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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.”

“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!”

“I don’t want our son to become a dragon handler. I refuse.” Thinning her lips, Astoria’s blue eyes flared with unmitigated anger at her husband. Her eyes met her husband’s cold, grey eyes — eyes she never once saw as warm and inviting.

“That’s what he wants to do, Astoria. Scorpius is no longer a child. I refuse to coddle him the way you have all these years,” Draco retorted coldly.

“I’ve never coddled him. I just worry for his safety with those beasts. Is it wrong for me to worry? Or,” she continued, sneering, “was becoming a dragon handler something you’ve always wanted to do? And since you’ve never had the chance to do it, you’re supporting our son’s ambitions to do so? Are you trying to live through him?” Astoria clenched her hands by her sides; they were shaking with anger. How dare Draco undermine her authority as a mother? How dare he try to make up for his failures through her son?

“That’s enough!”

The slap didn’t hurt. Instead it only numbed her. She straightened herself up to her full height and said, “Have you no heart? I only worry for his safety. I’ll always be against this. I hope you pay the price if something happens to him.” Her face was an icy mask as she turned around smoothly and walked out, her footsteps echoing in the large room, a room that never gave her much love, a love she always had desired from her cold and unresponsive husband.

“Mother? What are you doing here in Romania?” Scorpius rushed over to where Astoria had waited for the last ten minutes. “I . . . I never thought you’d ever visit here . . . ”

Giving her son a loving smile, she reached up to give him a soft peck on his cheek. She knew why he was surprised. After all, she had voiced her opinions about Scorpius’ job choice, but she figured she’d give it a chance. Her son was a brilliant young man, after all, and what kind of a mother would she be to question his intelligence? Besides, she felt confined in that manor despite its grandness and vastness. She’d wanted out, and she’d decided to visit Scorpius at his current workplace. “Your owls have intrigued me, and it made me want to see this place for myself,” she answered calmly. “Also, I would like to meet your supervisor, to thank him for taking you in. Your supervisor is a certain Mr Weasley, yes? Remind me which one?”

“Charlie, Mother. Charlie Weasley.”

And when Scorpius introduced Charlie, Astoria felt something warm inside her, something that melted the iciness she’d been carrying for many years. Charlie Weasley looked nothing like she’d imagined. He was ruggedly handsome. His muscles looked strong and well-trained. His chest — well exposed through a low-cut shirt — was littered with scars — but it only made him look more rakish. Then there was that confident smile, which combined with his warm, lively brown eyes, gave him a friendly appearance.

Astoria couldn’t remember the last time she’d laid eyes on such a good looking specimen.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something good to come out of Scorpius becoming a dragon handler, despite all the risks involved.

“Mrs Malfoy? What can I do for you?”

Charlie’s warm and friendly smile made her heart flutter. She looked around the small office before clearing her throat. “I came by to visit Scorpius, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello.” She tilted her head to give him a small smile.

“Well,” Charlie said, spreading his arms out. “You’re invited any time.”

Discreetly, her eyes travelled all over Charlie’s muscular body, memorising everything about him, including the little mole she saw right under his right eye. Her eyes finished their wandering course, and they soon landed on Charlie’s face. The smile she saw earlier was still there, but when she locked eyes with him, she saw something deep in there that made her feel dominant. In his eyes, she saw discomfort.

Instead, her own smile grew, and she continued, “Thank you for your hospitality. And also, I’ve brought you some sweets, too. I wanted to thank you for taking good care of Scorpius.” She handed the package over to him, and she made sure their hands touched each other, and she purposely let her hand linger against his longer than necessary.

“Er, thank you, Mrs Malfoy.” His hand — the very hand she just touched — ran through his short hair, and she noticed the way he’d shifted.

“You’re welcome.” She gave him one last sweet smile before she turned around and left.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs Malfoy,” Charlie said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t have prevented this terrible accident.”

Gritting her teeth and clenching her eyes shut, Astoria was glad her back was turned to him. She didn’t want to appear weak to him. Him . . . the man who’d invaded her dreams these past months. The man to whom she’d entrusted Scorpius. The man who had failed to keep her son safe. How could this man, braver than most, allow her son to die?

Deep down, Astoria knew it was she who had failed her son. She was the one who couldn’t keep him safe. She’d failed as a mother just like she’d failed as a wife. It was just easier to blame Charlie. He should have kept her son safe.

When she spoke next, she was glad to hear that her voice came out steady in its usual calm tone. “Have you told his father yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I shall tell him. I’d like for you to leave now.”

“Mrs Mal–”

“Please do not ever call me that again. If you’re going to call me anything, call me Astoria. Now, leave.”

When she heard the footsteps fade along the corridors, she collected herself once more and headed towards Draco’s study. At the door, after three abrupt consecutive raps, she let herself in to that room, a room she’d never felt welcome in, but that was to all change in the next few minutes.

With Draco falling into a shocked state that’d turned him into an empty shell, it was Astoria who took care of Scorpius’ funeral arrangements. She handled everything that needed to be handled, and through it all, she never once cried.

She had no tears to cry. There was no sadness inside of her. Even though she acted like her usual aloof self, inside, she felt more barren than she’d ever felt before.

When she’d met Mr Weasley, it was as though she’d rediscovered a part of herself that had been buried for years. But that little spark of light inside of her disappeared along with Scorpius. It made the void even more unbearable.

She needed to get rid of that nothingness inside of her. She had to.

She soon discovered the answer to her dilemma in a little dingy pub. There, she’d run into a very drunk Charlie Weasley. From his incoherent babbling, she understood that Charlie was still distressed from her son’s death. Fury bubbled deep inside of her, and she’d hit him, but he didn’t respond to it. Instead, she in turn felt strong — stronger than she’d ever felt in her life, and she craved that newfound power.

That was when she laughed — a strange high-pitched laugh she’d never heard from herself before. “Not going to fight back? Not going to argue?”

Lethargically, Charlie shook his head. “You can do whatever you please.”

The emptiness inside of her became full as she felt a myriad of emotions tumbling, piling, and fighting for dominance. She didn’t mind, though. She only welcomed the chance she finally had to feel alive again.

“Is it painful for you, Charlie?” Astoria crooned as she tilted the red candle slightly. Its wax dropped onto Charlie’s naked chest, covering up the scars that were on its broad expanse, contrasting beautifully — the red against the white, the red being the same shade as blood.

With a gag preventing Charlie from saying anything discernable, Astoria smiled lazily as she imagined Charlie hissing at each drop of the wax. She stepped back, wanting to admire her handiwork. Charlie was spread-eagle on his back, and his wrists and ankles were tied to each bed post with scarves that were spelled to be tear-resistant. Charlie’s brown eyes looked back up at her, and they were no longer filled with the fire and life as they were when she’d first seen him. They were dull, and they reflected the remorse and guilt that plagued him. Astoria knew it for sure; after all, it was entirely his fault that Scorpius had died and that Draco had become catatonic.

And it was only fair to punish those who deserved it, right?

At least, Astoria was merciful. Along with the appropriate punishment, she made sure Charlie also received the proper rewards.

Satisfied that the design on Charlie’s chest was done, she set the candle down on the nightstand before she climbed and straddled Charlie’s trouser-clad hips. Only wearing a loosely tied dressing gown herself, she bent over until her breasts pressed against Charlie’s broad chest. She snapped her fingers, and Charlie’s gag disappeared. “Are you ready, Charlie?” she asked, her manicured fingers tracing over his scorpion tattoo — a tattoo she’d requested herself — on Charlie’s left bicep.

“Mrs Mal–”

“Astoria. Call me Astoria. Don’t call me anything else.” She gripped Charlie’s shoulders, her long nails digging into the skin. “You’ve come this far. Don’t do anything that’ll set you back, darling.” She smiled prettily, something she only showed to him now. “Remember. This is all for Scorpius.”

It was always that phrase that would trap Charlie, and Astoria always said it when necessary. She’d already lost two men in her life. One was like the Tin Man who had no heart, so she had never really had him to begin with. Another was robbed of life too early in the game because the scarecrow hadn’t made a smarter choice for his future. Third time was the charm, and she could feel it with Charlie. After all, the brave lion had now become the cowardly lion, one with a tremendous amount of guilt.

And with easy acceptance, she’d chosen the lion over the other two.

My bounce-around life had taught me that dreams were dangerous things — they look solid in your mind, but you just try to reach for them. It’s like gathering clouds. — Kirby Larson

“Do you really have to go to this wine tasting party?” Ron asked, sulking on the sofa, his arms crossed in front of him.

He watched Pansy pick at a tiny speck on her otherwise immaculate robes. She then looked up and said, “I’ve promised Draco months ago that I’d go. You can come with me, you know.”

“No,” he stated sourly. He didn’t want to go to any party hosted by that Malfoy git. Not to mention a wine tasting party. He didn’t even like wine! He’d take a shot of firewhiskey over wine any day.

Pansy let out an exasperated sigh. “Then just stay home and relax with Nips.”

“Relax? I’ve been relaxing for the last two weeks!” That was true. Lately, Ron had been overworked and overstressed at his Auror job. The long hours were beginning to take their toll, and his supervisor had ordered him to take a month’s leave or else. Grudgingly, Ron chose to take leave over getting fired. All was not bad as he spent his first week of leave in bliss. He really did need the time off by getting some extra hours of sleep, catching up with his friends, and of course, spending time with Pansy. However, after the first week, Ron found himself growing bored and antsy with nothing to do but play chess, watch the telly, and try to cook simple dishes that wouldn’t explode on him.

Then there was the matter of Nips. There was no way in hell he could relax with the world’s evillest rabbit in the same flat as him. Nips was Pansy’s beloved pet, and despite her insistence that Nips is the sweetest little thing, Ron knew otherwise. He knew for certainty that Nips was the epitome of wicked. He’d explained to Harry that Nips was Crookshanks crossed with Snape and Filch except a hundred times more nasty.

But even Harry — his best mate — who after meeting Nips himself, didn’t believe Ron.

Ron was a bit disturbed that a brainless rabbit could be so good at fooling people.

When Pansy looked away, Ron glared at Nips, whose grey fur gleamed from its daily brushing. Nips’ nose twitched as his ears perked up to listen for any sounds, and it hopped around on its strong hind legs. Ron bristled at the “rabbit scowl” he received from Nips. One day, Ron would make sure that rabbit knew its place!

Pansy looked over herself in the mirror one more time before she turned to Ron and said, “Well, still, just spend the afternoon relaxing. I’ll keep you company tonight, all right? Have fun with Nips!”

With a loud pop, she Apparated away, leaving Ron and Nips together.

Ron surfed through the channels on the telly — he’d been doing that for the last hour, and his thumb began to feel numb. There were over 100 channels for him to watch, and there was absolutely nothing interesting on. Ron considered this to be more than irony — he considered this to be a travesty!

Groaning, he slumped against the sofa, throwing the remote aside, and he looked at the coffee table in front of him. A book lay there, and it was a A Tale of Two Cities, Pansy’s favourite book. She loved the book so much that she even had an antique, leather-bound book in her collection. The one currently on the table was a generic hardcover book she liked to read at least every two months.

Curious, Ron picked up the book. He’d never read it nor really knew much about it except that Pansy adored it. Pansy had tried to convince him to read it, but so far he hadn’t complied. He fingered the spine, where the title and the author’s name were engraved, and he thumbed the pages as he flipped them. He didn’t know much about Muggle literature, but he knew about Charles Dickens . . . or at least he knew about that “David Silverfield” bloke, since he had to watch the film adaptation several times whenever he upset Pansy. And although he’d yet to read the book, he did like the story of the film.

Therefore, he decided to try reading A Tale of Two Cities — simply because he was curious and he had nothing better to do. Ron turned to a random page in the middle and read the first line. It didn’t seem so bad. Maybe he didn’t need to be bored after all. He could read the book!

But first, Ron had to go give Nips his afternoon snack. Rolling his eyes, he went to the room where Nips’ cage resided, and Nips was already waiting there impatiently. Ron cringed at the loud noises whenever Nips shoved his dish around with his muzzle.

“Why me?” Ron muttered under his breath.

Back on the sofa, Ron opened up the book, and he began his reading. He read the famous phrase he’d heard many times before. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . so that’s where this came from!” he exclaimed to himself. “We’re off to a good start.” Eagerly, Ron continued on to the next sentence.

Three pages later, his eyes had begun to cross, and he stifled back a yawn.

The book was ruddy boring.

Terribly boring and confusing to the point that Ron decided he couldn’t stand it any longer.

As much as he wanted to throw the book out the window, he knew better than that; Pansy would kill him if he travelled that route. Instead, he set the book back on the table, found a comfortable position on the sofa, and decided to take a nap. At least the book had one benefit. He wasn’t bored anymore — just sleepy.

When Ron woke up, he could tell something was off. His eyes were still shut, but through other senses and years of Auror training, he knew he was tied up. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at his reflection in the ceiling mirror. “What the bloody hell?!”

Gone were his favourite jeans and his Chudley Cannons shirt. He currently sported an outfit reminiscent to an 1800s outfit he saw on David Silverfield. From the fancy shirt and vest to the cravat to the tight “pantaloonys” and the top hat next to his head on the pillow, Ron decided he looked horrible in the outfit. Not to mention the beard. How the fuck did he grow a beard so quickly?

His wrists and ankles were tied to each bed post; at first he thought they were ropes, but upon a closer inspection, the ropes were colourful silk scarves. Since he’d been dating Pansy for a while, he knew that these were expensive silk scarves.

A terrible feeling came over him. Had he been caught by a bunch of Death Eaters — there were still some out there who’d evaded the Aurors — who had magically transformed him into a character from the 1800s by dressing him up in obsolete Muggle clothing as a form of torture? And why was he tied to a bed? Were all those rumours about Death Eaters and their vastly diverse and huge sexual appetites true?

Before Ron could throw up his lunch all over himself, he struggled against the bindings, which were most likely spelled to not release him no matter how hard he fought them. While he desperately tried to release himself, he heard the door open and close. His captors had arrived.

“Pansy?!” Ron was surprised and relieved to see his girlfriend entering alone. He craned his head to get a good look at her, and his mouth dropped open.

Pansy was all sexed up. She was wearing a very low-cut, purple and black corset outfit in the form of a one-piece swimming suit that gave her pale breasts a good support. At the bottom of her suit, there were those things that held up her lacy, white stockings. Ron couldn’t see her shoes, but he could hear the tip-taps of what he guessed to be heels. In one hand, Pansy held her wand; in the other, she had a riding crop.

Ron wasn’t sure which one he should stare at — Pansy’s shapely body or that dangerous looking crop. He chose to stare at her face. Her rouge-covered smile held hints of a smirk, and her blue eyes had a dangerous edge to them. Her long, black hair was fashioned into a formal up-do, and a small, sparkly tiara was pinned on her crown.

Pansy looked absolutely breathtaking, and Ron could feel the beginning of his arousal pooling in his stomach. Earlier, he hadn’t enjoyed waking up to his bounded state. Now? He didn’t mind it at all. In fact, they had talked about doing something like this one day — minus the costumes — and apparently that day had come as quite a surprise.

“You like what you see?” Pansy asked in a husky voice.

With his vocal cords stunned by her sexiness, Ron could only nod.

“And do you like the costume I’ve picked out for you?”

He didn’t, but the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. He swallowed hard before answering. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Pansy responded calmly, with no vehemence in her voice. “You don’t like it, and I don’t blame you. Those pantaloons don’t quite work for you . . . although I can see the pleasing effects of my outfit on you more easily than when you’re in robes or jeans.” With her riding crop, she lightly brushed Ron’s crotch. Ron shuddered at the teasing touches.

Pansy smirked as she set her wand down on the night table. With her French manicured fingers, she stroked Ron’s face, and then she frowned. “The beard’s got to go. It’s way too bushy, and it’s not you. I’ll bet snogging will feel like I’m kissing a cactus or something.”

“Oi!” Ron said, feeling insulted even if he did agree with her assessment. “My beard’s not that spiky or anything!”

Her fingers touched his beard again, and she looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s softer than a porcupine’s body, I suppose.” She leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his lips, and Ron unhappily groaned when she backed away.

“Pansy . . . stop being such a tease.”

“But you like it, so why don’t you just let me do things at my own pace, darling.” Pansy slowly and painstakingly began to unbutton Ron’s vest. Just doing that seemed to take forever, and Ron grunted impatiently. “Perhaps, next time I’ll get a vest that has more buttons than this one.”

“Pansy,” Ron begged. “Don’t think like that.”

“Why ever not? It’s fun watching you in this predicament.”

Ron bit his tongue, determined not to let Pansy derive pleasure from his current state. Slowly, she finished unbuttoning the vest, and then her experienced fingers loosened his cravat. She tossed that aside, and then she started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Every so often, she’d glide her fingers down the soft materials, the light touches driving him gradually mad as each stroke intensified his burning and growing arousal.

When she climbed onto the bed, Ron saw her shiny, black heels on her feet. She straddled him, her pert arse resting on top of his now rock hard cock, and Ron couldn’t help but moan out loud. By now, he didn’t mind being tied up to the bed. He felt excited by the helpless feeling he had. But at the same time, he wished he wasn’t secured to the bed. He wished his hands were free, so he could run them over the stockinged thighs. He wanted to peel them off of her gently, revealing and kissing her bare flesh.

Despite all that though, Pansy took the command, and Ron didn’t mind at all. Pansy may be a dominating force in the household, but when it came to sex, she usually took the passive route, giving Ron the reign to do what he wanted. This change of authority was definitely a good thing they should try more often.

Pansy squirmed on top of him, her arse grinding his cock. The pantaloons stretched over his middle were so tight that it was almost painful. He wanted to tell her to remove them instead of his shirt, but he could tell by the gleam in her eyes that she had other plans.

“Now,” she said with her usual confidence. “I think I’ll have a taste of you . . . ” She bent over, giving Ron a much closer view of her breasts, and her lips ghosted over his chest. Pansy was going to bite him. The way she bit him always felt good. She knew how to apply enough pressure to give him pleasure instead of pain. When she did that to his nipples, which was one of Ron’s most sensitive erogenous areas, he didn’t want her to stop.

She moved closer and closer to one of his nipples, and Ron held his breath in anticipation. When she kissed it, Ron let out a shudder. “Pansy, please . . . ” All his pride went out the window as he allowed himself to beg.

He could feel a smile playing on her lips as she whispered, “Since you asked nicely, I’ll do what you obviously want.”

Ron closed his eyes and waited.

“Ow! Fucking hell!” Ron jolted up on the sofa. His eyes cleared up just in time to see Nips hopping away. From a safe distance, Nips turned around and gave Ron a haughty look, his nose twitching endlessly.

Through his Chudley Cannons shirt, Ron rubbed his sore nipple, and he looked around the sitting room.

It was a dream. All of it was a bloody dream. When he’d thought Pansy had straddled him, he realised Nips had been the one to sit on his groin. And when he dreamed of Pansy in the process of biting him, Nips had bitten him for real!

Ron scowled at Nips. He was not going to let that stupid rabbit get the best of him! But before he could do anything, Pansy rushed in from another room.

“Ron! What happened?”

Still rubbing his tender nipple, Ron proceeded to tell Pansy everything. Every little detail of the dream up to the point where Nips bit him. When he finished, Pansy was doubled over with laughter. Ron looked at her fiercely. “It’s not funny.”

“I can’t believe you! How in Slytherin’s balls did you get that sort of dream from your poor attempt on reading A Tale of Two Cities and from our watching of David Copperfield? That’s quite impressive of you.”

“Instead of laughing, how about you go scold that rabbit of yours?” Ron answered petulantly.

Pansy sobered up and waved a hand. “He’s just a rabbit. He doesn’t know better. He probably thought your nipples were food.”

“They are not food.”

Ron gave Nips — who had now hopped over to be petted — a dirty look. Nips just looked at him innocently, but Ron swore he also saw the damn rabbit smirk at him.

Clearing his throat, Ron decided to change the subject. An idea had come into his head. “How about we act out the dream?”

“Excuse me?” Pansy’s eyebrows went high up. “Act out the dream? Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

Pansy gave him a calculating look before retorting, ” You think with your cock too much. I’ve a better idea. You need more stimulation in the right brain, so let’s read A Tale of Two Cities out loud together!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Ron blanched out. He did not want to read that book.

Pansy picked Nips up and cradled him gently in her arms. She stood up and started to leave the room. “I’ll be back,” she told him in a mysterious tone.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped and turned around. Giving him a knowing look, she said, “Well, if you want that ridiculous fantasy of yours to come true, you and I’ll both need the costume and the props, right? Just don’t spell a beard on you. I reckon a beard will look terrible on you.”

Ron blinked. Pansy always had tended to surprise him, but he hadn’t counted on her accepting his proposal this easily. Then again, Pansy never turned down an interesting challenge. “Ah, well . . . I guess you’re right about the beard.”

“Very eloquent,” she sniffed. “While I’m gone, I want you to read the first three chapters of A Tale of Two Cities, and I’ll quiz you on what you’ve read when I come back. If you fail . . . well, I guess this fantasy of yours is going on the shelf.”

Nips gave him a mocking look just as Pansy turned and walked out, and Ron stifled back the urge to hex the rabbit. When he was certain Pansy had left the flat, he groaned out loud and glanced at the book with hatred. He had a ruddy book to read, and when he picked it up, he realised that Pansy had cleverly manipulated him into reading this boring literature.

He let out a loud laugh. “Damn, she’s good. She’s as Slytherin as they come. And damn me for even suggesting the idea . . . but I guess it’ll be worth it in the end. Provided I don’t die from the book’s dullness.”

Knowing that Pansy would be gone for quite a while — she was a shopping addict even if she’d never admit it — Ron opened the book and used all of his concentration to remember what he would read.

Sirius let out a sigh and kicked the chair in front of him. “Damn the Wizarding and the Muggle world!” He paced around the sitting room of the flat he shared with his lover, Remus. “Them and their damned homophobic views!”

Remus, who was sitting in an armchair, rubbed his own forehead. “Sirius, calm down. There is nothing we can do about it. If we cannot legalise our relationship, then we just have to let it go.”

“But Remus!” Sirius wailed in frustration. “I wanna get married to you! I love you!”

“So do I, Sirius, but no can do.”

Harry, Sirius’ godson, looked up from the couch he was sharing with Hermione. “This really isn’t fair. You two contributed so much to the Order and the war against Voldemort.” He let out a sigh. “There must be a way.”

Harry stood up and went to the front of the fireplace, studying the pictures that were hung above there. He looked and smiled. One of them portrayed the Marauders with Lily; all of them looked happy and carefree. Harry frowned as he noticed that something was missing. Peter was missing. He looked closer and saw that the place where Peter used to be was replaced with a stuffed pink bunny. He sniggered to himself knowing that Sirius had hexed it there.

Harry looked around the room. Hermione was bent over on the couch with a huge book in her lap. Ron, who had been standing behind his girlfriend, took Harry’s spot on the couch. “Hermione, can’t you ever stop reading for once?”

“Hush, Ron.” She glanced up at her lover and smiled. “I am trying to see if there is a way to bypass those stupid laws which are just wholly unjust.”

“Hermione, give it up.” Sirius breathed out in resignation. “Remus already looked, and there is no way to bypass it.”

Hermione stood up and glared. “Well, you never know. You said it yourself during the war that I was the best researcher the Order ever had, so I’m putting the same use into this situation, and it is all for you and Remus.”

“That’s not what I meant, Hermione,” said Sirius, trying to amend the comment he made previously.

“Okay. Understood.” Her glare lessened a bit. “However, I will continue my research at home.” She nodded to Ron. “Come on. We are leaving.”

Ron groaned. “That means no sex for the next few weeks until she gets to the bottom of this.”

“With that comment, make that a few months, Ronald Weasley!” Hermione Apparated away.

Ron grumbled under his breath, “Exaggerator.” He nodded his goodbyes to the other three and disappeared as well.

Harry smiled as his best friend left the usual way. “Those two are unbelievable.”

Remus chuckled. “Yeah. From the sitcoms I’ve seen, those two will be perfect.” Remus was born into a family of half and half. His father a Wizard and his mother a Muggle, Remus had the privilege of growing up in both realms. He respected both worlds, but at times like this, he hated both.

He glanced at his lover. Sirius, who grew up in a Wizarding world, had a fascination for the Muggle world. Because of growing up in a Pureblood family, he rather disliked the Wizarding world and preferred to be in the Muggle one. However, once he found out that the Muggles were just as homophobic as the former, he was crushed.

Harry stretched and hugged Sirius. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Hermione will find a way to go around the damned laws.” He embraced Remus as well. “In the meantime though, I have to go.”

Remus smiled gently. “Got a date?”

“Yeah I do.”

Scowling, Sirius stared at the wall in front of him. “With that ‘greasy bastard’, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, Sirius.” Harry laughed. “You will never change and neither will he. Like when I said I was going to see you, he said ‘With the dirty old mutt, I presume’.”

Remus stifled a laugh as Sirius’ scowled deepened. With a wave, Harry left.

“Damned Snape,” grumbled Sirius.

Remus walked over and kissed the back of his lover’s neck while his arms wrapped around the firm body. “Don’t let that get to you, love.”

“What if I do?”

“Then no sex for the next few weeks,” Remus deadpanned.

“You wouldn’t, and what is with all this ‘no sex’ crap?” exclaimed Sirius, his face paling. “Plus you’re hornier than I am!”

“But I have a stronger willpower.” Remus swatted his arse and walked away.

“You’re going to get it!” Sirius chased after his lover, all the way to their room. Upon reaching there, Sirius pounced on Remus, causing both of them to fall on their bed. Sirius started tickling the nimble body beneath him.

“Sirius!” Remus gasped out, laughing at the same time. “Stop!”

Amused, Sirius let go and nuzzled the neck. Slowly, he started to kiss and suck the soft skin. He felt Remus’ arms going around him, and they tightened their hold on him. “Love you, Sirius.”

Looking up at his lover’s face, he bent down to kiss the supple, inviting lips. “Love you too.”

“I’ve found a solution,” said Hermione, with a huge smile on her face.

A week had passed since the small gathering. Everyone else was back, with the addition of Severus, who had come because of Harry’s pleading. They were all in the sitting room and lounging around when Hermione bought up the subject of marriage.

“It’s bloody brilliant, in my own opinion,” stated Ron with a serious expression. “And I think it’ll work out as well.” Ron and Hermione were both sharing the couch again, and Hermione’s lap was free of books this time.

Harry grinned widely and took Severus’ hand. They were both standing, leaning against the wall. “Well don’t keep us all in suspense! Do tell.”

“Well,” Hermione began. “Basically what we need to do is have those two separate. Then the man of the relationship will pretend to be going out with a new woman, but instead, that woman will be Remus or Sirius. Whoever decides to be a woman will be glamorised, and he will be posing as a woman for the next few months in public to show that Sirius or Remus has a new lover. The two of them will get married as a heterosexual couple, and once the Ministry finds out the truth, they have no say in it whatsoever. The only way the marriage can be cancelled by any method is for them to have a divorce. Of course, there is the issue where Remus will be known as something else on the marriage certificate, but we can work that out later.”

Everyone stared at Hermione, except for Ron and Severus, with their mouth opened. The silence was deafening. Hermione and Ron became uncomfortable by the quietness of the situation and had worried looks on their face.

“Sirius? Remus? Are you all okay with this?” Hermione asked, wringing her hands together.

Sirius spoke up first. “As strange as the idea is, I think this will work!”

Harry started laughing. “This is absurd!” His laughter dimmed and from the way his shoulders were shaking, it was not over. “It will work!”

“And I think –” Sirius started walking around the room, waving his arms around excitedly. “–that Remus should be the bride.” He turned to look at his mate. “Don’t you think so, Remus?”

Everyone turned to look at Remus. He was sitting in an armchair with a blank expression on his face. Slowly, he turned to glare at Sirius. He stood up swiftly and walked to the bedroom and slammed the door ceremoniously. Everyone gawked at the scene that just happened except for Severus, who snorted and muttered, “Figured.”

All the stares went straight to Severus with a questioning look. He ignored them and asked a bored, “What? As if you all couldn’t tell why he got annoyed.”

“Then enlighten us,” said Harry, wasting no time, not wanting to deal with another row between his lover and his godfather.

The Potion Master rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Dumb Gryffindors . . . why do I let myself suffer so . . . ”

Before Sirius could comment, Severus went on. “Are you blind, Black? It is plain to see that Lupin did not like being referred to as the ‘woman’ of the relationship. You quickly assumed that he would be the one to dress up in a bridal gown and be the one to prepare to look like a lady for a day. Have you not thought that you might have been the one to be in that role instead?”

As realisation dawned on the rest of the group, Severus went on in his lecturing voice. “Also considering the fact that Lupin is a werewolf and I’m guessing he’s an alpha, the alpha in him probably reacted strongly to the assumption of being something lesser. But no, Black. You forgot about who he was and decided to automatically place him as the female role. Thinking before acting obviously does not work for you at all.”

Sirius glowered at his nemesis. “Okay, maybe for a change you’re right. I’ll go talk to him and see what he wants.”

Hermione nodded. “That’s for the best. You guys have plenty of time, so go talk about it.” She stood and pulled her boyfriend along. “In fact, we are leaving now.”

Ron blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, Ron, we are.” Without another word, the two Apparated out of sight.

Harry clasped his godfather comfortingly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Remus will understand.” He smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

The last remaining couple Apparated; Severus did so without saying anything else to Sirius. Sirius frowned at the spot where Severus was remaining a few seconds before.

He turned towards the bedroom and started to walk there, wondering if Remus was really that mad, and if he was, that meant no sex tonight. At that knowledge, Sirius groaned.

Sirius knocked on the room and received no answer. He decided to enter anyway. He looked around the small, but cosy bedroom. There was a small fireplace right across from the foot of the bed. It wasn’t lit at the moment. The weather was too warm for a fire to be burning in a hearth. The huge four-poster bed, decorated in red and gold, Gryffindor colours, was made neatly. Remus was sitting in front of the window, which was situated on the left of the bed. The window had a padded window seat, and Remus sat there, looking outside at the bustling, busy streets of London.

Sirius smiled to himself and thought that Remus looked so ravishingly fuckable just sitting there. His smile disappeared as he looked closely at his lover. A frown was etched on Remus’ face, and Sirius remembered that he had to confront him.

He walked up slowly to him, the footsteps echoing in the silent room. “Remus? Can I join you?”

Automatically, Remus answered, “It is ‘may’, not ‘can’. And yes you may join me.”

Making a face, Sirius bit back his retort. “Okay, Professor.” He sat next to his lover on the window seat and stared downward. Next to him, Remus stiffened. Sirius paid attention to a lover’s quarrel below.

“Why can’t I get a job?” screamed the woman.

“Because, I expect anyone that’s going to be my wife to stay home and take care of the house!” The man growled out.

The woman recoiled as if she had been slapped. “I respect your views, but honestly that is so fucking old fashioned! It’s bollocks if you think women nowadays are going to be satisfied with being good housewives!”

Sirius looked back up to Remus. “Blimey. Is that how you felt when I suggested you to be the bride?”

Remus rose up and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. “Pretty much. But I should not have overreacted.”

“No. You’ve had every right to do so. I shouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion about you taking the female role so quickly.” Sirius stood up and went to hug his mate. “I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus snuggled into Sirius neck and stayed there comfortably. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Sirius kissed the top of Remus’ head and deeply breathed in the aroma called Remus. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Remus reached and planted a gentle kiss on the lips of his lover in which he started to tease. Sirius groaned and deepened the kiss. The two tongues were fighting for domination until Sirius finally gave in, and Remus took over. He slowly manoeuvred them toward the bed, and Sirius fell back on it with Remus on top. As Remus explored the sweet cavern, his hands slipped under the shirt and started their adventure of roaming over Sirius’ torso.

Sirius forced himself to come to sense and stopped the kiss. “Remus? So what are we gonna to do about the dress thing . . . ?”

“Shh.” Remus went back to kissing his mate beneath him. “Worry about that later . . . I . . . just . . . want . . . you . . . now.”

“Yes,” groaned Sirius. “Later.”

Remus shushed him with another kiss. “Quit talking. Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much during sex?”

Grinning, Sirius replied back, “So do you.” He wrapped his arms tighter around the lithe body on top of his and started kissing his lover’s neck. “But talking’s good.”

“So how are we doing this, Hermione?” asked Remus.

Everyone was gathered at the flat again later on in the week. After the make up sex, Sirius and Remus talked about the subject amongst themselves. Sirius had offered to be the woman of the two, but Remus said he would do it. He said that after thinking about it to himself, he couldn’t ever see Sirius as a female. Sirius was taller and buffer compared to Remus, who was shorter with a figure that was slender and lithe.

The catch was that Sirius was not to expect Remus to take the role further after the wedding, or he’d be in trouble. Sirius agreed.

Hermione still doubted Remus’ decision and therefore explained the process tentatively.

“Well, I read up on glamour spells, and there are ways to change one’s appearance with it. Sirius can cast it since the spells are similar to Transfiguration in nature. For at least the next few months, whenever you are in public, Remus, have Sirius enchant you as a woman, and Severus offered to make a potion that will make your voice become higher. You will not feel anything of the glamour, such as you would not feel the long hair, make up, or etcetera. The only thing you will feel is the clothes. You just have to wear female clothes along with your glamour. That is basically it. And I know I said before that you are to only look like a woman for one day, but the few times you go out in public, will be more convincing if you were a woman. Not to mention, you will know how it feels by the time you get married. Oh, yes, and the person who cast the spell is the only one who can undo it.”

Incredulously, Sirius asked, “Snape offered? Since when does he offer anything?”

“I would be careful on what you say, Black, or otherwise good luck in finding some other potion brewer to concoct the voice potion without them becoming too curious and suspicious.” Severus looked up with his classroom glare. “Do not abuse my current act of goodwill.”

Wisely, Sirius didn’t say anything, but he certainly grumbled!

“So shall we try the glamour spell out?” Hermione asked.

Sirius nodded, and she proceeded to tell him the list of spells.

“Damn, Hermione. How many are there?”

“Well . . . there is one for the facial structures in which you get rid of Remus’ facial hair and then change other parts of the face to your liking. Also, that same spell can change his eye colour and hair colour. Then there is one for the hair, to make it longer. Another to get rid of the excess body hair on the arms, legs, and chest. Finally, we have the one to change the body structure, in which he takes a more curvy shape of the woman and get breasts. And then of course it renders changes down in the crotch area.”

Sirius gawked at her and so did Remus.

“Oh, please,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Sirius, you are the Transfiguration expert, so after doing this a couple time, it will become easier as you go along.”

Determinedly, he turned to Remus. “Well, love, what do you want to look like?”

Everyone turned to look at Remus. They were all curious to how he wanted to look like as a woman.

“You choose for me, Sirius.”

“Remus,” Sirius gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re the one who’s turning into a woman for at least the next couple months, so you tell me how you want to look.”

Remus sighed as well. “Sirius. You are going to be the one casting the spell on me. If I described every single detail I’d want as a woman, it’s going to drive you nuts, and you are going to forget minor details along the way, and I will end up looking different every time. So to make this easier on both of us, I suggest you create an image of me and stick with it.”

Everyone was silent as Remus’ explanation sunk in his or her minds.

“He does have a point,” Hermione agreed. “So Sirius, do you have a mental image of Remus as a woman?”

“I do, believe it or not.”

“Then cast the spells.”

With a deep breath, Sirius flicked his wand and said the incantations. Everyone watched Remus slowly changed.

First noticeable change was that his shaggy hair grew longer and reached the middle of his back. The hair was slightly wavy and the colour changed from light brown to medium brown. The excessive hairs on his arms, legs, chest, and face disappeared, just to be replaced by smooth, pale skin. The amber eyes became green, not as bright as Harry’s, but just as vivid. There were dimples in his cheek, and his nose shrunk in size a bit to fit his newly shaped face. His height remained the same, but the build took more of the female curves than the hard, masculine look before. Even the fingers looked softer and more feminine than the strong male hands. His broad shoulders became slighter. Finally his breasts were formed. They were not too flat or huge but were normal sized.

Sirius put his wand down and studied his lover in front of him. Before the glamour process, Remus was wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Now his shirt neatly came off his shoulders. Remus had to hold up his shorts to prevent it from falling. He was blushing deeply as everyone stared at him again.

Harry swallowed. “Blimey, if I didn’t know that was Remus, and if I wasn’t gay, I’d definitely hit on you. That is if I wasn’t taken as well.” He amended quickly after glancing at Severus. “Remus you look like Kate Winslet.”

“No, I say you look more like Nicole Kidman,” said Hermione, studying him critically.

Sirius laughed sheepishly. “Actually, I was aiming more for Julia Roberts . . . ”

Remus went to the nearest mirror and stared at his reflection.

“Sirius, if you were aiming for Julia Roberts, your aim is very off. I feel like Helen Hunt with dark hair,” he deadpanned.

Severus stepped up and handed him a vial. “This is the voice changing potion. The effects will last about three hours. So if time runs out and you got no extras, then keep your mouth shut.”

“Thank you, Severus.” Remus took the cap off the vial and drank. “Yuck. Tastes almost as bad as the Wolfsbane potion.”

After about a minute, Remus spoke again. “How do I sound?” His low tenor was replaced with a very high alto. Remus winced.

“Well, it sounds more girly that’s for sure.” Hermione looked at his clothes. “Let us go shopping now, Remus.”

Before Remus started protesting, Hermione butted in. “Relax. We are just buying a few blouses, couple of slacks and skirts, with shoes, and undergarments. Just the work. In fact, this can be our first outing!” She glanced at Remus’ bra-less chest. “Wear a jacket. It is a bit chilly.” It was late spring, but the weather decided to be a bit wet and clammy that particular day.

Remus went to the bedroom and grabbed a jacket and changed into a pair of jeans that was now big for him. He snatched one of Sirius’ belts and buckled himself snugly. “I’m ready to go.”

Hermione linked an arm into Remus’ and smiled. “Oh, yes, what are we going to call you now?”

“Linda?” suggested Ron.

“Ann?” Harry piped in.

Sirius looked into his lover’s eyes. “How about Vivian?”

“First you intend Lupin to look like Julia Roberts, and now you take one of her character and name him that? How original can you get, Black?” drawled Severus. Nobody was stupid enough to ask how Severus knew about “Pretty Woman.”

“I think it will work,” Remus smoothly interrupted. “Let’s go, Hermione. Let’s go shopping. Maybe I’ll finally understand you ladies’ love for such excursions.”

“Yes, Vivian, let’s leave the ‘men’ alone to their business. And we shall come back and show them the real ‘Vivian’.” The two of them Apparated away and left the others behind.

The remaining men looked at each other.

“Chess anyone?” Ron pulled out his portable chessboard and glanced at someone hopefully.

Severus thought to himself. The idea of socialising with Sirius left him feeling disgusted, so he decided to play chess. Besides, he wanted to defeat a Weasley and prove their incompetence. “I’ll play you, Weasley.”

Harry took this opportunity to start a game of Exploding Snap with Sirius, and the four spent the next few hours amusing themselves.

After a long day of shopping, Remus realised why men like him avoided such activity. How in Godric’s name women lived on this was a mystery to him. He was tired; his feet and his arms were sore from walking from stores to stores and from carrying the purchases.

Hermione made him try on item after item. He went into the dressing room, and he hated it. The cramped space bought him back memories of being locked up in a cage during his change when he was younger. However, he had no choice, so he had to endure the small area or face changing in front of other people. He never considered himself an exhibitionist except to his lover.

“‘The work’, eh? Seems more like a whole new wardrobe,” he muttered to himself when he was in the dressing room trying on underwear.

He did not like it when Hermione was looking at his glamorised breasts. Even though Hermione hadn’t meant the action to be a sexual one, he now knew how some women felt when men were ogling their breasts. After trying on couple bras, Hermione had declared that he was a 34 C.

Remus was grateful that he didn’t have to learn how to apply makeup. Wearing the clothes was good enough, or maybe bad enough for him. But nevertheless, he was still thankful.

After five hours of shopping, they came back to the flat. Everyone’s mouth, including Severus’, dropped open.

“Holy shite, Hermione. What’d you do?” Ron managed to ask, barely moving his mouth.

Everyone’s eyes were on Remus’ form. He was wearing blue jean flairs that made his legs seem longer. He had on top a white peasant shirt, and it was revealing the top part of his chest. He had on shoes with no heels. Remus had drawn the line about wearing shoes with heels. He said he was not going to learn how to walk in those while he was a female. Hermione reluctantly agreed.

Sirius walked up to his mate with an undecipherable look on his face. He took Remus’ face in his hand and looked into his eyes. “You look beautiful. If you were a real woman and I wasn’t gay, I’d go after you in a heartbeat.”

Blushing, Remus was too tongue-tied to say anything.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie. “Well . . . Hermione. You certainly know how to dress anyone up.” Everyone except for Severus nodded to Harry’s assessment.

“Yes. I have to agree with Harry on this sudden turn of event. I reckon.” Severus stood up from where he was sitting. “Harry, we should leave now.” He turned to Remus. “I’ll owl you more voice changing potion later.”

Harry said his goodbyes and Apparated with Severus. Ron and Hermione left as well, not before reminding Remus to go out in public with Sirius often so people know that Sirius and Remus “broke up”.

After they left, Remus talked. “Damn it feels weird to hear my voice as a man when I look like a woman.”

Laughing, Sirius said, “I still like your original body better.”

“If you do, take this glamour off, please?”

“Will do.” Sirius smirked. “How about changing out of the clothes first. Wouldn’t want them to get ripped after just buying them.”

Remus nodded and picked up the packages and walked toward the bedroom. When he noticed Sirius was not following him, he stopped and turned around. “Sirius, I am not going to become butt naked here. I am not that much of an exhibitionist.”

“Aw, Remus. No one is here.”

“Then you will sleep out here tonight since you seem to like this place so much,” Remus deadpanned.

Sirius pouted very cutely and walked behind Remus. Upon entering their room, Sirius closed the door and turned around. He saw Remus throwing the packages on the floor and quickly took off his clothes. Sirius pulled out his wand and said “Finite Incantatem”.

Remus got his normal body back and sighed in relief. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“But it’s the only way . . . unless you want me to do it.”

“No,” said Remus, shaking his head. “I said I will do it, and I will stick with it.”

Sirius crossed the short distance and wrapped his arms around Remus’ nude body. “I love you so much, Remus.”

“So do I,” Remus replied, hugging him back. “Now, though . . . I think you should take some clothes off as well. You have an unfair advantage of me.” He smirked and started to lift up Sirius’ tee shirt.

Sirius raised his arms up so Remus could take the shirt of easily. Sirius was about to unzip his jean when Remus attacked his mouth. Good thing Sirius was standing by the bed, or he would have fallen straight to the floor. His back hit the bed, and he started to kiss back.

Sirius pushed Remus back gently and said, “Make love to me, Remus.”

Remus groaned a yes and started to kiss Sirius’ neck. He nibbled and sucked gently. Sirius moaned at the attention he was getting. Remus stopped and looked down. “Of course I will. Just don’t talk.” He went back to ravishing his lover and made love to him.

“I hardly think this was a good idea to come to Hogsmeade . . . ” Remus looked around nervously. He was in one of his new outfit he bought with Hermione. Sirius and Remus decided to do their first outing at the Three Broomsticks on a Saturday.

Sirius glanced incredulously at Remus. “But Re–, I mean Vivian, you wanted to come here. You said you wanted some butterbeer!”

“Yeah, but I am nervous.”

Three weeks had passed for the two men. They figured that three weeks was good enough to make everything seem as if Sirius and Remus had broken up, and Sirius found a new lover. Remus’ exact words were “You have a reputation that you kept at school as a studboy before you and I got together, so it is not going to be too much of a surprise when people see you with a new a lover. Three weeks should do it.” They even planned a public argument at the Leaky Cauldron. Remus pretended to be really mad and said that he was going to go to Scotland until Sirius mended his ways and said that they were through. The people at the Leaky Cauldron were so shocked to see two of their war heroes being split up that the rumour mill went around fast.

“Don’t be. I’m with you,” Sirius took Remus’ hand and walked into the Three Broomsticks. “Hey, Rosmerta!”

Rosmerta turned around and looked at Sirius with an amazed expression. “Sirius, so good to see you once more, and . . . ” she trailed off. “Where’s Remus?”

“We split up.” Sirius answered hastily. “But here, I’d like you to meet Vivian.” Sirius smiled and indicated the woman next to him. “Vivian, this is Rosmerta. She’s the owner of the Three Broomsticks.”

Rosmerta gave “Vivian” a guarded look. “Pleased to meet you.” She turned and looked at Sirius. “So the rumours were true? I couldn’t believe them at all. But now . . . it looks like I am seeing them for myself.”

Remus felt bad for deceiving Rosmerta, but he knew this was needed. “Enjoy your stay here, gentl — I mean, Sirius and Vivian.” She walked away.

Sirius grinned and led them to an empty table. “What do you want to drink?”

“Get me a . . . ” Remus hesitated, ” . . . a butterbeer.”

Sirius walked up to the bar and ordered their drinks. Remus looked around and saw Minerva walking past him, giving him a suspicious look. He almost called out to her and remembered that he was supposed to be “Vivian”, not Remus. Sirius came back a few minutes later, carrying their drinks. He handed Remus the butterbeer and drank his own.

“So how do you like this place?” Sirius asked, trying to start a conversation.

Remus remembered to have an accent since “Vivian” was not from England. “Very nice. This place is cosier than the place I went to near Beauxbatons.” Remus forced a smile and put his hand on Sirius’ arm. “So this the infamous place I have heard so much about where you went as a student.”

Sirius grinned happily. “Yes. All the memories, good or bad, resides around this area the most.”

Remus secretly agreed to himself and was about to say something when a cheery voice interrupted.

“Well, well, who do we have here? Sirius? And who is this lovely lady next to you?” Albus Dumbledore with his benign smile, walked over to the couple.

Sirius choked on his drink and looked up at the revered wizard. “Oh, Albus, it’s you.” He and Remus stood up quickly.

“Albus, I’d like you to meet the new love of my life, Vivian. And Vivian, this is Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. I’ve told you all about him a lot.”

Eyes twinkling, Albus took Remus’ hand and brought it up to his lips. “Pleased to meet such a lovely lady.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Professor Dumbledore,” said Remus.

“Well, Sirius, my boy, I must return back to Hogwarts. I do wish you and Miss Vivian here lots of luck. I do hope your plans all work out.” Humming, Albus walked out.

Remus leaned over to Sirius, “Let’s leave. I’m tired.”

Sirius nodded, and they both Apparated to their flat. Remus sat down on the couch noisily and sighed. “I think Albus suspects.”

“Oh great . . . ”

“Yes. Nothing ever gets passed that man. I don’t think he will tell anyone though. In fact, knowing him, he probably thinks our plan is very hilarious.”

“It is ingenious,” said Sirius, grinning madly. “I mean after all, it’s like we are acting in a play and succeeding.”

“I cannot wait till this is over. I do not like this, but such sacrifices must be made.” Remus sighed and started to take off his clothes. “I do not enjoy being a woman. No I do not.”

Sirius smiled and began to help. “I know, Remus. But it’ll be over soon before you know it and then after all this is done, you are gonna wish you were still a woman.”

Dryly, Remus said, “Sure. When Lord Voldemort dresses in a pink tutu and dances to the Swan Lake music, then that will happen.”

The next few weeks were either heaven or hell for Remus. He went out in public with Sirius often to prove that Sirius and “Vivian” were going out and are in love. Most of the other wizards and witches were getting used to seeing Sirius without Remus. Remus would come out as himself once in a while to prove that. Others had seen him with another woman, a friend of Hermione’s. The woman was an advocate for werewolves’ rights, so those two were seen together frequently.

After those few weeks, Sirius and Remus finally decided that it was time to propose to “Vivian”. Sirius dragged Hermione with him to the jewellery store saying he needed help with this ring-buying thing. Hermione agreed and came.

“How about that one?” Sirius pointed at a lovely platinum ring that had sapphires around the diamonds.

Hermione glanced at it quickly and answered, “Sure. If you are willing to pay an arm and a leg.”

That had been the tenth ring Hermione shrugged off at. Sirius was getting a bit frustrated. The previous rings were too feminine, too gold, too silver, or too this and that.

“Well, then you choose!” Sirius threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “What would you suggest?”

“Get a simple platinum band.”

“Hermione. Have you forgotten this is for a woman?”

“No, I have not forgotten, Sirius. Just choose a simple band for now Rowena’s sake!”

Sirius chose a simple platinum ring and asked for the price. The ring wasn’t too cheap or expensive. Sirius paid for it, and got it in a lovely box, with a strange look from the saleswoman of the store. But wisely, she didn’t say anything. Hermione stepped out of the store with satisfaction.

“Let’s go to my flat. It’s not very far from here.” Hermione started to walk down the street with Sirius following her.

As soon as they reached the flat, Sirius turned to her. “So what’s the deal?”

“Sirius. Sometimes I think your obsession with Muggles are making you forget you’re a wizard,” said Hermione turning on the lights with a flick of her wand. “We can charm not only for it to fit whoever’s wearing it, but charm it so it looks like a woman’s wedding ring.”

“Oh . . . ” Sirius blushed. “I knew that.”

Hermione asked for the box that held the ring and opened it. She said the incantation that charmed the ring to fit on anyone’s finger and made it look more feminine. She handed it back to Sirius.

“Beautiful . . . at times like this it’s a shame Remus is not a woman,” Sirius laughed out a loud. “Thanks a lot, Hermione.”

She smiled. “Now shoo. You have a dinner date to keep and have proposing to do!”

Laughing Sirius Apparated to his and Remus’ flat.

Remus was not comfortable. Hermione had talked him into wearing heels. They were low heels, but he still did not like them period. At least they aren’t too difficult to walk in. Today was a big day, so Remus had to dress up. Unfortunately, he had to dress up as a woman. Hermione had made reservations at a nice Muggle restaurant, saying that this was like a five-star restaurant for Sirius to propose in. So they both had to be on the formal side.

Sirius was wearing black slacks with a white button down shirt with a black jacket over it. Remus thought Sirius had it easier, while he had to wear some kind of cocktail dress, as Hermione called it, with painful open-toed shoes with heels. He admitted he looked nice, but considered this dress not for comfort. Hermione chose a black dress saying it went with everything and matched his date. Remus dutifully followed along and wished he hadn’t now. He came to a conclusion: Women definitely did not have it easier than men.

“How’s the food?” Sirius asked, breaking Remus’ deep concentration.

Remus smiled. “The food is delicious.” That was the only good thing in this entire ordeal.

“Yeah. Hermione said this place really got great food.” Sirius grinned. “And a good wine selection!”

“You and your obsession for alcohol.” Remus laughed and shook his head. “You are so predictable, in a delightful way.”

Sirius sheepishly raised his glass and said, “Cheers.”

Remus followed along. Sirius got a solemn expression on his face, and Remus knew what was coming next.

Sirius got up and kneeled down next to Remus. He dug through his pockets and pulled out a box, he opened it and there in the middle was a beautiful ring. An enchanted ring but a ring nonetheless. He raised the box and started on his speech.

“Vivian, we haven’t known each other as long as we should know, but I feel like we’ve known each other for a long time. I love you very much. Love you more than life can take. Vivian, will you marry me?”

Blushing, Remus actually thought this was a sentimental moment, and tears came to his eyes. “Oh, Sirius, yes!”

Remus raised Sirius up from the ground and kissed him fully on the lips. Parting, he said, “I love you, Sirius Black.”

Taking the ring out of the box, Sirius gently slipped it on Remus’ finger. They looked at each other in the eyes, and it seemed like time had stopped for both of them. Despite all the troubles Remus went through, and yet more troubles were coming, he knew all this was worth “marrying” Sirius Black.

Sirius broke the moment by saying, “Now for the wedding plans.” Remus silently groaned at the assessment and nodded.

A couple weeks later, Sirius and Remus invited everyone who were in the plot and were lounging in the sitting room once again.

Remus was his usual self. The only visible feminine object on Remus was the ring. It looked odd, but once the ordeal was done with, the ring would return to its original ambiguous form. They were here to discuss what was supposed to happen now.

“So now what?” Ron asked the obvious.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I always forget how dense he can be. Ron, the most apparent thing to do now is for them to get married.”

“I know that, Hermione. What I mean is what’s happening next? Like what’s the next step?”

Hermione smiled widely, which gave Remus bad feelings. “Outfit shopping!”

All the men turned and gawked at her, except for Severus who glowered in the side. “Huh?”

“We can dress them up in Muggle or Wizarding style. Which would you prefer, Remus? Sirius?” Hermione jumped ahead.

The two in question looked at each other. “Er . . . ” Sirius rubbed the back of his head. “Not sure. What would you suggest, Herm?”

“Oh for . . . ” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whichever you choose, it won’t matter because you are going to have to have the Minister of Magic there to verify.”

“Damn, Fudge,” Sirius muttered under his breath. “I’m surprised he’s still in there.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved her hands impatiently. “Hopefully he’ll be sacked one day, but it doesn’t look like any time soon. Let’s just deal with him for a few minutes while he gives you his blessing or whatever.”

“Sirius?” Remus turned to his lover. “What do you prefer? Muggles or Wizarding?”

Sirius pondered for a minute before he answered. “Wizarding. All you have to do is wear a robe, and the robes are not gender-specific.”

“Smart answer considering that if we go with the plan, changing Remus back to his original form would be problematic if he was wearing those wedding gowns.” Severus drawled from where he stood.

“I didn’t ask for your comments, Snape!” Sirius snapped.

“I think Wizarding style will be good,” Remus said, wanting to avoid any confrontations. “Besides, I am tired of wearing all these feminine clothes.”

Harry and Ron both laughed while Hermione covered her smile with her hand.

“I don’t blame you, Remus. It must be uncomfortable to say the least,” Ron said between his laughter.

“Anyway, all we have to do now is purchase the robes. The one Remus will wear will be baggier, so that after the transformations, he’ll be comfortable.” Hermione clapped her hands, happy that the plan was going so well. “So, ‘Vivian’, let’s go shopping.”

Remus groaned, while everyone minus Severus sniggered. He then sighed, wanting this to be over with.

Sirius and Remus waited in a room at the Ministry along with Harry, Severus, Ron and Hermione who were going to be their witnesses. Remus was posing as “Vivian” again. Only this time, he wore a generic white robe. Hermione had helped choose the robe, and even if it was a generic kind, it still had a soft, feminine approach to it. After purchasing the robe, they made sure it would fit him even after he transformed back to his original form.

While Remus wore a white one, Sirius wore a navy-blue one. Hermione chose that colour on purpose for it brought out the blue colour of Sirius’ eyes. Remus secretly agreed on that. And he was thankful to Hermione and everyone involved with the plan. Now he and Sirius could legally be married. Even if it was taking a long time.

“What’s taking so long? Do the Ministry honestly believe that we want to spend our lives in this room?” Sirius grumbled. “How long does it take for someone like Fudge to say the legal stuff, the couples to sign the documents, and poof, they are done?”

“Sirius,” Remus inwardly grimaced at the high sound of his own voice. “Be patient. They will soon call all of us in.”

“Yes, Sirius. A lot of couples are opting for this style of marriage instead of the old-fashioned ones at the churches. Going to see the Minister of Magic, getting his approval on the legal documents is a lot cheaper than the older ways. Saves a lot of the couples’ money, so I’m sure there are a lot of them ahead of us.” Hermione said, trying to rationalise Sirius’ edginess

Ron jumped up from his chair when he saw that the door was being opened. A Ministry official entered and said, “Sirius? Vivian? Minister Fudge is ready for you now.”

Everyone stood up. On the outside, everyone except Severus looked happy, but inside, they were nervous, worried that the plans wouldn’t go through. Sirius grabbed Remus’ hand and held onto it with his life as they walked stiffly through the hallway to Fudge’s office.

They all soon entered the office, and Fudge stood up from his desk. “Ah, Sirius Black is finally getting married to . . . ” he glanced at the documents, “Vivian. I’m sure you two will be happy together.”

Sirius nodded.

“Shall we carry on with the procedure?” Fudge didn’t wait for any answers as he went on with the legal oath that would bind the two together. After he completed the oath, he pushed forward the document. “Sign here, and then give your bride the ring.”

Sirius signed first. Then Remus did so as well, feeling uncomfortable using a name that wasn’t his. The documents were then signed by the others as proof of witnesses.

“I now can call you two husband and wife.” Fudge clapped his hands. “Now the rings.”

Sirius gently slipped the ring on Remus’ finger. The two shared a poignant kiss. As soon as they separated, Hermione stepped forward and handed Fudge the name-changing certificate. “Minister, sir, Vivian here wants to change her name to something else, and we need your signature here.”

“Ah, not a problem, my dear.” Without looking at the entire form, he signed his name. Then he looked at it closely. “Remus Lupin?”

“That would be correct.” As soon as Sirius said that, he took out his wand and undid the glamorising spells. Remus went back to his original body.

Fudge stared at them in shock, his mouth wide opened. “How, how . . . what in Merlin?!”

“You see, Minister,” Hermione continued, acting as a spokesperson for the group. “We do realise that same-sex marriage is not allowed in the Wizarding world, but we did find a loophole through it. And this was it. Remus here pretended to be a woman just so he could marry his true love. Once that’s done, all we had left was to change Sirius’ bride’s name to Remus Lupin.”

Fudge went red in his entire face. “You cannot do that! It’s not allowed at all!”

“Ah, on the contrary, Minister,” Severus said in his quiet, dangerous voice, making the Minister shrink back down in fear. “It is done, and the only way to cancel out the marriage is if these two ever want to separate. At the moment, the Ministry has no say on it.”

Sirius at that point grabbed the name-changing certificate off of Fudge’s desk, and Remus clutched the marriage certificate tightly in his hands. They all sighed in relief, especially Remus, as they walked out of the office, leaving behind an irate Fudge.

Before they closed the door, they heard Fudge scream out, “The public will know about this!”

“Oh, let them know! I could care less at the moment!” Sirius snapped out.

As they walked through the Ministry to get out of there, other people stared at the group. The ones who had seen them earlier remembered seeing Vivian with Sirius. Now they saw Remus instead, and the whispers of gossip went flying around them. The group ignored everyone, and soon they came outside.

“Wow. We got away with it.” Ron was having trouble breathing as Hermione tried to calm him down.

“For Merlin’s sake, Ron. Sirius and Remus should be the one having a seizure instead of you!” Harry exclaimed.

“But then again, he’s a Weasley, Harry. Weasleys tend to overdo things,” Severus said, ignoring the glare coming from Ron.

“Sirius, Remus, you are going to your honeymoon now, right? Wasn’t it Greece?” Hermione changed the subject quickly.

“Yeah. We have our floo connected to the Greek’s version of the Leaky Cauldron. We’re all packed now, so we can go there now if we want. After I change out of this robe.” Remus stated. “I am not wearing anything feminine for the rest of my life!”

“That reminds me.” Hermione waved her wand and the ring went back to its original form. “Almost forgot. Anyway, Remus, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad being a woman.”

“I guess,” he admitted. “I sure respect them more. That’s for sure.”

They all laughed with the exception of Severus.

“Well, enjoy your honeymoon, newlyweds.” Harry hugged his godfather. “So does that mean I call you godmother now, Remus?”

“Bloody hell, Harry. You call me that, I’ll hex you!” Remus exclaimed as he hugged Harry.

“Okay, okay.”

“So what’s our agenda tomorrow?” Sirius asked, as they lazed around in the bed of the hotel they were staying at.

“I figure seeing the Temple of Athena would be interesting. And other historical places.”

Sirius pretended to groan. “This is what I get for letting you choose Greece of all place. You and your Greek mythology.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” Remus said, playfully hitting his husband on the side of the head. “You wanted to come here too, remember?”

“Only because you wanted to, Remus.” Sirius rested against the headboard and sighed. “I wonder if the Daily Prophet is having a good time writing our ‘scandal’?”

“Who knows. They probably are. All I know is that I’m sure we gave other gay couples an idea on how to get married now. Unless the Ministry changes the loophole. Even if they did, it will take forever to get it through.”

Sirius tackled his lover and straddled him. Remus gasped out loud. “Sirius?”

“Sod the talking. It’s our honeymoon. And we all know what honeymooners do!” Sirius started to kiss and sucked the tender flesh on Remus’ neck.

“Of course I do; they put honey on their arse and moon it to their lovers.” Remus’ wide smile brought sparkles out of his eyes. “That’s why the name honeymoon came to be.”

Sirius paused in his movement. “That actually makes sense. Should I go get some honey just for that?”

“Don’t you dare!” Remus nudged his hips into Sirius’. “Finish what you started!”

“Your wish is my command. I love you.” Sirius kissed Remus deeply, and they soon forgot all about the Ministry, Vivian, and even the honey.

‘Twas the couple weeks before Christmas, when all through the flat, not a creature was stirring, not even a rat. That is with the exception of two creatures who were arguing their heads off. Imagine a red-headed man, along with a snowy-blond man. One was obviously a Gryffindor, and the other was a Slytherin. Believe it or not, they were madly in love with each other, but one would not be able to tell since they constantly argued with one another! But that fine line between love and hate had all but disappeared between these two men.

And indeed these two were desperately in love. This would be their second Christmas together, and they already did many activities to show their Christmas spirit. They hung stockings by their fireplace. Never mind that they used the said fireplace as a transportation device, the Christmas stockings, made by Molly Weasley — who decided that the jumpers weren’t enough, hence the stockings — went there for the sake of tradition.

They both knew that Saint Nicholas would not be there to stuff their stockings, but they had both planned on putting surprise goodies in there when the other wasn’t looking.

At least that was the original plan.

Right now it looked more as if the two would end up strangling one another instead. Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy pitted against each other in a very intense argument. Actually, it seemed like one did more work than the other, but that was not the point. The point was that had it not been for the silencing charms around their place, their neighbours definitely would have heard a bunch of colourful expletives from the arguing couple.

“You think I need a larger size? What the bloody hell do you mean? Are you saying I’m small?!” Ron bellowed to Draco, who didn’t even flinch at the loud volume of Ron’s voice. In fact, even the spittle from Ron’s outburst didn’t deter Draco at all.

Calmly, Draco responded. “You said it. I only merely hinted at my dissatisfaction.”

“Since when did you become such a size queen?” Ron demanded, his hands resting on his hips.

“You just never bothered to ask if the size was ever an issue. I simply chose not to bring it up since it really wasn’t a big issue back then.”

“For fuck’s sake, Draco, is it really a problem? I mean are you going to be a wanker about this just because of something I have no real control over?”

Draco walked — no glided — over to an armchair and sat on it, crossed his legs, folded his arms in front of him, and gave Ron a bored look. “I’m a Malfoy, Ron. We always want the best for ourselves. You of all people should know that by now. Really, I knew you were dense, but at this rate, you are really making me question your mental capabilities.”

Ron stalked over to where Draco sat and hovered over him. “Well if you’re going to be that Malfoyish about the damn size, then go get yourself a sodding dildo!”

“A dildo . . . ?” For a brief moment, there was a look of confusion and then a glint of mischief in Draco’s eyes before it disappeared. His face resumed its bored expression. “Maybe I will. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“What?!” Ron leaned forward, reaching around Draco and gripping the sides of the chair, trapping the blond. “You thought I was serious? How dare you think of replacing me with a damn piece of rubber? Have you gone mad?”

Draco chuckled softly. “You suggested it. Now you’re saying I shouldn’t take the idea into consideration?” He paused and looked upward to gauge Ron’s emotions. “Really, that’s a fantastic idea. If you can even remotely afford it, why don’t you get me an excellent, high-quality dildo? I heard the glass ones are the best; you wouldn’t want your lover to be contaminated by diseases from the plastic ones, would you?”

Instead of responding to Draco’s bait, Ron stormed off, leaving Draco to stare after his lover with a mischievous smirk.

A couple of days later, Ron walked into the sitting room where Draco was relaxing with a book and a cup of tea. He promptly stopped in front of his lover and dropped a package in Draco’s lap. “This is for you.”

Draco set his book down and stared at the generic white package. “I know Christmas is around the corner, but isn’t it a bit too early?”

“Hey, you’re the one who complained about that issue the other day. I’m just trying to exemplify how much of an idiot you’re being about this.” Ron said this defensively, crossing his arms in front of him and giving him a look that bordered on being triumphant and exasperated.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who proved to be all miffed up about that issue.”

“Shut up and open the package.”

“All right.” Draco followed Ron’s request. He soon stared at the contents of the package with an indecipherable facial expression, and for a good few minutes, silence reigned in the room.

“It’s what you wanted, right?”

In a strangled voice, quite uncharacteristic of Draco, he managed, “Really. Have you gone absolutely, positively daft?!”

“Well, no, but it is what you wanted!” he protested in his own defence.

“A dildo. While it is an interesting concept and all, must it be an umbrella-shaped one of all things?!”

“It was the only one they had that was made of glass!”

“Probably the only one in your price-range, too, I assume.”

Ron glared darkly at Draco. “Hey, not everyone is rich and overflowing with galleons like you are. Like I said, it was the only one they had.”

Draco coughed, his cheeks now stained with red from either anger, embarrassment, or both. “Admit it. You just watched Mary Poppins one too many times.”

Ron began to sputter loudly. “No, that’s not it! I mean, yes it is my favourite movie ever since Harry got me the Dee-vee-dee player, but — that is not the point!” He calmed himself down and tried again. “I got it for you because you said you wanted it! For Merlin’s sake, I . . . ”

“You what?” Draco prompted to get Ron to continue.

“You’re the one who turned into a size queen! And as much as I hate the idea, I just wanted to make you happy!” Ron finally managed to say.

“Oh for the love of Salazar.” Draco stood up, making sure the package was in a safe place, and he stepped closer to Ron. He tilted Ron’s head up with his index finger under Ron’s chin, and he saw anger and insecurity mixed in those blue eyes.

“You are so daft. Did you really think I’d replace you with that thing?”

“Well . . . no, but it did make me wonder.”

“It was a joke. Besides, when I was referring to the fact that you ‘need a larger size,’ I meant your clothes.”

“My clothes?!”

“Yes, your clothes.”

Ron scowled. “Nothing’s wrong with them.”

Draco exhaled exasperatedly. “The bottoms of your robes are at least five centimetres above your ankles, as well as your sleeves only coming below your elbows! Not to mention that your trousers are too high up, as well, whenever you want to dress like a Muggle.”

“They still fit and are comfortable, Draco,” Ron said, a frown etched on his forehead. “Besides, I can’t believe you were talking about my clothes this entire time when I thought you meant something else.”

A slow, amused smile crept up onto Draco’s face. “It is hardly my fault that you jumped to the conclusion like the Gryffindor you are.”

Ron snortled. “And you, my sneaky Slytherin, acted perfectly like one, deceiving me to believe something entirely different. Beautifully done.”

Smirking, Draco pulled Ron closer by the front of the robes. “Before we go on, I am serious about your clothes. I hardly think it is right for only one of us to look like a decent human being while the other looks like he’s in a dire need for an entire wardrobe fix.”

Ron automatically wrapped his arms around Draco’s slim waist. He began to nuzzle against the area between Draco’s neck and shoulder. Breathing against the pale skin, he said, “Yes, yes. You can be a sodding prick over my clothes later. In the meantime . . . ”

“Yes?” Draco asked huskily.

“I want to try that present out on you. I think a little bit of a punishment is in need.” Ron began to nip at the sensitive skin, sucking and twirling his tongue on the reddened spot. “I want you to be sprawled out on our bed, I want to tease you with that toy until you beg and plead for me to enter you. Once I do, I want to fuck you so hard into the mattress that you won’t walk straight for the next few days.”

As Ron’s description went on, Draco’s breath became more ragged as his hands clutched the back of Ron’s robes. “Let’s do it.”

“In due time, love.” Ron let go of Draco and backed away. He grabbed the dildo and started to walk towards their bedroom. With his free hand, he tugged on Draco’s wrist. “But first, let’s take a bath together.”

“You’re making me wait? You’re evil. More evil than a typical Slytherin.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Once in the bedroom, after putting the dildo on the bedside table, Ron pulled Draco into his embrace, and he kissed him. The kiss was long and drawn out with Ron exploring the warm, familiar caverns of Draco’s mouth, his tongue examining every nook and cranny. He gripped Draco by the hip, drew him closer, their groins grinding against one another. The pleasurable sensations with the combination of needing oxygen made him break the kiss, and in the dimly lit room, he studied Draco’s flushed and mussed up appearance.

“Why’d you stop?” Draco panted.

Ron grinned. “I still want that bath, you know.”

Draco groaned, his hips bumping into Ron’s. “You’re really evil. I ought to use that dildo to smack you up on your head instead.”

“That would be a waste.”

“Ron,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Stop yapping and let’s continue this. Otherwise, I may come to the conclusion that the dildo may be a better substitute for you.”

Ron growled and pushed Draco onto the bed. “I think not. After this compare and contrast experimentation, I will definitely have you say with truth that ‘Weasley is my King.'”

“I accept this challenge with honour, Ron.” Draco, lying on his back, traced the outline of Ron’s lips. “But quit your melodramatic, Gryffindor speech-making skills and carry out the experiment.”

“Okay.” Ron leaned and captured Draco’s lips again.

For the rest of the night, the only sounds being heard were bumping, groaning, moaning, and screaming of joy. Both creatures were stirring and not even the arrival of the non-existing Saint Nicholas could interrupt their occupied state.

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Chibi Toaster.

If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you. — Friedrich Nietzsche

The Muggles didn’t start the war; the magical folk of England didn’t either. It was inevitable. The bloodshed, tears, pain and death; the tears of parents who had lost children drowned the streets of Hogsmeade. When the truce was declared, it was already too late. Everybody had already lost too much, and childhood innocence couldn’t be bought back.

Ron Weasley stood there and watched as they signed the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords. He saw the Minister of Magic shaking hands with the Muggle Prime Minister in the midst of flashes from cameras and cheers from the crowd.

But he didn’t cheer.

He couldn’t.

And, standing beside him, Draco didn’t cheer either. Together, they stood silently and watched as the aura of peace settled over their world, and Ron wondered how long it would be until the next war.

— from Peace is Just a Facade by Ayla Pascal

He can’t move.

All around him, he sees dead bodies. Bodies that have been so brutally mutilated that he can’t even tell if they’re male or female. He sees so much red, so much blood on the dead and on the ground around them.

Clutching his gun and knife, he tries to move back. All around him, he hears screams and yells. He hears begging and pleading. He hears threats, gunshots, and shouts that fade as the victims die.

He’s finally able to move, and when he does, he trips over an unidentifiable item. With a loud thud, he lands into something warm and sticky. He looks and sees that he has landed on a pile of freshly killed Muggles, wizards, and witches. He sees the wide-open eyes, the gaping mouths where blood has gushed out, and he smells the dying, rotting flesh. He fights to keep the bile down and tries to breathe through his mouth.

Dread and horror overcomes him, and he attempts to push himself off these corpses, but then a heavy, boot-clad leg crushes into his chest, and he looks up at the owner of the foot. The sun is directly above the unknown man, and with the sun’s bright glare, he cannot see the man’s face. The only thing he does see is an evil smile and a gun being pointed at him.

Ron shouts just as the gun goes off, and that’s when he wakes up in his bed.

Gasping, he covers his sweaty face with his hands, and he fights back waves of nausea. He pants and blinks away the tears that have come to his eyes and struggles to calm his racing heart down.

The bed shifts, and he hears a sleepy voice say, “Ron? Are you all right? What happened?”

Feeling Draco’s nimble hands touching him through his soaked pyjamas, Ron manages to rasp out, “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Even though it’s dark, Ron senses Draco’s frown. “You’ve been having way too many of these.”

“I’ll be fine,” he nervously laughs out. “It’ll pass eventually.”

“It’s been over six months.”

Ron feels better at hearing Draco’s scorn-filled voice. “Don’t be such a worried git. I’ll be fine.”

He knows Draco has stiffened, and he forces himself not to laugh at the mental image of Draco ruffling out his imaginary peacock feathers. He lies back on the bed and pulls Draco into an embrace. He hears Draco sigh. “Fine, if you say so. Let’s get some more kip.”

Ron agrees, and with his arms still around Draco, he listens to Draco’s breathing. Eventually, Draco has fallen back into a deep sleep, but Ron is unable to snooze. Instead, he listens to Draco snoring, which gives him comfort at least. Ron stays awake because he knows that if he returns back to his slumber, a new nightmare about the war will pop up.

He does not want to be in that hell again.

“Ron? Ron? Ron!”

Harry Potter’s voice makes him nearly jump out of his chair at Dean and Ginny’s small dining table.

“Oh, for Merlin — I mean — never mind! What is it, Harry?” Ron has nearly spouted out the wizarding curse he has grown up with, the curse he has forced himself not to say anymore.

He watches the way Harry, Ginny, and Dean exchange worried looks. Harry asks, “Are you all right?”

Ron nods, despite feeling the opposite. He feels exhausted and very tense, but he blames it on his sleepless night.

Ginny doesn’t look convinced. “Are you–”

“Yes, Gin, I’m sure!” Ron responds tersely back at her. Ignoring a dirty look from Dean, Ron forces a smile at his sister and his friends. He picks up the serviette he’s been doodling and writing on, hastily stuffs it into his pockets, and absently looks at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the food.”

As Ron stands up, he pats his side, glad that his wand is in its holster, but then he almost panics when he doesn’t feel his gun or knife. A wild look comes on his face as he searches himself for the missing items.

“Ron?” Harry slowly gets to his feet, walks closer, and reaches out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, clutching onto his wand.

Harry backs away with both hands up in defence. Dean and Ginny rise up as well.

“Ron?” Ginny says in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . . I can’t find my stuff.”

“What stuff?” Harry asks softly. “Your weapons?”

Ron nods frantically. The weapons must be at home. They protect him, and he needs them. Preferably now. He’ll be defenceless without them in case an attack arises. He feels absolutely incomplete without them. “I’m going home. Maybe I left them there.”

Before anyone can stop him, Ron Apparates away.

The rest of the day passes as Ron spends all day looking for the gun and the knife. They are nowhere to be found in the flat. As he searches, he tries to recall the last time he has had them and where he may have placed them. But he cannot find them. Instead, he ransacks the entire flat; clothes are strewn everywhere, books and papers are carelessly tossed on the ground, and there are even a couple of broken glasses that have slipped out of his shaky hands in the kitchen. He finally gives up, feeling tired and numb, and he sits on the sofa.

Later, when Draco Apparates with a loud crack, Ron is still on that sofa in the sitting room, changing the channels on the telly, his eyes blank as they watch the blur on the screen.

“Ron?” Draco’s voice sounds worried.

Ron doesn’t respond at first. He changes channels a few more times before he drops the remote. He knows Draco’s standing in front of him, and he glances up. He half expects Draco to have an evil smile like that faceless man in his nightmare, but he doesn’t see that. He doesn’t even see Draco’s customary smirk. All he sees is Draco’s anxious expression. He looks deep into the grey eyes, and he then remembers the mess he has made. He jumps up quickly, startling Draco.

“The mess. I meant to clean it before you come back.” Ron tries to laugh lightly, trying to get Draco to not question him of anything. “I’ll clean up and make us some sandwiches or something. You can take one of those long showers you love taking!”

He starts to walk away, but he feels Draco’s strong hand grabbing his wrist. “Wait. I’ll help you clean.”

Ron shakes himself out of the powerful grip. He faces Draco with a tight expression. “It’s fine, I tell you. I’ll do it. Just tell me one thing. Where’d you put my gun and knife?”

“Your stuff? It’s . . . you’re the one who hid them. You wouldn’t tell me where you were going to hide them.”

“I . . . I did?” Ron doesn’t remember doing that. He narrows his eyes and studies Draco intently. Is Draco lying to him? Perhaps he’s a spy working for the Muggles?

Draco nods.

“Oh, well, er, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

A long silence passes before Draco breaks it. “I received a Floo-call from Harry earlier today at work.” Draco now works as the head liaison officer for the Muggle and Wizarding Alliance Organisation.

Ron fidgets with his wand. “And?”

“I think we’ll need to have a talk.”

“About what?” he asks unpleasantly. He’s aware something uncomfortable is inside of him, especially since Draco is being rather cryptic.

“You. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit exhausted from last night!”

Ron watches Draco step closer. “You didn’t sleep after that nightmare, did you?”

“I did. I slept,” he fibs through his teeth, watching Draco take another step towards him. Ron backs himself several steps until he finds himself against a wall.

“Stop lying,” Draco angrily spits out. “Just tell me the truth.”

“Look,” Ron declares, stepping sideways past Draco. “Let me clean the mess up. Please!”

He hears a heavy sigh. “Fine, but we’ll talk later after supper.”

“Okay.” Draco stalks off to the bath, and Ron begins to wave his wand around, cleaning up his mess from earlier. While he does that, he can’t help but be alert for any Muggles who might blast their way into the flat with those dreadful guns, bombs, and whatever else that cause death.

In the end, Ron somehow convinces Draco he is fine, so after supper, they don’t talk about whatever’s supposedly wrong with him. They instead have fun watching some DVDs; Ron’s current favourite series is SpongeBob SquarePants. He enjoys watching this show, but he feels bad since he knows Draco hates this show, who at the moment is currently muttering about how it has no aesthetic appeal.

Ron grins. “You know you like him.”

“I do not!” Draco answers haughtily. “He’s so ugly! And honestly, who lives in a bloody pineapple under the sea?”

“SpongeBob does.”

Ron receives a patented Draco Malfoy glare. “After this episode, we are watching a show of mine.”

“What show?”

When Ron sees the smirk, he has a feeling he is going to be in for a long night. “South Park.”

It’s Ron’s turn to groan and glare. He absolutely despises that series, much like Draco’s dislike for SpongeBob. “Fine, fine. But I’ll watch it only because I love you. And so I can review this for The Quibbler.”

After the war, Ron has decided to do something about his love for television shows and films by writing reviews about them in the The Quibbler, which still publishes unusual news, but Xenophilius Lovegood has decided to incorporate some additional sections about the Muggle lifestyle. Thus, through his connection and friendship with Luna, he has started his own review column. He loves this job since the best part is when he can watch the DVDs with Draco.

So they settle on the sofa happily, and the rest of the night passes with no problems.

A few days later, Ron doesn’t really feel any better. His nightmares constantly plague him, making him seek solace by staying up late, watching episodes after episodes of SpongeBob and other shows on the telly. Draco tries to stay up with Ron, but Ron, knowing Draco’s work schedule, convinces him to sleep early, and that he will sleep later, but he never does that. At least not for more than an hour at a time.

As the days fly by, Ron becomes more and more exhausted, becomes edgier and tenser, and becomes more withdrawn as he tries to pretend everything’s normal.

Yet something’s terribly wrong, and Ron refuses to acknowledge it.

He starts to not even care about his beloved shows. He’ll have them on, but then he’ll stop paying attention to them and only stares at the screen emptily. That isn’t the only thing he loses interest in, though.

“Want to play chess?” Draco offers one day.

“Chess?” Ron sees the game he has always loved, a game Draco has never appreciated. Shaking his head, Ron continues, “No. I don’t like chess anymore.”

He turns to look the other way, so he can avoid the shocked, confused, and hurt expression on his lover’s face.

After Draco leaves for work, Ron tries to write a review for one of the films he has recently seen, but he doesn’t want to. All he wants to do is crawl back into their bed and huddle under the covers.

He does that, and he stares into the darkness.

Later, he hears the phone ringing, but he ignores it.

It rings again and again, and Ron just stays in his bed, shutting out the ringtone that sounds like bombs going off in their flat.

Draco and Ron are eating breakfast. Like all the other nights before, Ron hasn’t slept for more than an hour. He tries to act as if he’s fine. But those tense and jumpy feelings make him more aware of all the noises and sights in their flat, and he tries to conceal his problem by sipping on his morning tea.

Draco clears his throat, and that small sound makes Ron jerk up, spilling some tea all over the table.

“Bugger!” Ron curses, wiping up the mess.

When he finishes, Draco continues in a calm voice. “I think you should consider going to a mind healer.”

Ron forces himself to respond in a composed manner. His grip on his teacup tightens as he say, “I don’t need a mind healer.”

“I think you do.”

His hold on the teacup goes tighter. “Are you saying I’ve gone insane? Crazy? Mad?” Ron sneers out the last word, but Draco remains unfazed.

“I never said you were any of those. I just think you, and perhaps even myself, should seek out some help that we aren’t fully capable of diagnosing and curing ourselves.”

In a flash, Ron stands and hurls the teacup past Draco, hearing the loud crash. He grabs onto the edge of the table and stares down at his still sitting partner. Ron’s eyes take on a crazed look, and he snarls, “Is this your way of telling me to fuck off? Do you want to break up that badly?”

He watches as Draco quickly rise, who then slowly comes around the table, his hands outstretching to touch Ron.

Ron stumbles away from the treacherous hands, ignoring the pained expression on Draco’s face. “Ron, please, I’m not trying to do anything but get us help. I don’t want to break up! That is not my inten–”

“Shut up!” Ron bypasses Draco and reaches for the door. “Leave me alone! Go find a fucking mind healer, one who you may find more suitable as your fucktoy!”

Ron leaves the flat with nothing but his wand. No coat, no hat, no robe, just his wand.

He jogs down the stairs, skipping the clunky lift, and he runs out into the crowded, noisy street. With no destination in mind, he sprints down the road. All he wants to do is to forget all the hurtful words he has said to Draco, and he truly wishes to forget that wounded look on Draco’s face — the same face that has almost made his heart rip in two.

Ron doesn’t return until two days later. When he finally does so, he finds Draco looking very haggard on their sofa. Despite his obvious fatigue, Draco still glowers at Ron. At the front door, Ron squirms uncomfortably at Draco’s intense look. As the scowl deepens, he expects Draco to scream at him, to throw things at him, and to kick him out and officially separate.

Draco refrains from doing any of that. He only opens his arms, and Ron has never felt more love for him as he runs into them. He stays in Draco’s protective arms, and he pushes back a sob and apologises.

“Shhh. It’s all right, Ron. I’m sorry I brought that up to you so callously. We’ll . . . we’ll only do it when you’re ready,” Draco comforts him, planting soft kisses on the freckled cheeks.

Ron enfolds his own arms around Draco’s waist, and he just apologises until he finally pulls Draco into a rough kiss. He feels Draco accepting the kiss, and Ron whispers the spell that will remove all their clothes. Right on that sofa, Ron caresses, kisses, and pleasures Draco. Hearing the soft cries of lust and desire, Ron strokes Draco’s hard-on, and his other hand prepares Draco for the next step.

When he and Draco move together, Ron feels a burst of panic deep inside of him, and that makes their love-making frantic, wild, and different from any of their previous activities together. When they come together, Ron experiences the sexual gratification he seeks, but he then feels barren, wasted, and unworthy. But most of all, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of himself.

The nightmares grow worse. Even the one hour sleep he is able to get at a time is bombarded by the evil abysses in his mind.

“I’ll get you some Dreamless Sleep Potion,” Draco suggests.

“No. I hate that crap.” Ron smiles weakly. “I think the nightmares will lessen up soon.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” Ron lies. “It will.”

Ron’s on the sofa, a thick blanket is wrapped around him, and he gazes at a spot on the table. It’s an interesting spot — roundish, with ragged edges, and it’s in the shade of a brownish-red. Its colour reminds Ron of something, but he isn’t sure what.

He continues to study that spot, and that’s when it hits him. The colour. It reminds him of dried up blood. There’s blood on the table. Still clutching onto the blanket with one hand, he leans over and cast a spell on it to make it disappear. It stays unchanged.

He summons a bottle of furniture cleaner and a scrubber. He still holds onto the blanket, and he scrubs the spot as hard as he can.

The spot doesn’t change. It refuses to change.

Just as Ron’s about to throw the scrubber at the wall, he hears Draco’s arrival.

Rising from the sofa, Ron still hangs onto the blanket, and he gestures towards the spot with the scrubber. “That spot. That bloody spot. It won’t go away no matter how much I clean it.”

Ron sees the concerned look on Draco, who at the moment takes his coat off and uncharacteristically throws it onto an armchair along with a bag. Draco walks over to the table and studies the spot. “It’s always been there. When we first moved in here, the place was furnished for us, and that spot has always been there. You didn’t mind it since it reminded you of a freckle.”

“Lies,” Ron whispers. “It wasn’t there before. This . . . it’s a bloodstain! Whose blood is it?!”

“Ron! It’s not a bloodstain!” Draco grabs him, and Ron tries to get out of the mighty grip. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He looks into Draco’s eyes and sees the truth in them. “I-it’s always been there?”

Draco nods and relaxes his hold.

Ron lets out a shaky sigh. “Sorry. I . . . I guess I must have had momentary amnesia.”

“Did you also forget you had a lunch meeting with Ginny and Dean?”

Frowning, Ron tries to remember making arrangement with his sister to meet or not. “I don’t remember. Was I really supposed to meet them?”

“Yes, and they tried calling the phone, but nobody answered.” Draco gives Ron a questioning look. “Did you hear the phone ring?”

“Yes, but it was so ruddy loud and annoying. I unplugged it.”

“I see.” Draco runs a hand through his mussed up hair. “Well, I guess you can meet them some other time. They did meet me briefly, and Ginny asked me to give you some of these new DVDs she bought.”

“Really?” Ron tries to smile. Even though he hasn’t felt like watching anything lately, he’s grateful for his sister sending him new DVDs every so often.

Draco walks over to the armchair to grab the bag, and Ron sits back on the sofa. Feeling Draco’s warmth sagging next to him on the sofa, Ron takes the bag and sorts through the DVDs. He takes out the bunch and studies the covers and reads the back. However, when he comes upon a cover that simply showcases a man holding a gun he freezes.

A flashback. No, a nightmare. No, no! It’s real. It’s happening again. The war has begun, and Ron’s in the middle of it once more.

He’s trapped against a tall wall; he sees about five Muggles who are members of the Special Forces judging by their uniform. They all carry guns, those frightening machine guns, and they are pointed at him. Ron glares at them, but all the men do is smirk. They say to him, “Surrender. Surrender to us, tell us all your magical secrets, and we’ll let you live.”

Ron spits at them. “Never, you sods.”

“Then you leave us with no choice.”

He tenses up, but he tries to find that secret portkey he keeps in his pocket. The portkey that will only activate when he’s in deep trouble like this. However, he can’t reach into his pocket without making it look like he’ll pull out a bomb or something.

Suddenly, a loud explosion goes off, and the men are all thrown off balance, including Ron.

Landing on the hard cement ground, Ron throws the blanket off of him, and he rolls over. He quickly stands up and tries to grab his gun and knife, but they aren’t with him. “Fuck! Wand! Where’s my wand then?” He sees his wand nearby, and he grabs it and points it at one of the men. A man who’s now actually trying to plead with him.

“Put it down, Ron. Put that down!”

Ron? How did this guy know his name? Pointing his wand at the man, he cries, “Stay back!” With his wand still out, he reaches into his pocket for the portkey, but it isn’t there.

“Shite!” He sees that the man was in front of him. The gun isn’t there anymore, so he decides to just stun the man and escape.

But before he can do anything, the man acts first. He hears “Stupefy”, and he falls into blackness.

Ron slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, which feels quite heavy. He tries to sit up, but he realises he has no energy in him to do so. He stares at the ceiling instead. An unnaturally white ceiling.

He hears voices, several voices filled with concern and apprehension. He can barely make out the owners of the voices, but his haze-filled brains prevent him from to fully concentrate. So he listens to the conversation half-heartedly.

” . . . He’s been suffering from nightmares . . . ”

” . . . He’s so withdrawn . . . ”

” . . . And panic-stricken. He freaks out over the littlest things lately . . . ”

” . . . Worried about him . . . ”

” . . . He’ll hurt himself . . . ”

” . . . You say flashbacks are normal, but what about hallucinations . . . ”

Ron has difficulties sorting out the words. To do that is a bother, so he decides to return back to sleep, hoping no nightmares will invade his mind.

The next time Ron wakes up, he sees Draco sitting next to him, who’s holding one of his hands. On his other side, he sees Luna Lovegood with a faraway expression on her face.

Draco squeezes his hand lightly. “Good afternoon, love. Sleep well?”

Ron nods. This time his head doesn’t feel quite funny, and he’s able to sit up. As he leans back into the plush pillow, he sees he’s in a private room. A private hospital room. When he speaks, his voice comes out gruff. “St Mungo’s?”

“Yes.”

He gestures towards Luna. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been assigned to be your mind healer, Ron,” she answers in her dreamy voice. “How are you feeling?”

When he hears “mind healer”, something akin to anger bubbles deep inside of him as he yanks his hand out of Draco’s. “What’s this? A bloody mind healer? I don’t need a sodding mind healer!”

“Ron–” Draco begins, but Ron doesn’t let him finish.

“Get out. You . . . you think I’m really insane, don’t you? Then leave me!”

Draco jolts back as if he’s been slapped.

Luna chooses to interrupt then. “Draco. Perhaps you should step out for a minute.”

“But–”

“Please,” Luna says in a firm voice.

Draco gives Ron a tense look, and he whispers, “I don’t think you are mad, but you are hurting and I want you to get better. That’s all I want.”

Draco leaves the room like a defeated Quidditch player, and Ron feels guilt and shame at his outburst. He buries his face in his hands and exhales loudly like he’s trying to get rid of all those emotions inside of him.

Luna lets him recover for a few minutes. In a calm voice, she asks, “Will you tell me what you think of all this?”

Ron glances away and stares at the wall that’s so white and sanitised. “I . . . I don’t know. I know I’ve been off lately, but . . . ”

She waits. She doesn’t force him to speak quickly. She allows him to think and talk at his own pace.

“Did . . . did something happen?” he pleads. “I don’t remember coming here. Last I remember was me being caught at a dead end by these Special Forces guys. There was an explosion, and we were all thrown off balance. One of the guys knew my name, and I was going to attack . . . ”

He stops and gives her a horrified look. “Was that Draco I nearly attacked?”

When she nods, he becomes so unnerved that he starts babbling. “I nearly hurt him? I . . . I thought . . . it was a flashback . . . no it was real . . . I can’t believe I nearly . . . ”

A soft, cool hand rests on top of his, and that brings him back to reality. “It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay.”

He swallows before answering, “It’s not okay, Luna. I nearly hurt him. I . . . I might have killed him.”

“Draco’s not that careless or stupid. He’s capable of taking care of himself. You know he does remind me of a peacock. Though I cannot imagine him to be that bright or colourful in appearance.”

He lets out a nervous smile. “As always, your outlandish comments amuse and comfort me. I do admit that I’ve imagined Draco as a peacock at times, too.”

She beams but quickly sobers. “So what do you think? Or should I say, what do you want to do?”

He sighs and tilts his head at the ceiling. “If my . . . problems are going to make me hurt those who I love, then I want to fix it. No. I have to fix it.”

“We’ll do this all together. We’ll all help you. Just keep in mind that it will not be something that can be healed in a day or two. It will be a long road.”

He shuts his eyes hard. Her words are correct, and it proves the facts he’s been dreading. Softly, he says, “Yes. It will be a long and difficult road for . . . all of us.” Grabbing her hand, he clasps it gently. “Will you call Draco in? I want to apologise to him.”

Ron decides to start this battle correctly, and he’ll need Draco to help him.

“Did you take the potions?” Draco asks.

“Can’t you tell? Those potions make me so tired,” Ron snaps.

“And cranky. Must be a horrid side-effect.” Draco sees that Ron isn’t moving. “Come on. Let’s not keep Luna waiting. Last time we were late, she gave me a long lecture on why I should eat raw garlics to get me to move faster! I mean, does she think I’m going to be attracting vampires or what?”

Ron chortles.

“Ah, I’m making progress! You laughed.” Draco squeezes Ron’s hands and kisses it. “Let’s go. I don’t want ‘her loonyness’ to give me another long talk about garlic or anything bizarre!”

“Have you visited you parents’ graves ever since they were buried?”

“No,” Ron admits with shame. “I . . . I can’t seem to return there. It just gives me bad memories.”

Luna gives him a cup of tea and settles on the sofa next to him. Her office is airy and friendly, with flowers and other plants lingering around the room. These plants have been given to her by Neville, who runs a successful nursery. Ron always feels at peace when he’s in here.

Taking a sip of her tea, she nibbles on a digestive biscuit, and she then says, “Try to think of only good memories of them.”

“It’s hard.” He sighs as he attempts to block out the memories of his childhood home being bombed by the Muggles. His parents were victims of the bombing, and what frightens him more is the timing of the bombing. It happened an hour prior to his weekly visit to the Burrow.

“It will take time, but that’s what we need to do. Take small steps here and there.”

He knows that. She has told him to slowly accept the past and try to move away from it to achieve a sense of normalcy he hasn’t had for years. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll get Gin and my brothers to go in a couple of weeks.”

She gives him an encouraging smile. “That’s a start.” She points at the biscuits. “Here, have some. Harry bought these for me.”

Ron moans and groans, tossing and turning. He’s just returned from a battle. He’s in the hospital ward, and he sees many in pain, and he even sees a guy with both legs damaged from a bomb. He shudders at the missing limbs, and he remembers the smell of injured flesh, the medicines, and the potions. It’s enough to nearly make him want to vomit.

“Ron!” Draco’s loud voice wakes him up. “It’s only a nightmare. Get a hold of yourself.”

His eyes fly open, and he sits up gasping. He automatically leans into Draco’s caring embrace, and he tries to fight back a sob that’s threatening to escape him.

“It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay,” Draco’s voice soothes him, and Ron shudders against the warm torso.

When Ron’s finally calm, he smiles shakily at Draco. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Draco’s hand smoothes away his fringe, the cool hand a contrast against Ron’s hot forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. Luna has told him to talk to Draco about these nightmares, and so far Ron has yet to tell Draco any of them. Ron realises that he needs to. He needs to overcome them, and he wants to defeat them, but he still can’t help but think he’ll only burden Draco. “I don’t want to bother you with these.”

“You will not be bothering me with this. You will be helping both of us by telling me. You shouldn’t try to go through this by yourself. I want to help you, but you won’t let me,” Draco bitterly complains. “I’ve been through the same thing as you; I have no problems, so let me help you with yours!”

“I . . . I know.” Ron feels slight resentment at that last hurtful sentence. Draco’s lucky, and Ron can’t help but wonder why Draco’s not suffering in a similar manner. Then again, Draco is affected by all this in a different way. Draco has to watch Ron become like this, and Ron realises that all of this will be rough for anyone — including Draco.

Draco groans. “I don’t mean to sound so selfish. Just . . . I won’t force you. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Ron tentatively leans up and softly kisses Draco’s lips. “Thank you. I’ll tell you, but I’m warning you; my nightmares are pretty gruesome.”

“Ron,” he says dryly. “I was your partner in the war. We saw many things together, so please don’t paint me as some ignorant sod who sees things through rose-coloured glasses.”

“Okay.” Ron takes a deep breath and tells Draco the latest nightmare, and when he finishes, he feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his soul.

“Hey, mate,” Harry says cheerfully as he enters the flat with a bag. “I’ve bought us fish and chips, some butterbeer, and Exploding Snaps!”

Ron comes out from his cocoon of blankets. He’s been feeling a bit anti-social that day. Draco’s still at work, so Harry must’ve decided to check up on him and to hang out. “Hey.”

Harry sits in the armchair while Ron remains on the sofa. “Are you all right?”

Ron nods. “I . . . it’s just . . . ”

“I know,” Harry says understandingly. “We don’t have to do the games, but I reckon you might want to eat the fish and chips. It’s from your favourite place.”

“Really?” He perks up a bit at that. “Thanks, Harry.”

By the time they finish eating, Ron’s in the mood to play some Exploding Snaps with Harry.

The game goes on forever, and when Draco finally comes home, Ron looks up with a smile. Draco stares with a surprised expression, and he grins back, too.

Harry sees Draco. “Malfoy.”

“Potter. I see you’ve bought fish and chips. Where’s mine?”

“Sorry, but Ron and I both cleaned it up.”

Draco gives Ron a phony hurtful pout. “You didn’t save me any?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Stop being a git. You can go buy your own.”

“Oh, your words stab me. Remind me not to give you your favourite sweets later on,” Draco grumps out.

“I’ll survive,” Ron jokes, and all of them burst out laughing.

Ron realises that this feels almost normal, and he’s surprised at how he doesn’t flee from it.

“Will you tell me what happened a couple of days ago?” Luna fingers one of her bracelets as she looks at Ron in a serene manner.

He awkwardly avoids looking at her, and he stares at the plush oriental carpet on the floor, studying its intricate designs.

“I . . . Draco and I had arranged with Ginny and Dean on an outing. We were going to go have a picnic . . . Ginny’s great at making food, you know.” He plays with a loose thread at the edge of his shirt.

“Yes?” she prompts.

“But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I locked myself in the bedroom, and I just crawled under the blankets,” he whispers, looking ashamed.

“Was Draco upset?”

He shakes his head. “That surprises me.”

“Why would it surprise you?”

“Because we had planned on this for a while, and at the last minute, I couldn’t do it.”

“Draco is Hermes.”

He blinks at the cryptic words.

She smiles and gives him some chocolate. “I’m just saying he’s like Hermes and those flying shoes. He’ll go with the flow, especially when it comes to you.”

He doesn’t respond, and she says, “You’re bothered by something else.”

It isn’t a question but rather a statement. “Yes. I am. I . . . I thought I was getting better, but then this incident proves otherwise.”

She looks at him with a thoughtful expression. “Do you know Aesop’s Fables?”

“No.”

“It’s a Muggle thing. Aesop is this Ancient Greek slave who has created a lot of fables, which uses animals in a human setting. These tales are supposed to teach young children morals. One of the more famous story is ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’. In that story, the hare mocks the tortoise for being slow, and it comes to a point where they have a race. The hare, of course, dashes off and is far ahead of the tortoise. He’s so cocky, so he decides to take a nap, thinking he’d wake up in time to make it to the finish line. But in the end, the hare sleeps too long, and the tortoise wins the race.”

He’s confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Most people say that the moral of this story is that overconfidence gets you nowhere. But I like to think there’s a second moral to the fable.”

“And . . . ?”

“It takes time and perseverance for results to come up. See the tortoise took his time, and he plodded on even though he knew he had a handicap.”

She reaches out and pats his hand. “So you see, the same thing will happen to you, too.”

For the first time in months, Ron finds himself at a nice restaurant. He’s there with Draco, the two of them doubling up with Harry and Luna. It’s a quiet restaurant, and it has plenty of space, which gives Ron some comfort since it isn’t small, packed, and loud with other people.

Still, he feels a slight sense of dread when the waiter comes to take their orders. Yet by the time their main course has arrived, Ron doesn’t want to bolt anymore. Instead, he enjoys his meal, the quiet conversations, and the good vintage wine.

Ron gives smiles hesitantly at Draco. Under the table, Draco’s hand rests on his thigh, and Ron covers the hand with his. “This is a great place, Draco.”

“Of course. We Malfoys are known for our good tastes.”

“In what?” Harry asks wryly. “In hair care products?”

Draco scowls at Harry, and Ron sniggers. “Good one, mate.”

“So you’re on his side?” Draco pouts at Ron. “Don’t tell me I have to compete with Scarhead here.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely name for Harry, Draco,” Luna pipes up, giving Ron a conspiratorial wink.

“Luna . . . ” Harry pretends to look offended, and it is Draco’s turn to laugh. They start to banter with each other, and Ron and Luna just roll their eyes.

In a loud voice, Luna announces, “I have a plan I’d like to suggest to Ron and Draco.”

That silences the arguing pair, and all the men look at her curiously.

“Ron, you’ve come a long way, and you’re improving at a good pace. Why don’t you and Draco take a trip somewhere for a couple of weeks? It will do you both some good. Granted, I do want Ron to achieve that feeling of normalcy, and I think taking trips here and there can be considered ‘normal’.”

Ron and Draco speak with their eyes. Before one of them can answer, Luna says, “Oh, you don’t have to decide now. Remember the tortoise, Ron.”

Draco and Harry both give Luna a “what on earth are you talking about” looks, and they both shrug in unison. That amuses Ron since, in some ways, Harry and Draco have similar mannerisms.

She beams. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

In the end, they decide to go on a trip. They choose to visit Hermione and her family in New Zealand.

At the Portkey Station, they meet Hermione, and she nearly assaults Ron with a warm hug.

“Ron!” She joyfully greets him. “Oh, you look great!”

He returns the hug. “You look way better than I do.” He steps back to admire her, and she did indeed look happy and healthy, her cheeks were fuller and redder, and her hair has been tamed into a slightly-less bushy ponytail. She’s dressed conservatively in her blouse and skirt. She turns to Draco and extends out a hand.

Draco shakes it. “Hello, Granger — I mean . . . ”

“Call me Hermione,” she interrupts.

“All right. Good to see you, Hermione. Let me thank you on both our behalf for your invitation and hospitality.”

She waves a hand. “Not a problem. I’ve been telling Ron to visit me for years, and I’m glad he came with you.”

As Draco and Hermione talk, they all walk outside. As Ron looks around the surrounding, he notices that the air in Wellington feels different compared to England, and the new senses that bombard him don’t make him feel jumpy like he’s expected. Instead, it soothes him.

Of course, the warmer climate might have had something to do with it. After all, it is winter back on the Isle, and here it’s summer.

“Ron?” Hermione’s voice brings him back to reality. “Ready? The girls and Tony cannot wait to meet you and Draco.”

He nods. “All right.”

The days pass by, and Ron’s surprised by how much fun he’s having. Yes, he does have days where he wants to lock himself up and be alone, but he discovers that Hermione’s twin daughters, Josephine and Anne, unwittingly pull him out of that slump, and he realises he actually enjoys being around children.

“Uncle Ron! Toss me on the bed! Like a cannonball!”

“Uncle Ron, come play house with us! You can be the daddy and Uncle Draco can be the mummy!”

“Uncle Ron! Come jump on the trampoline with us!”

At their every request, Ron sees their large blue eyes, and he cannot resist them.

Draco enjoys their company, too, and he even plays house with them. Though he does snark on why he has to be the mother.

Ron only grins and says, “Aw, come on. You make the perfect mother-figure.”

Draco glares at him. “If you dare compare me to that Angelina woman again, I will permanently spell a cock ring on you.”

Thankfully, they are in the guest room when he says that, away from certain twin’s ears and Hermione’s “prudish” nature.”

Ron lifts an eyebrow. “If you do that, I will castrate you.”

“I dare you to try.” Draco’s scowl softens. “I miss our bickering, you know?”

Swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat, Ron softly agrees, “Me too.”

Ron pulls Draco into a hug, and he kisses Draco’s pouty lips. He nips and sucks until they are swollen, and Draco lets out a groan of pleasure.

Guiding them onto the bed, Ron climbs on top and covers Draco’s slim and lithe body with his own body that’s more muscular and bulkier than Draco’s. As his hands and mouth wanders, he feels his own arousal stirring inside of him.

They barely remember to cast a silencing charm as they, for the first time in months, make love to one another. It’s poignant and fulfilling, unlike the last time he has done it with Draco, where he recalls feeling unworthy and empty. This time he feels grateful and lucky to have a man like Draco to help him through the abyss of hell. This time, when he comes with Draco, he allows himself to cry out in bliss.

When they cuddle next to each other, Ron feels sleepy. Before he sleeps, though, he whispers, “I remember where I put my gun and knife.”

“Where?”

“I buried them in the Forbidden Forest. When the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords happened, I buried them somewhere. I just wanted to forget.”

“Are you going to retrieve them?”

Ron kisses him, and as he feels his eyes closing, he says. “No. They can stay there. I just hope I’ll never need them again.”

“Me, too.”

Like their love making, for the first time in ages, Ron looks forward to sleeping, and he knows he won’t suffer from nightmares that night.

“Checkmate,” Ron says, moving his piece to claim victory.

Tony beams at him. “That, my friend, was the best and the most intense chess game I’ve ever had the privilege of playing against anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Draco announces in a bored voice, yet his eyes twinkle with amusement. “That’s the longest chess game I’ve ever watched. Even the girls went to sleep, and Hermione had to put them to bed.”

“Oh,” Ron rubs his head sheepishly. “Well, Tony here is an excellent chess player. He’s–”

“Wait, wait. Don’t say it. Better than me right?”

“You said it. Not me.”

Draco rolls his eyes as Tony laughs.

Hermione comes into the room and exclaims, “They are finally done!” She sits on the armrest of her husband’s chair. While she rests her hands on his shoulders, she looks at Ron and Draco.

“Tomorrow is your last day here with us. What do you two want to do on your final day?”

Ron and Draco looks at each other. They both exchange grins as Hermione’s eyes narrow. “I know that look, Ronald Weasley. You will not plan anything that deals with George and his pranks!”

“Who me?” Ron asks innocently. “Never.”

“Mmm,” she doesn’t believe him.

“Okay, fine, we are going to give the girls some of his pranks items as gifts, but we also want to treat you all to a nice outing at the local wizarding amusement park and then a nice dinner at a ritzy place.”

Hermione smiles softly. “Oh, you don’t need to . . . ”

“We want to,” Ron says. “You’ve been great towards us.” He gives her a pleading yet a playful look, one he knows that always gets to her.

She concedes. “All right, you two. Thank you so much.”

Ron and Draco return to England, and they more or less go back to their routines. Draco still works as the head liaison officer, and Ron still writes for The Quibbler; although he also works as a part-time football coach at Hogwarts now, a sport he has grown to like despite his initial favour for Quidditch, which he still likes. Football has become as popular as Quidditch at Hogwarts, mostly due to the Muggle-borns’ influences, and Ron volunteers his time there, enjoying his interactions with the young youths.

At first, Ron’s hesitant to take the position, but through Draco, his friends, and his family’s support, he decides to try it. Luckily, he has grown to love it.

Now his life feels a bit more secure. Along with his jobs, he still sees Luna on a weekly basis, and he still takes those potions. Though the nightmares still hit him, they aren’t as serious or concurrent as before.

He knows that it will take a while for him to be fully healed and “normal”. However, he also knows that, like the tortoise, he will press on and never give up. As long as Draco’s with him, and he has his friends and family, that’s all he needs to move on with his life.

Ron Weasley has survived more wars than he’s ever imagined himself to be in.

He has survived Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he has survived the Muggles, and he has survived himself.

Of all the battles he’s been through, battling himself has been proven to be the most difficult and challenging. Yet he has miraculously survived it.

No cheering’s been done when the war has ended with the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords.

But now, with the battle truly over, Ron finally feels like cheering. They finally have peace.

Ending Notes

-The fic’s title comes from a line in “Anthem for Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen. (http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen2.html)