended to think he was crazy when he started to have “conversations” with himself. Percy bit his bottom lip as he ducked his head.

This is something you’ve thought about for years now. I hardly think you’re rushing it.

Why in the name of Merlin was he having this conversation with his own voice? ‘You’re not helping.’

What else do you want me to say? You’ve been dating her for four years now; you and she are war heroes. She even tolerates your workaholic lifestyle. And the fact that you’re never impulsive. She loves you for who you are, and even though you always question why she’s with you, you love her, too! Plus, you two are shagging! And snogging! So why are you acting like a ninny? Just do it, Percy Ignatius Weasley!

“Percy!” Tonks familiar voice jolted him back to reality. Percy looked up at Tonks and saw her looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine!” His voice sounded shrill, and he winced. His hand felt heavy as he dug through his pocket for the little box he had with him, his usually nimble fingers felt stiff as it took him several tries to grab the box. While he fought with the box, he asked, “How do you like your meal?”

Tonks blinked, her hair changing orange, the colour she used when she was confused. “You’ve already asked this earlier. And I told you — it’s fine.” She paused. “Percy, you’re only twenty-seven. You’re much too young to be turning senile.”

“W-w-w-wuhhh,” Just as his hand was stuck in his pocket, his own throat had decided to make his voice its captive.

Stop your stammering and just bloody ask already!

“Percy . . . ?” Tonks’ orange eyebrows scrunched together.

Finally, his hand came out with the box. As he opened it, he blurted, “Will you marry me?!”

He immediately turned red and bowed his head, looking at the sparkling diamond.

Good going! I think everyone on the Isle just heard your un-romantic proposal!

Before he could formulate a nasty retort to himself, Tonks reached over, grabbed him by the collar of his robe, and kissed him deeply.

Percy ignored his inner voice laughing at him, and he ignored all the catcalls and cheers in the background. Those noises all became muted, so when Tonks finally let him go, all he could hear was her happy, “I will!”

Draco decided Ron needed some new clothes. With the money they had both saved up, they went shopping in the most fashionable stores available in Diagon Alley. It wasn’t as if Draco needed to save his money, but he did so anyways to put Ron at ease. Ron wasn’t used to being rich yet. The store Draco led Ron into was a place Ron had never set foot in before. He looked around and saw how empty it was compared to the second-hand clothing store he usually went to with his family.

“Draco, why do I need new clothes? The ones I have now are fine.” Ron did not want to be here. He didn’t like the snobby, rich atmosphere of the store.

Draco plucked a piece of lint off of his impeccable robe before looking up and answering. “Ron, we are going to a social function. Normally I’d turn down the invitation, but considering how my father is hosting this function, I didn’t have the heart to turn it down.

“Besides, Ron, I am in the mood for some new clothing myself. I think I’ve worn most of my outfits twice already.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You can’t spare to wear something more than two times?”

“No, of course not. I have a reputation to maintain. Quit complaining.” Draco stopped and tugged his lover closer. He stood on his tiptoes (Ron was several inches taller than him) and whispered silkily into Ron’s ear. “You love the way I look, so in order to look even more gorgeous than I am, I need more outfits.”

Ron’s ears turned crimson, and with a suppressed growl, he gently pushed Draco away. “As much as I would love for you to seduce me now, I do not think the people in this store would appreciate our activities.”

Nodding, Draco stepped back. He took Ron’s hand and led him over to the hat section. “Help me select a hat.”

“Why,” Ron asked with confusion written on his face, “do you need a hat?”

“The function is outdoors. It’s windy. I do not want my hair to blow all over the place. Besides, I want something to cover up my face a little bit so I don’t lose my porcelain complexion.”

“A simple spell would work…”

“That is true.” Draco rolled his eyes. “But I want a hat. Never had one before really, so I want to take the opportunity to have one now.”

Ron scanned over the collection of hats displayed in front of him. “Something that will keep his hair in place and keep the sun out of his face… which hat would do the trick?” Muttering to himself, Ron studied each hat in front of him.

“Ah-ha!” With a smile of satisfaction, Ron reached over for the perfect hat.

Draco, in the meantime, was looking at the robes section. He wasn’t paying attention to where Ron was looking. When he heard Ron’s “ah-ha”, he turned back to the hats section. Only because of his upbringing did he not almost scream and run out of the building. Instead he kept a straight face and smirked to himself – for an idea had come to him.

“Uh, nice, Ron.” Draco looked at the hat Ron had selected. The hat resembled the Buckingham Palace Guard hat. It had a visor sticking out from the side of the opening, so he could see why Ron chose it since it would keep the sun out of his face. Draco choked back a laugh as he thought of what the hat kind of resembled…

Ron handed it to him and said, “Try it on.”

Smirking, Draco replied, “Which head?”

“Wha…?” Caught off guard, it took a moment for the comment to sink through Ron’s brain. “…Your head, Draco.”

“I know, but which head?”

“You, you… you know!” Ron sputtered. “The one with the hair!”

“I hate to break this to you, Ron, but both heads have hair, sort of. Be more specific.” Draco inwardly sniggered to himself.

Blushing, Ron continued to stumble over his words. “The … head … where you would put a hat!!”

“Oh?” Raising an eyebrow, Draco pretended to study the hat critically. “Considering the shape of the hat, I think I can wear it on both heads, love.”

“…What?” Ron looked at the hat in his hand. If possible, his blush deepened to an even darker shade of crimson. “I see…”

“So, which head, Ron?” Draco continued to tease his lover mercilessly.

Ron contemplated on what to say next. With a triumphant grin he said, “The one with the brain!”

“Haven’t you heard, Ron? That both heads have brains since they think for themselves?”

Growling, Ron took the hat in both of his hands and yanked it a little bit forcefully down on Draco’s head.

“I meant that one!” Ron stepped back. Soon he was shaking his head. “That hat is not you. Draco, give it up, I cannot find a hat that would suit you. Just use a spell.”

Draco took off the hat and smoothed his hair out. “Fine.” Leaving the hat behind, Draco walked out of the store and apparated home. Ron followed him and arrived in his lover’s arms. Draco wrapped his arms around Ron tightly.

“I’ll use a spell…”

Ron nuzzled into Draco’s finely combed hair, which was a little bit messed up from the hat. “Okay.”

“I’ll use a spell,” Draco repeated, “but on which head?”

Ron growled again, and he pushed Draco into the bedroom to use appropriate means of punishment on his infuriating lover.

Teddy has known for years that he’s a Metamorphmagus where he can change his appearance at will. His nose can grow bigger and longer to match a certain former headmaster, he can change his hair colour and style every minute if he wishes without having to pay any salons, and he can be taller, skinnier, bigger, shorter, and any other adjectives available in the English language.

What has always fascinated him is the fact that he’s able to also change his skin colour. Not only that, but he has discovered he’s capable of changing only certain areas of his body to a particular colour.

He uncovers that peculiarity one day rather unexpectedly. He’s home, at his flat, and he’s bored out of his mind. Plus, it’s hot and humid, and no matter how many Cooling Charms he uses, his flat still feels like a sauna. Fanning himself and sweating immensely, he first strips off his shirt, not caring that beads of sweat are trailing down his firm chest and stomach. Then he loses his trousers, tossing them across the room, his legs feeling sticky and unpleasant; they at least feel a bit cooler as soon as they are released from their constraint!

With only a pair of pants on him, he sags into his leather sofa and watches the telly. Flipping through the channels, he finds an Asian film that shows a bunch of young men trying to do interesting Quidditch-like moves — minus the broom — in a swimming pool. Curious, he watches it, hoping it will cool him down some, but the more he watches, the more he realises he’s still hot as all hell.

Suddenly, he says to his telly, “I need a cold shower. This weather is bloody ridiculous. And I’m talking to the telly. The heat’s definitely getting to me!”

His skin nearly tears off as he removes himself from the sofa, and he drags his heat-stroked body to the showers. The tiles give his feet a nice chill he enjoys for a minute, and he takes off his final article of clothing — his pants. Now utterly naked and vulnerable to some sex-crazed freaks out in the world, he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He looks like his normal self — turquoise hair all looking damped against his forehead and neck; golden brown eyes that appears exhausted from the telly overdose; beautifully tanned skin which shows off his well-toned “sexy swimmer’s body” (as Lily calls it); and a nicely-sized, flaccid cock greets him. For a minute, his cock captures his eyes, and out of nowhere, he wonders if it’s possible to change his cock to a certain colour.

He knows he can make his cock bigger and wider if he wishes, which is always popular with both the men and the women he runs with, but he’s never tried to make it change colour before. And really, there’s nothing stopping him, so why not? But first, in order for him to see the colour easily, he decides to stroke himself to hardness.

Moaning out loud, he squeezes some lotion onto his hands, and he grabs his cock with one hand and his balls with the others, and he tugs and massages himself into an erect state. His cock comes alive slowly, and he watches through half-lidded eyes at the way it becomes aroused. With a lazy pace, he strokes and pumps his length, and it isn’t long until he decides he’s ready to try his experiment.

He inhales deeply, and he concentrates on the first colour in his mind.

It’s purple, and his cock does changes into a dark indigo shade. When he sees it, he first feels like royalty since purple is associated with the kings and the queens, right? Yet upon a much closer inspection of the purple phallus in the middle of his body, he comes to the conclusion that this colour makes his cock resemble an eggplant.

And he absolutely and positively hates eggplants.

Quickly, before he gags, he changes it to green — the same hue matching Harry’s eyes. Another food came into his mind, and he thinks of cucumbers. Except his cock doesn’t have those bumpy ridges, which is probably a good thing. If his cock ever develops the ridges, he will worry that he’s contracted some deadly, incurable disease.

At least he doesn’t mind cucumber as a food, though.

Next colour on his mind is orange, and he develops a huge craving for Cheetos Puffs or carrots, especially the big, fat juicy ones he sees at the Korean supermarket. Swiftly, he changes to another colour because he really doesn’t want to think of food right now.

Unfortunately, though, his colour association only brings him more thoughts of food, food, and food.

Pink reminds him of candy floss — a skinny candy floss but candy floss nonetheless, while black makes him think of liquorice in the form of long tubes. It’s strange that he’s even thinking of sweets — he doesn’t even like sweets that much!

Again, he hastily gets rid of all thoughts of pink and black, and he thinks of blue, and blue potatoes come into his mind. He’s only tried it once, when someone his grandmother knows from South America had brought them some. He recalls eating that as a unique experience, and he enjoyed it, surprisingly.

At least, maybe now, he won’t think of disgusting food, and he’s pleased to see that the last four colours make him think of his favourite foods. He ends up wanting bangers after his cock turns red, and he decides that tonight will be bangers and mash night. With a white cock, cauliflowers pop in his mind, and as his favourite vegetable, he decides to have it with his bangers and mash, along with shitake mushrooms when his cock’s colour transforms to brown. And for dessert? Something dealing with bananas.

He sighs and stares at his yellow cock — its colour the pride and symbol of his house at Hogwarts — and he decides enough is enough. “I’ve come for a cold shower, and now I really need a cold shower. Otherwise, I’ll have blue balls for the rest of my life!”

Thus ends his Technicolor experiments, and thus begins his quest for the world’s fastest shower as hunger claims him. When he finishes, he shivers, glad he’s finally cool, and he wraps a towel around him as he dashes off to the kitchen to prepare his meal.

Every night I talk to the stars pretending it’s you. It acts just like you, far away and never replying to my questions. — Anonymous

Another lonely night has come
Where I sit by myself.
With nothing but a chess set and
The stars right above me.

My inside’s all confused and bleak,
I want to scream out loud.
So I grab some pen and paper,
To let my feelings out.

I hear you inside the Burrow,
All love-struck and content,
But that just makes me more upset,
As my hands come alive.

I know you like the pretty girls;
I do respect that, but
My heart cannot differentiate
Dreams from reality.

When did I start to feel this way?
Why did I fall for you?
I wish the stars would answer back,
Giving me some guidance.

Of all the people on the train,
You chose to befriend me.
Our friendship started on that day,
Going through ups and downs.

As time went by, my feelings changed.
I saw you in new lights.
You, unaware and secretly,
Began to drive me nuts.

I longed for our relationship
To evolve over time.
But it didn’t; I’m glad to say,
Since you’d push me away.

Yet I’m the one with many faults;
I’ve acted like a prat,
Where in the past, my stubbornness,
Has almost cost me you.

As sentimental as this sounds,
I have to say it now.
If our friendship ever ended,
I will wish I was dead.

I think of morbid, angry thoughts,
And think of ways to end
Your relationship with Ginny
So I can fully win.

I know my flaws and weaknesses,
Like knowing my own name.
Hot-headed and impulsive, too,
I try to tone them down.

Though I have many other faults,
Including being mean,
Compared to my much younger self,
I’ve come a long, long way.

Brooding, I continue to write
These feelings that remain.
The very same, exact feelings,
I’ve forced on someone else.

That proved to be a big mistake,
As Hermione knew.
She figured out what I could not,
Instantly like a shrew.

She scolded me for using her,
She lectured me too long,
But in the end, she sympathised
And kept my secret safe.

I take a break, I look above,
I ask the stars again,
I ask the stars to grant my wish,
I ask one final time.

It’s pointless, and I know that well.
I do it anyway.
Oh, I close my eyes so tightly,
And take a long deep breath.

Hark! A door slam interrupts me.
I see a flash of red.
My sister hurries down the path,
With Harry calling her.

He stops and stares and sees me here.
His face stays neutral.
But in his eyes, I see the signs
Of guilt and something else.

I have to ask, I have to know.
I ask what has happened.
In a very despondent voice,
He tells his tale to me.

“I’m gay,” he says, “and I told her
That I can’t stay with her.
I had to stop this horrid act,
Or I’d regret it all.”

My heart stops beating when I hear
This most surprising news.
Did he really say he is gay?
Or am I hearing things?

“You’ve got to be joking,” I say.
“Or are you serious?”
I stand up to move close to him,
And he just shakes his head.

His eyes, the windows to his soul,
Covered by the glasses,
Close tightly as he takes deep breaths,
And gives me wary looks.

Too surprised by the shocking news,
I stare at the chess set.
A very tense and stiff silence
Comes and wraps around us.

He probably thinks I’m pissed off
Because he sighs and says,
“I’m sorry, Ron, for hurting her,
Oh, please, do not hate me.”

I clear my throat, which has gone dry,
Making me cough a bit.
I look at him, I smile at him,
And catch him by surprise.

Patting his shoulder, then I say,
“Thanks for being honest.”
A cheery smile lights up his face,
And he goes back inside.

Now all alone, out on the porch,
I look up at the sky.
I see the stars and the full moon.
I sense new hope inside.

“Ten points from Gryffindor!” Severus barked out as one of the cauldrons from the Gryffindor’s side of the room spilled over. The Slytherins sniggered and pointed at the mess, but they quieted down as their Head of House gave them a look.

Severus stalked up the third-year responsible, who was a quivering mess right now, and said in a low voice, “You will serve three days detention with Mr. Filch, understood?”

Without saying a word, the poor student nodded quickly, and then nearly fainted with relief as Severus walked away.

At that moment, class ended, and Severus with a simple flick of his wand, had the mess cleaned up in seconds. As everyone, Gryffindors and Slytherins, all dashed out of the classroom, Severus sat in his chair at his desk and rubbed the bridge of his forehead. He was in a foul mood, and the whole school knew it.

Severus growled and slammed a fist on the desk. He was furious with his lover, Harry Potter. While Severus knew Harry was busy with his job, and while he did respect the fact that Harry was a diligent, respectful worker, he did not appreciate being neglected and ignored over these past few weeks. And with Christmas coming around, he did not know how he could handle an absent lover in what was supposedly the happiest time of the year.

Three years ago. That was when Harry had first confessed his love to Severus. Knowing all the consequences facing him, Severus had tried to shun, discourage, and push Harry away. Instead, somehow, even when he did not want to, he had found himself coaxed into this relationship. Harry had him wrapped around his fingers. Up to this day, Severus had no clue on how a cunning, manipulative Slytherin like him could be walked all over by a Gryffindor.

“Yes, a Gryffindor with some Slytherin tendencies,” he muttered to himself, lacing his fingers in front of his face as he leaned into them. “That boy will be the death of me one day.”

Severus’ sneaky mind rushed into a frenzied state as he came up with an idea. An idea to pay Harry back. A slow, smug smile came to his face. Had anyone been in the room at the moment and had seen it, they would have been very frightened.

It was Christmas Eve, and Harry felt exhausted as he walked into Severus’ quarters. He finally had some time off from work, and the first thing he wanted to do was to go find Severus.

Harry stopped in mid-walk and stared at the object sitting smack in the middle of the room.

The object resembled a tent. A huge tent. It was almost as tall as him. He peeked into the opening, and said, “Severus? Are you in there?” He received no answer. Curiously, he stuck his head in further. The inside was more spacious than it had indicated from the outside. He ducked his head down as he stepped in.

Inside, he saw a table with two chairs opposite from each other. On the table were rose petals. Amongst the petals, there were plates of food filled with all of his favourites. He sensed a warming charm placed on the food. The wonderful smell of the meal went up his nose, and he could feel his stomach growling in hunger and his mouth salivating.

He walked a few steps and saw that beyond the table was an area decorated, in Slytherin green and silver, of course, with huge pillows and smaller throw pillows around the area. Harry coughed as he realised just what that could be used for.

“What is going on? And where in Godric is Severus?” Harry asked himself. He pondered that question as he waited. He glanced at his watch, a gift from Hermione two years ago, and saw the date.

He then realised that it was Christmas Eve.

“Fuck!” He looked at the decorated area, and guilt began to gnaw at him. He had neglected Severus these past few weeks, thanks to his job. Even though Harry had basically put his job before his lover and completely forgot about Christmas coming up, Severus still did all of this for him.

He heard Severus’ voice behind him. “Do you like what you see?”

Harry whipped around, feeling so guilt-stricken. “I . . . I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I’ve been so busy. This is really great, but I don’t deserve this! Why did you do this?” He cried out the last sentence, and then Severus stopped Harry’s babbling by putting a finger on the lips.

Severus went on in his silky voice. “I did this because I knew this would manipulate you into feeling guilty for nearly forgetting about me.”

Harry stared into the dark eyes, seeing the feelings of unhappiness mixed with irritation. “I’m sorry, Severus. You know I didn’t mean to disregard you these past weeks. Is there anyway I can make it up to you?”

Severus reached out and gently caressed the cheeks, feeling the beginning of stubble. He studied Harry, and he could see that his lover was really feeling guilty. As much as he knew he could be cruel, he didn’t want to ruin their holiday like this. He sighed and said, “Yes. Celebrate Christmas with me in here. I just want to be with you for the next forty-eight hours.”

A small smile came to Harry as he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the lips. “Of course. After you all, you went through all the trouble to create this wonderful gift. Thank you, Severus.”

Severus quietly tilted Harry’s head and said, “Happy Christmas, Harry.” Without another word, he kissed Harry deeply, all resentment forgotten in the holiday spirit.