From his cosy seat, Dudley eyed the craziness unfolding in front of him. It was Christmas Day, and presents were passed around and opened. Joyous shouts and loud laughter rang through his ears, and he ducked when a lumpy stocking flew over his head. He grew dizzy when the force of ten thousand or so redheads of varying shades started stampeding all over the room, but his eyes quickly zoned in on one boy.

Albus Severus Potter had picked up a plain-looking green package, tied with a white ribbon. That was one of the three packages in the room that wasn’t flashy or animated like the other packages, and Dudley held his breath as Albus slowly unravelled the ribbon, letting it fall into his lap.

Dudley knew what was behind the plain wrapping paper. It was a gift he had mulled over for several days before carefully making his selection — so unlike James’ or Lily’s gifts, both of which he was able to choose quickly. The two of them were easy to read and figure out, both of them outgoing and confident.

But not Albus, who was quieter than his siblings, more introspective with hidden depths in those familiar green eyes — a mystery, he was.

Dudley, as nonchalantly as possible, watched Albus rip apart the paper and watched the way Albus just stared at the gift. It was a box — a fountain pen kit. In it was a handsome fountain pen, in bold black, with gold and silver designs along its body. There were several different types of nibs and ink refills in the kit and a small notebook with a leather cover. Albus looked up at Dudley with unreadable eyes.

Swallowing hard and feeling dread growing inside of him, Dudley said, “Your dad told me you like to write stories. So, I, erm, thought you’d like to write with this.”

He became more uncomfortable by the silence, and before he could tell Albus that he could exchange the gift, Albus let out a beaming smile. As quick as a wink, Albus had crossed the room to give him a big hug, and Dudley found himself hugging back. It was then he heard a very soft, “Thank you, Uncle Dudley. This is the best gift ever!”

And all Dudley could say back was “Happy Christmas, Albus.”

Click on the image for the larger version.

Reason #1: Luna is very bright and friendly.

Harry looked around the table filled with his new colleagues, eyeing all the familiar and new faces that wore various expressions. Some looked cranky (like Filch), others looked dazed (like Trelawney), some were attentive (like Neville), and the remaining looked sharp (like McGonagall).

Then there was one face that stuck out. It looked dreamy, almost like Trelawney’s dazed expression, but he could see intelligence, could see its sharpness as well as its attentiveness, and, thankfully, no signs of crankiness — only friendliness.

He gave Luna a small smile, and she smiled back, her silvery grey eyes looking soft. Her long, dirty-blonde hair was piled up on her head, and Harry could see blue pencils stuck there, holding her hair up in some sort of a messy bun. She wore earrings, which were actually paperclips with beads, and her necklace was made up of several colourful shoelaces.

Mentally, Harry sniggered and shook his head. It’d been years since he’d last seen her, but he could see she hadn’t changed much. Since his own life over the last couple of decades had been filled with a lot of travelling, he found comfort in seeing Luna the same as before.

After the war, Harry had chosen to take up jobs in other countries. He found that he couldn’t stay in England right after the war. He’d felt too much pain. Everywhere and everything, he was reminded of friends and loved ones the war had taken from him. He also didn’t want to face all the media attention and all the expectations from British wizarding society. He didn’t want to be an Auror, nor did he want to be a famous Quidditch player. What he wanted was to see the world he’d saved and figure out who he was and what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

It took him a while, but he finally knew what he wanted to do. Travelling around the world and living and working in different countries, he found himself missing England, so he was happy to return and take the job of being a flying instructor and a Quidditch coach at Hogwarts. He was glad he could return to the first place he’d called home. And even though he hadn’t wanted to be a famous Quidditch player, he still loved flying, still loved that rush he got on the broom, loved the exhilarating wind breezing past him when he went extremely fast. This was a dream job for him.

Dream job or not, he couldn’t help but feel swamped from the information overload this staff meeting gave him. Thankfully, Luna came up to him after the meeting, and he was distracted from the annual schedule and all the pre-planning information that had all congregated in his brain.

“Hello, Harry! When Minerva had told us we’d get you as a new flying instructor and coach, I thought it was the most wonderful news. You’ll be great!”

“Thanks,” Harry said, trying not to blush from the praise. “I didn’t know you were working here, as a . . . Muggle Studies professor.” He was surprised by her teaching choice. Of the subjects offered at Hogwarts, he would have thought she’d fit more with Care of Magical Creatures.

“I love Muggle Studies. After the war, I had many opportunities to familiarise myself with the Muggles’ customs and society. I find their lives to be quite fascinating. Just as interesting as Nargles and Wrackspurts! When term isn’t in session, I still search for new creatures with my father or with my dear friend, Rolf Scamander. He’s related to Newt Scamander, you know.”

“Sorry, but who?”

“Newt Scamander,” she explained dreamily. “He’s the one who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them; Rolf is his grandson.”

“Oh. Right.” He remembered that book, but he found himself remembering the comments he and his friends had written in the book more than anything else.

She reached up to touch one of her shoelace necklaces and beamed at him. “Well, I’m excited to see we’re going to be colleagues now. Whenever you need help, feel free to ask.”

“Thanks.” He smiled back. Her smile was quite infectious. Was it like that before when they were in school? He couldn’t remember.

“Well, I have to run some errands. I have to do them now. Otherwise, I’ll upset the Nargles. See you around, Harry.”

She walked away, undoing her hair, and he saw the locks ripple out and drape her back. He found himself wondering how they’d feel if he ran his hands through them, hoping that they’d feel soft and silky. However, he didn’t dwell on it too long since Neville had joined him.

As he chattered away with Neville, Luna stayed in his mind. He could tell this job was going to be an interesting experience.

Reason #2: Luna can explain everything in a logical manner.

The term started without any problems, and Harry found himself growing accustomed to the routine of things, which was generally quite monotonous. On most days, he’d grudgingly wake up at the crack of dawn; drink about twenty cups of coffee, making him spend quite some time in the loo; eat breakfast in the noisy Great Hall, leaving the place with a pounding headache; spend all morning teaching the first years to not fall off their brooms because he’d never want an angry parent on his tail for hurting their “precious darlings”; eat lunch in that same cacophonous room with screaming teenagers, giving him another headache for the day; coach the Quidditch teams in the afternoon, going about the practices in the safest manner possible to avoid Madam Pomfrey’s wrath; and finally have some free time in the evening where he could eat his meal away from the Great Hall in a much quieter and civilised environment.

Each day was just a simple procedure of lather, rinse, and repeat. Sure, there were times when his students brought some amusement in his boring routine. After all, he was around teenagers who were always thinking about sex. To them, everything around them could be turned into something sexual.

But it was Luna who always made his day brighter and entertaining.

He was especially amused and befuddled by some of their conversations. He was rather fond of Luna’s interesting take on Muggle subjects, in particular. For instance, he would never forget their conversation on a computer keyboard, the “Harveys”, and the Muggles’ tastes in music, which all surprisingly turned out logical in a very Luna-ish way.

That conversation took place on a nice September day. Luna, claiming to be stir-crazy, had asked Harry to go out for a walk around the lake. With nothing else planned, Harry agreed, and as they both walked outside, they started to talk about their classes.

“How are your flying lessons?” Luna asked, fiddling with her new earrings. They were made from those heart-shaped sweets with messages on them.

By now, Harry had got used to seeing her hair piled up on her head with pencils in them, but he stared at the earrings. Somehow, food jewelleries on Luna worked — just like her unusual hairstyle — yet how she styled herself would look tacky and ridiculous on anybody else. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s interesting. I have this one first-year getting the brush part of the broom tangled in his robes. I’m not sure how he keeps managing that, but it happens every lesson. How’s yours? What are you focusing on in Muggle Studies?”

“I’ve introduced my older classes to computers.” Her eyes twinkled excitedly. “They’ve always fascinated me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve always liked their keyboard. The buttons on them are such a great concept! It’s obvious the keyboard’s made like that because Muggles like pushing buttons.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“And those loud Harveys they ride around on the streets? I’ve come to the conclusion Muggles like extremely noisy things.”

The non sequitur made his mind hurt as he tried to figure out just what she meant by “Harveys”. It took him few seconds to realise what she meant. “You mean Harleys?”

With wide eyes, she nodded. “I call them ‘Harveys’ . . . it just seems more fitting since it reminds me of that one Muggle cocktail, ‘Harvey Wallbanger’.”

“Well . . . ” He scratched his head and wondered just what that cocktail had to do with anything as he continued, “They can be loud, but not all Muggles like loud–”

“They do!” She interrupted as her hands waved around enthusiastically, with one almost slapping Harry in the face. “Their music is loud — not that it’s unpleasant, but what’s the point if I can’t understand their lyrics because of the loud bomp, bomp bomp? — and their video games have a lot of explosions . . . it makes sense!” She stilled, her face turning dreamy and thoughtful. “Now, I wonder if Fred and George are really Muggles in disguise. Their prank items are very loud and quite explosive.”

“I . . . ” He could actually see the logic in all of this, but he’d be arsed if he could explain why! “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“See!” She beamed and her hands went back to play with the earrings. “Now you have.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “You’ve definitely opened up my eyes.”

“That’s terrific.” She smiled again and this time linked her arm through his. “Let’s go back inside now. I’m quite hungry for some of those Belgian chocolates of yours.”

Still laughing, Harry led the way back to the castle, glad that he had Luna to always bring something unexpected to his daily life.

Reason #3: Luna is very generous.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

With Luna, Harry found everything about her to be surprising in a good way. Predictable was nowhere in Luna’s mentality or vocabulary, so Harry found himself intrigued and curious as to what kind of surprises she’d show him.

Luna could be very spontaneous, a trait that Harry would have never associated with a Ravenclaw, but it was her spontaneity that endeared her to him.

Remembering the wacky YouTube video she’d shown him — it was a bloke strumming away on his guitar and ranting about some really ancient bloke called Pachelbel, which had fascinated Luna since she asserted it was a prime example of what happened to someone who got possessed unknowingly by Wrackspurts — Harry couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?”

Luna immediately reached out to grab his hand. She did that often now, and Harry realised he liked the way their hands fit each other. His were larger and more tanned, while hers were paler and daintier than his, a contrast he really liked whenever he studied their hands together discreetly. She gave him a serene smile and said, “Come! I’ve found the Nargles’ secret hiding spot deep in the Forbidden Forest. They’ve given me permission to allow one other human to see it, and I’ve chosen you!”

“I . . . am . . . surprised?” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question, but it came out that way regardless. He really was astonished. Sure, he’d been hearing of her beliefs in these creatures that nobody else believed in, and he’d always indulged her while he listened to her passionate claims, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected one of her outlandish claims to be true.

She beamed. “This is something I have to share. I can’t just keep it to myself.” She tugged his arm, and he discovered just how fast Luna could be when she was this excited.

As they sped through the forest — which made Harry wonder if she had somehow merged herself with the newest broom out on the market, Ragestruck 2000 — he had to ask, “Did you find a patch of mistletoe or something? Didn’t you say Nargles like to infest those?”

“That’s only in December,” she explained, stepping up her pace. She remained unfazed while he grew short of breath. “It’s only mid-October right now, so they are in their normal forms.”

“Normal form?” He didn’t remember this fact at all.

“You’ll see,” she hummed mysteriously.

Finally, after a long run to what felt like London, they stopped in a clearing. There were trees all around them, moonlight streaking through their leaves. Luna looked around with bright eyes; Harry bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for blessed air to enter into his deprived lungs.

“Harry,” she said softly, bringing a finger up to her lips. She made a gesture towards some bushes that had silver, bell-shaped flowers.

He didn’t at first, but when he squinted his eyes, he saw it: a small creature, about the size of a Crup, that looked like something of a cross between a rabbit and a skunk as it had long rabbit ears and a skunk’s body. It was white, with a twitchy black nose and a pair of innocent, sweet dark-coloured eyes. On its back, instead of the skunk’s prominent white stripes, there were seven stripes in the colours of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. The colours extended to the tip of its long, fluffy tail.

It waddled close to where they were standing, and Harry held his breath, watching the gentle looking creature. Luna kneeled on the ground and slowly held out her hand towards the creature. In a soothing voice, she said, “I’m back and I’ve brought Harry, one of my dearest friends. He’s perfectly harmless, despite his loud breathing earlier. He’s just a bit tired from the running we did.”

The Nargle came closer and nudged Luna’s hand, and it started to purr happily when she began to scratch its head. “You like that, don’t you, Thumpflow?”

“Thumpflow?” Harry asked in a hushed voice, sitting on the ground himself, careful not to make his movement too erratic and scare it away.

“A portmanteau of ‘Thumper’ and ‘Flower’. I named this Nargle after those two characters from Bambi.” While she explained, Thumpflow stopped nuzzling into Luna’s hand, and it came over to Harry. It scrutinised him, and Harry met its penetrating gaze. He didn’t feel uncomfortable, though. He could feel a sense of calm spreading over him, and without thinking, he moved a hand out towards Thumpflow, and it bypassed his hand and crawled into his lap.

“Oh!” Luna’s voice hitched. “He likes you! I’m so glad.”

“I . . . I’m honoured.” Harry said as his hand hovered above Thumpflow’s head.

“You can pet him. He’ll like it.”

As if on cue, Thumpflow reached upwards to bump its head into Harry’s palm. Harry touched and scratched its head lightly, feeling the richness and softness of its fur. It began to purr again, and Harry smiled.

“The others are coming now,” Luna said happily. She looked at the other Nargles, all of them looking very similar to Thumpflow. They made a circle around them. Light evening breezes rustled the bushes with the bell-shaped flowers, which began to sing a twinkling melody, causing the Nargles to purr in a harmonic response.

Harry closed his eyes, glad to be swept away by this magical and peaceful place. With one hand still on Thumpflow, he put his other arm around Luna. If time ever froze right now, Harry would not mind at all. Not one bit.

But they had to leave soon. Time didn’t stop then and there. Harry wished they didn’t have to leave the enchanting place, yet he was truly glad that Luna had chosen him to share this wonderful experience.

It was that life-altering incident that made him appreciate and understand just how special Luna really was.

Reason #4: Luna cares about the arts.

With her clothes no longer donning an orange-coloured scheme to honour Halloween, Luna came up to Harry with a new idea that fascinated and dismayed him. He knew Luna was into the arts, but he’d no idea just how much she was willing to explore into that territory.

“I’ve talked to Minerva, and she agreed to let us start up a new club activity here.”

Harry blinked at this sudden news. “What club activity?”

“Drama club. Let’s start up a drama club!”

He could only stare at her. Just when he thought she couldn’t surprise him anymore, she came up with something to make him feel stupid for ever doubting her remarkable abilities to stun him. “I’ve no experience in that field,” he said haltingly.

“I don’t, either!” She gave him a wide smile. “We can both learn how to put on a play with the students. I think this will be very educational for everyone involved.”

“Well,” he said, still trying to wrap his head around this newest scheme of hers. “What play do you have in mind?”

“Something romantic. Something Shakespearish.”

“Shakespeare? Why him?” He felt uneasy at that suggestion. He knew of Shakespeare’s works, knew the summaries of the more popular plays, but he would never call himself a fan of Shakespeare. He’d once tried to read one of Shakespeare’s plays, and he’d failed miserably since he could barely understand that strange variation of English. Actually, he wasn’t even certain it was English.

“Why not?” she asked. “I want to focus on Shakespeare since he’s the most famous playwright in all of history. Besides, I think it’d be fun to introduce the Elizabethan English to everyone here.”

He wasn’t quite convinced, but he still said, “I see. Well, if you want something romantic, then that’s easy. Just do Romeo and Juliet.”

“No.” Apparently, she knew enough about Shakespeare’s plays. With a very earnest expression, she explained, “That’s not romantic! Romeo’s love for Juliet was clearly misguided as he allowed his hormones to lead him away from Rosaline, the one he should have just stayed with! His fickleness is not very romantic at all. And honestly, it’s such a depressing play.”

“Depressing, huh?” He quickly suggested, “How about A Midsummer’s Night Dream? That’s a comedy, right?”

“That’s not romantic either. A love potion does not make romance,” she clarified.

He had to agree with her assessment of these so-called romantic plays, but he was beginning to run out of suggestions. “Then what do you propose?”

“Oh, I think I’ve had way too many encounters with the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack. They’re affecting my memory at the moment. I can’t quite remember the title of that one play. Something about an animal?”

“Ah-ha! The Taming of the Shrew?”

“No, that wasn’t quite it . . . oh! It was Much Ado About Nothing!”

“How in Merlin’s name does that play fit your animal comment?” he couldn’t help exclaiming.

“You know that one quote? The one that says ‘I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me’? I’ve always adored that line. Beatrice is a fascinating character, I think.”

Harry started to snigger. “If that’s what you want to do, fine by me.”

Luna gave a bright smile. “And I know exactly who to cast as Beatrice and Benedick, the wonderful bickering couple.”

Curious, he asked, “Who?”

“Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy! I’ve talked to them separately. They seem to be quite interested in joining the drama club, too, so it’ll all work out perfectly.”

“Well . . . ” Harry tried to picture his god-daughter with Scorpius. “At least they’ll both fit the bickering part.”

“Exactly.” Luna summoned a parchment and yanked out one of the pencils in her hair. “Now, let’s plan this.”

Hours later, when Harry was stumbling in his rooms to get into his much missed bed, he decided that Luna and the arts were either an interesting combo or a scary one. All he knew for now was that he was going to have an even more interesting year with play rehearsals and play preparation.

Oddly enough, he would consider the play a success if the leading actor and leading actress didn’t hex one another to hell first.

The last thing on his mind before he slept was an image of an excited Luna. She had hair escaping from her bun. The way it framed her happy face with her sparkling eyes, she looked pretty and youthful. There were times tonight where he’d wanted to brush those strands away from her face and then kiss her. There were moments where he’d wanted to kiss her gently and slowly, to tell her through his actions that he was falling for her in ways he’d never felt about anyone else before. Then there were instances where he’d wanted to grab and pull her soft body against his and plant a mind-blowing kiss on her lips because he desperately wanted to feel her, taste her, and use his actions once more to show just how much he desired her.

But he didn’t do anything.

What he decided to do was to take it slow and easy.

Reason #5: Luna is kind and considerate to every living thing.

Unfortunately, Luna was not making it easy for him to stick to his decision of taking things slow and easy. Whenever Luna touched his shoulders, brushed past against him, and gave him a smile that just made his insides melt, he wanted to touch her in ways that were not platonic. He wondered about how she’d look naked, with her hair undone, imagined how it would feel to run his fingers through the beautiful locks and touching her pale skin, speculating on whether her skin would flush or not.

His active imagination went further to bring images of her sprawled out naked on blue, satin sheets, her breasts looking pert and perky, while giving him a luscious smile, her lips looking so full and snoggable. Then she’d open up her arms invitingly, and he’d be on top of her, kissing, touching, and moving with her to reach a pleasurable climax.

Every night, he’d dream of making love to Luna, and every morning, he’d greet a sticky mess in his pants.

Every day, he’d think about Luna. He knew that she was different from most women out there and that she was someone special. Most his previous relationships hadn’t worked out well. It was partly his fault because he never tried to get to know his ex-girlfriends and only focused on the physical aspects of their relationships. Not that it was a bad thing, but he now realised that those were shallow relationships, and he didn’t want that with Luna.

With Luna, he wanted something deep and meaningful.

Hence, he wanted to take things slowly and easily.

But Luna was really testing his control. Especially with what had happened tonight.

Not that it was bad, no, and he also saw just how considerate it was.

She came up to him, after dinner, suggesting they go out for a breath of fresh air.

“Sure,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s go to Hogsmeade. I need to stock up on some chocolates. But let’s not walk on the grass to get there.”

Harry blinked in confusion. The path to Hogsmeade was covered with a lot of grass. “Why not?”

“Walking on them is not good for them. I mean, I know everyone walks on them, but I like to give them rest as often as I can,” she explained calmly.

“Okay . . . well, we can’t exactly Apparate there. And we don’t have a Portkey . . . Floo?”

She shook her head. “No, no. No Flooing.”

“Then how?”

Casually, Luna grabbed his hand, and she smiled as she laced their fingers together. “Fly. Let’s fly with you in the front. That way I can sit behind you and wrap my arms around you while you take us over there.”

Harry really had no comeback for that, and he couldn’t find anything wrong with her reasoning, so it wasn’t long before they were up in the air, and her front was pressed into his back. With her breasts pressed against him, her arms around him, and her warm breath grazing his neck, he endured a very unpleasant broom ride — riding a broom with a very stiff groin really was uncomfortable — and he tried futilely to distract himself from Luna’s closeness.

And he had to suffer through it again when they returned to Hogwarts.

Still, he couldn’t fault her for wanting to give grass some consideration. Never mind that he had to undergo discomfort for the grass’ sake; he didn’t mind making Luna happy.

Reason #6: Luna is very unique and beautiful.

The next couple of weeks zoomed by, and before Harry knew it, it was the first week of December. Between his teaching duties and the drama club rehearsals, he didn’t have time to plan and take the next step in his relationship with Luna. Then again, they spent almost every day together and were comfortable with each other, so he was content with just working with her and having her near him.

He really couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Therefore, he wasn’t expecting her next wild proposal.

“I want to take my classes on a field trip. I want to expose them to more Muggle life and culture.”

Harry nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. Hands-on experience is always better than just learning straight from the book. Hermione was telling me of a good museum–”

“Bowling,” Luna interrupted with an eager smile. “Someone introduced me to bowling, and after doing some research, I want to try it out myself! It looks really fun, and I think it’ll be something the students would like!”

“Bowling?” he repeated. “You want to go bowling?”

“Yes. We have no play rehearsal, it’s Saturday night, so why not?”

“But I’ve never bowled in my life!”

Luna clapped her hands once and said, “Then let’s try it together.”

“You do realise bowling alleys are quite loud?”

“I’ve been told that — which makes my theory about Muggles liking loud noises even more plausible.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I think loud noises in this case are quite fitting. It heightens one’s excitement, I think! Anyway, I’ll meet you at the entrance in an hour.”

An hour and a half later, Harry found himself in a bowling alley. The noise level pierced his poor, throbbing head, so he decided to concentrate on Luna instead.

That proved to be a bad idea. Luna, in her well-fitting jeans and beige-coloured jumper (which was just as well-fitting as the jeans), looked stunning. He realised that Luna usually wore loose-fitting robes at Hogwarts, so to see her in something tighter than usual . . . he mentally shook his head as he looked at her hair, distracting himself from his own jeans getting too tight.

He almost did a double-take at seeing the familiar pencils in her hair. Sure, that hairstyle was practically her trademark now, but he thought she’d take them out for this . . . date. Was it a date? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he deemed this outing to be a date of some sort.

Despite his initial shock over the pencils, he found himself grinning as he asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while now, but what’s with the pencils in your hair?”

“Hm?” Luna blinked as she picked out a hot pink ball for herself. “Oh, I’ve seen Muggle girls do this a lot. I think it’s a very practical solution, keeping the hair out of my face and ensuring I always have something to write with. I know we mostly use quills, but they aren’t as strong as a pencil.”

Harry smiled as he picked out a blue ball for himself. He should have known Luna would have a very reasonable answer. Still, he had to ask, “What about chopsticks?”

“I tried them, but they turned out to be less useful than a pencil. I’ve tried to teach myself to eat with some chopsticks, but I could never master it. Besides, a pencil’s a lot safer than a fork!”

“That makes sense.”

“Still, thank you for reminding me. I completely forgot they were still in my hair!” She took them out and shook her long, gorgeous blonde hair. Mesmerised, he watched them tumble down her back, and he automatically reached out to touch the cascading waves.

“Your hair’s lovely,” he muttered huskily.

“Thank you,” she answered seriously. “Let’s start bowling, all right? I’m guessing I have to throw the ball and hit those white things down, yes?”

Nonplussed by her changing the subject, Harry sniggered. “Yeah. You have two chances to do it for each turn. I think if you knock all of them down on your first throw, it’s called a strike.”

“Ah, I remember now. Let’s make a deal. If you make a strike first, you get a kiss from me. If I make a strike first, I get a kiss from you.”

Harry just stared at her for a good minute before saying, “No offence, Luna, but what kind of a deal is that?”

“The best kind,” she clarified, giving him an intense look. “I want to kiss you. And according to our visit to Thumpflow last week, you want to, too. Besides, I like hugging you, you like holding my hand, and we’re on a date, so I think having this sort of a deal makes it more exciting.”

“Thumpflow is a terrible secret keeper!” Harry exclaimed, a slow smile coming onto his face. “Let’s try it.”

“Wonderful!” Luna picked up her ball and positioned herself at the edge. “Wish me luck!”

Frame after frame, gutter ball after gutter ball, and split after split, they both threw their respective balls down the lane. Harry came to the conclusion that bowling was not an easy thing to do, but it was nevertheless fun and stimulating. Amidst the loud noises, he and Luna laughed and talked and cheered each other through the two games they played.

Finally, though, towards the end of the last game, Luna finally made a strike.

And Harry was there to give her the promised kiss, and he realised that of all the first kisses he’d had with his previous girlfriends, kissing Luna was on a whole different level. As soon as his lips touched hers, his brain nearly exploded, and his senses were overloaded with everything that screamed Luna. He could smell her vanilla-scented perfume, he could taste her favourite Earl Grey tea with lemon, and he could touch her silky hair and her soft jumper-covered back. Her breasts were pressed against his own chest, and he longed to touch them and see how they fit and felt in his hands.

He didn’t know how long they kissed, but when they finally did separate, he wished they hadn’t.

He wanted to continue to lavish her with kisses. He wished he could just push her onto the hard alley floor right at this moment, rip their clothes off, and continue to snog until they were breathless and writhing against each other with lust.

But now wasn’t the time; he reminded himself to take things slowly. Besides, he realised something unusual. He loved how Luna was taking the initiative in their relationship. He liked her confidence and her peculiar ways of going at things, so when Luna was ready to take things further, he’d do it her way, and it would be something he’d not regret at all.

Reason #7: Luna is very creative — especially with sex.

When he’d guessed Luna would initiate the next step in their relationship, Harry wasn’t surprised by his deduction.

They were snogging in Luna’s sitting room because her quarters were much nicer than his — probably because she had more tenure than him. Their kisses were hot and needy, tongue meeting tongue, their hands exploring all over their bodies — in fact, Harry’s glasses fogged up until he tossed them aside. He finally got to touch Luna’s breasts; he cupped them in his hands, and they fit perfectly as he thumbed her hardening nipples.

When Luna moved, against his growing hard-on, Harry moaned into her sweet mouth as desire raced through his body. He ran a hand through her loose hair, making her gasp softly in pleasure, and he started to unbutton her robes, wanting to see her pale skin all flushed with unmitigated longing and needs.

“Wait,” Luna rasped out, breaking their kiss. Her large eyes looked at him imploringly. “Bedroom. Not here.”

He wanted to complain. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t make it to the bedroom even if it were right in front of him, but he only nodded, telling himself to be patient!

She smiled as she got off of him, and she slipped her hand into his. “You’ll like what I’ve planned.”

“What will I like–?” Inside Luna’s private chambers, he stared at what greeted him from the centre. “A hammock?!”

Indeed, instead of a bed of any sort, he saw a pink and green hammock, each end tied to a palm tree, and underneath the hammock, he saw many, many pillows of different colours. In fact, the pillows were arranged by colour, and he could see them resembling a rainbow spectrum. Finally, on the ceiling, he saw that it was spelled to represent the night sky, all dark with the moon and stars shining down in the middle.

Harry turned to look at Luna and repeated, “A hammock?”

“Yes, a hammock,” she said, her hands reaching out to slowly unbutton his robes.

“Why?” he asked, already knowing what she would say next.

“I want us to try having sex on it.”

“But . . . !” Luna began to kiss his neck, and that muddled any coherent thoughts in his head. Still, he managed to say, “It’s too shaky! Too unstable. We’ll probably flip around in it and fall out of it!”

Luna lightly nipped at his neck before she stepped back and brought them closer to the hammock. “You worry too much. Besides, if we fall out of it, that’s what the pillows are for!” She pushed Harry’s robes off until he was clad only in his boxers. “I’ve always wanted to try this. I like to try things at least once, but this is not something I can experiment by myself, so now that I have you . . . ”

He had to admit that Luna was very creative. And adventurous. And her mentality of trying anything at least once . . . all of these turned him on even more, and he knew then that he shouldn’t have expected anything normal with her. “Why not? Now that you mention it, I do like the idea of our first time together being memorable.”

She smiled as she lay back into the hammock, her robes half off, and beckoned him to join her. He took a few seconds to admire how she looked with her red cheeks, swollen lips, and partially covered breasts, which tempted him even further; he joined her without any more lingering thoughts.

He found her eager lips once more, and he snogged her deeply, slipping his tongue inside her mouth and loving the way it felt. He broke the kiss first and he trailed his lips down to her neck, but he didn’t spend much time there. Instead, he dipped lower until he came across her breasts, and he moved the robes to expose them. Without any hesitation, he kissed and sucked on her nipples while his other hand reached down to touch and circle her clit.

While he was doing that, Luna slipped a hand between them and began to stroke him through his boxers. Somehow, she knew the right amount of pressure to apply to her strokes. It wasn’t long before he longed for her to touch him without his boxers in the way. As if she could read minds, she finally touched him with full skin-on-skin contact, and his mind went absolutely blank before instinct took over. But before that happened, he looked straight into her eyes; they were clear and filled with lust and love.

Later, Harry remembered the heat and the tightness that surrounded him when he entered her. He remembered kissing her once more as he began to move, realising in the back of his mind that the hammock and sex actually fit well with each other, what with his movement matching the hammock’s flexibility.

It wasn’t long before both reached their climax, and it was at that moment, ironically, that Harry’s prediction of them flipping out of the hammock was fulfilled. Luckily, thanks to Luna’s foresight, they landed on the colourful pillows and contently snuggled into each other’s embrace.

Harry kissed her softly and said, “That hammock was actually not a bad idea.”

Luna gave him a loving smile. “I’m glad we tried it out. I do have other ideas I’d like to try in the future.”

He laughed and pulled her closer to him. Giving her one last kiss on her nose, he said, “And I’ll go along with whatever ideas you have. With you around, nothing’s boring or ordinary.”

“Mum? Dad?” Hugo shuffled his feet and stared at the ground, trying to think of a way to force out the words he didn’t want to say.

Rose was in her room, most likely drawing or painting one of her new art projects. His parents were in the sitting room, relaxing with some tea and their own quiet activities — chess for his dad and a thick book for his mum. He didn’t want to disturb the peace there, but he had to do it. Had to ask the burning question that lingered in his mind.

His parents looked up and smiled. “Yes?” his mum said, setting her book down in her lap.

Hugo’s bottom lip quivered, which made him swallow hard as he tried to control his emotions. “Am I . . . ” He couldn’t say it. The words refused to come out.

“What is it, son?” his dad asked, tilting his head in a familiar way.

“Come,” his mum said, patting next to her on the sofa. She looked worried. “Have a seat.”

Hugo stayed where he was — he simply couldn’t move; his feet felt as heavy as lead. Instead, with his head still hanging down, he blurted out, “Am I going to Hogwarts in September?”

Silence permeated the room; Hugo could hear the tick-tocking of the clock and the steady breathing of his parents. He could hear Rose’s soft muttering somewhere above him. His parents shared a look, and he saw them shift uncomfortably.

He saw his dad looking darkly at his chess pieces, but that dark expression quickly disappeared, and Hugo wondered if he’d imagined that look. His mum, on the other hand, looked straight at him, and he could clearly see the guilt on her face. Hugo always thought of his mum as pretty — pretty and young; now, she appeared almost as old as Grandma Weasley.

His mum broke the silence first. “Hugo, darling, I’m afraid not.” Her voice held a hint of remorse and sadness, and that made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

“I’m not?” he said emotionlessly.

“I’m sorry, Hugo, but Hogwarts will not accept–”

He didn’t want to hear it. That word. That dreaded word. Spinning around, he ran out of the room, ignoring his parents calling after him. With tears streaming down his face freely, he ran hard to the front door and exited the house. The tears had blinded him, so he didn’t see two blurry figures coming down the path, where he promptly crashed into someone not much taller than him.

He paused only to see who he’d crashed into. It was Scorpius, Al’s best friend. A new wave of mortification came over him, and he shoved Scorpius aside and sprinted down the street, wanting to get away from everyone and everything.

He ran until his stomach cramped up and his lungs burned from the exertion. Panting, he reached the small park near his house. It was quiet and still — nobody else was there but him. He found a bench, half-hidden by trees, and he sat there, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. His harsh breathing broke its stillness, as well his new round of sobbing. Fresh tears covered the tracks of his old ones.

He heard a branch snap, and that made him swipe his face. Hugo looked up and saw that he had company. Of all the people, it had to be Scorpius Malfoy.

Hugo scowled. “Go away!”

Scorpius didn’t leave. Instead, to Hugo’s dismay, he sat down on the bench. But he didn’t look at Hugo or talk to him. He just stared directly ahead with a calm expression.

That made Hugo uncomfortable, and he glared off to the side, wondering if this bloke was deaf or not. He sniffled and wiped his eyes until they were dry. Several minutes passed before Hugo felt ready to yell at Scorpius, but before he could say anything, Scorpius beat him to it.

“Are you feeling better?” Scorpius was no longer looking at the blank space ahead of him. His concerned hazel eyes were looking at Hugo.

Hugo’s own blue eyes narrowed, and he petulantly responded, “No.”

“You’ve stopped crying. That’s an improvement.” Scorpius hesitated before continuing, “I’m not quite sure why I followed a bawling pre-teen to this park–”

“Then you should’ve just left me alone!” Hugo interrupted loudly. “And I’m not a bawling pre-teen.”

Scorpius chuckled. “Well, you’re not now. Now you’re on your way on becoming a rebellious, loud pre-teen.”

Another wave of sadness and anger hit Hugo, and he muttered softly, “Yeah, a rebellious, loud pre-teen who’s a Squib. A Squib who’s unable to attend Hogwarts.”

He’d expected Scorpius to spout out some meaningless, fake lines of sympathy, the kind Victoire gave out, which always made his teeth hurt from the words that dripped with sugar-coated cheeriness. Hugo thought he might explode if heard “I’m sorry, don’t worry about it” right now. He hated how easily people said those lines. Instead, Scorpius’ response surprised him.

“So? There’s nothing wrong with being a Squib.” Scorpius’ tone was so matter-of-fact, as though it really didn’t matter at all.

Hugo stared at him before shouting, “That’s easy for you to say! You’re already at Hogwarts with my sister and my cousins!”

Scorpius ignored his outburst, and that only made Hugo more confused and angry — especially when Scorpius asked, “What are your plans now?”

“Plans?” Hugo snorted. “I don’t know! Lock myself in my room? Might as well, since I can’t go to Hogwarts!” He knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, it wasn’t as if Scorpius was an adult, not when he was only two years older than Hugo!

“Let me get this straight. You want to lock yourself in your room for the rest of your life all because you can’t go to Hogwarts?”

“Well . . . ” When Scorpius put it that way, the idea did sound silly, yet Hugo was not going to admit that.

“That sounds awfully boring,” Scorpius continued in a solemn voice.

Growing indignant, Hugo exclaimed, “I’m not really going to do that! I’ll find a new plan!” He remembered his dad’s favourite phrase, a phrase his dad always used on his mum. “Must you take everything literally?”

Scorpius grinned, an easygoing smile that put Hugo at ease. “Yeah, I do take things quite literally. Guess that’s why I ended up in Hufflepuff.”

Hufflepuff. Scorpius was in Hufflepuff.

Even though he’d already known this little fact, it still gave Hugo a huge epiphany. Scorpius was a Malfoy, and he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. Hugo was pretty positive that there had never been any Hufflepuff Malfoys. Occasionally one ended up in Ravenclaw but even that was pretty unusual. This meant that Scorpius could understand the awful whirl of emotions that currently raged war deep inside of Hugo. Scorpius understood on being different from those around him.

Scorpius didn’t have to say anything. He knew and felt Hugo’s pain, and it was because he’d been there before.

So if someone like Scorpius and even Albus — who’d been sorted into Slytherin — could understand and accept their situations, then so could he.

Even if it’d be very difficult.

But Hugo was anything but a quitter. He’d once overheard his aunts and uncles talking about how Albus was quite flexible and had this ability to adapt to unfamiliar territory. Hugo himself was also mentioned to be quite adaptable, too, and while he never realised it before, he knew that it was all true. He, too, could adapt and be a successful Squib somehow in the wizarding world. And he’d never achieve that if he sulked and locked himself in his room! Or stay on a park bench.

“Hugo?” Scorpius’ voice jerked him back to reality. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. The big realisation apparently took his voice, but the truth was simple; he was really struggling not to cry again. Scorpius’ calm support, without any unwanted lecturing and nagging, made Hugo feel grateful. It made him feel like he was being treated like an adult, and that somehow encouraged him to act more adult-like than he would have in his current situation.

“Ready to go back then?”

Again, Hugo wordlessly nodded.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Hugo stubbornly kicked the kitchen counter. He’d had a terrible day. He’d just come back from a Muggle school. It wasn’t anything special. He and Rose had grown up attending Muggle schools before they were to go to Hogwarts. It was their mum’s idea — she’d wanted them to grow up integrated in the wizarding and Muggle world. Rose, that lucky bint, didn’t have to attend any more, but he was stuck doing so. For him, Muggle schools were quite boring!

Aside from a tediously long day at school, his new jacket was ruined from a car splashing mud on it, and he was hungry and craving something sweet, flaky, and warm.

In other words, he wanted some pains au chocolat.

But he had no money on him, what with him spending it on that new jacket that got dirty on the first day he wore it!

And the pastry he craved wasn’t in the house.

The only thing he found were the ingredients to make pains au chocolat, and the recipe was written in Aunt Fleur’s delicate, flowy, and tiny handwriting, which was unsurprisingly stashed in the back of his mum’s personal recipe book.

He glared at the assembled ingredients and the recipe, wishing they’d magically come together to create the treat he desperately wanted.

Nothing happened, though, and he resignedly sighed and grumbled, “Well, I know I’ve succeeded if the kitchen stays intact when I’m done. Besides, after Rose’s disaster with that chocolate cake one summer . . . I’m sure whatever I try will not be as bad!”

With his parents at work, he happily turned up the stereo in the sitting room to its maximum volume. He’d always preferred the Muggle stereo system over the wizarding wireless. He liked having control of his song selection. Singing along to his latest favourite album, he began the lengthy process of baking some of that pain au chocolat.

He didn’t know if “pain” meant the same thing in French or not, but he figured it had to be similar. It was quite a pain to make them! All because of his aunt’s extremely small writing. He could barely read and understand her instructions, and it wasn’t long before he began to wish for a magnifying glass. Better yet, a microscope!

With his eyes straining to read the words, he measured everything accurately, stirred until his arms were about to fall out of their sockets, kneaded with skills that made him wonder if he should become a masseur, and stuck the pastries in the oven. It was all done as meticulously as possible. Yet even though he did everything carefully and precisely, he stared at the gigantic mess in the kitchen and on himself. Flour was all over the counter and on him. He was sticky and greasy from all the kneading he did. He could see chocolate fingerprints smudged on the counter.

Thus entered the second “pain” of all this — cleaning! He knew he could have easily asked his mum or dad to help clean by magic, but he didn’t. He wanted to be independent from magic as much as possible. Since he was unable to use them himself, he didn’t want to be reminded of that little fact all the time.

Sighing, he looked at the chaotic looking kitchen, and he got to work. It took him about three hours to make this mess, and he somehow managed to clean it all up in fifteen minutes — the amount of time it took to bake the pastries.

“At least they smell like what I’m trying to make,” he muttered as he scrubbed down the mess. That smell soon filled up the entire house, and it made his mouth water.

He finished cleaning up the last bit of his mess, and after the timer went off, he went and pulled out the tray. As the pastries cooled off, Hugo studied them. They were nicely golden brown, it looked deliciously warm and flaky, and the buttery, chocolate scent wafted straight up his nose. All this made him salivate more.

The pains au chocolat came out perfectly. In fact, they didn’t look that amateurish at all!

“Now, let’s hope it tastes just as good as it looks!” He grabbed one off the tray and bit into it.

His tongue practically exploded in orgasmic pleasure. In all his fourteen years of being alive, he’d never thought it was possible to achieve this level of culinary delight. Despite the tedious prepping he’d just gone through to make these, the end result was way better than he’d expected.

Even better than wanking! Much better.

And when his parents tried them, their praises, “Hugo, these are wonderful! I’ve never tasted anything this great from other pâtisseries!” (his mum) and “These are bloody brilliant, son! Who did you inherit these great skills from? I know it’s not from your mum or me!” (his dad), sent him into an even higher realm of bliss and pride.

Later, when he finally took a break in his room, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He basked in his achievement for the day. Humming one of the songs that blared earlier, his mind drifted to the conversation he had with Scorpius three years ago. He was asked what his plans were with Hogwarts not being an option. For three years, he hadn’t any clues except to attend Muggle school for his mum’s sake and get over the huge disappointment of being a Squib. Every now and then, he would feel the pangs of unhappiness with his fate, but he’d accepted the simple fact without much remorse. However, now he finally had some plans for his life.

New dreams of being a famous pâtissier in the wizarding world bounced around in his mind, and a smile came onto his face as he closed his eyes and imagined this new scenario. He knew a lot of wizarding folks used magic to bake, but he’d show them what a difference it made to bake by hand. He’d prove to them that Squibs like him can be an asset to the wizarding world.

“Argh!” Hugo threw his hands up in the air, and he glared at the rather crumbled-looking croquembouche.

In the past couple of years, Hugo had been self-teaching himself how to be a pâtissier, and the pastries all turned out wonderfully whenever he practised. Choux, financiers, macarons, éclairs — like magic — they’d all come together to transform into the perfect pastries he would share with his families and friends. He must had bountiful luck by his side since whatever he made, even if it were his first time, the pastries came out terrific.

However, that blasted croquembouche was mocking him. He could not understand why a bunch of choux refused to stick to each other and form a tree! It was as if the caramel snubbed him.

He glowered at the mess in front of him and said, “Fine! I don’t need to make you for Christmas, you bloody–”

“Why are you yelling at a pile of pastry?”

Hugo jumped, yelped, and whirled around to see his sister standing in the doorway. Rose stood there, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. She smirked before saying, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, what with you too busy conversing with . . . whatever you call that thing.”

“Croquembouche,” he answered sourly. “At least that’s what it’s supposed to be, but it’s not coming out like one!”

“That’s all? I thought you were being attacked down here, what with you yelling like a batshite-insane-banshee. And I come down here to see you mouthing off to those?” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You need a life.”

“Oh, shut up. I do have one! At least I’m not the one going mad over the NEWTs six months before the actual examination period!”

Hugo and Rose tried to stare each other down with furious looks. She, never once breaking eye contact, edged closer to the choux. He had a bad feeling about this, and he was proven right when she picked up one of the choux and threw it at him, hitting him right in the middle of his face.

“Hey!” he sputtered, trying to wipe off the sticky crème. “What was that for?!’

Rose picked up another choux before she explained, “Remember that one time you said I’ve got an awful aim? I’ve decided to prove you wrong.” Before Hugo could react, she threw the second choux at him, and that impacted his left cheek.

“Bloody hell!” Quickly, he grabbed the first thing his hand landed on, and he flung that, grinning crazily as he heard the satisfying splat on Rose’s shirt. He watched as the yolk dribbled down her torso, and he looked up to see her mouth wide opened. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“You–!” Rose’s hurled another choux and an egg at him, but this time they both started to laugh as their food fight continued.

It wasn’t long before the whole kitchen was a disaster area and both were covered in all sorts of goo. They were still laughing as they cleaned up.

“Next time, let’s just have a pillow fight. That’s a lot less messy and sticky,” Hugo said, throwing away the ruined food as Rose washed the dishes.

“Yes, it would be a lot cleaner that’s for sure. But watching your ugly face get creamed was quite a sight,” she said, giggling.

“I wished I had a camera to capture your face when I threw that egg at you!” he retorted with a smile. He picked up the remainder choux and sighed. “And as for the croquembouche, I give up. I refuse to ever make it.” It was his vow. Once he made a vow, he kept it, no matter how silly it was.

“Just because it’s the first thing you didn’t succeed with on your first try? I think you’re overreacting.”

“M’not! Besides, Ms-I’ve-Gotta-Study-Six-Months-Early-Queen, look who’s talking.”

“Is that the best comeback you can think of? Studying in advance is not me overreacting. At least it’s beneficial–”

Their dad’s loud voice boomed from the sitting room. “That kitchen’d better be cleaned in the next five minutes! You two stop bickering and clean it. When your mum comes home and sees it, there’ll be major overreacting from her, and you two will be the one to deal with her. Not me!”

Rose and Hugo stared at each other in confusion.

“When did Dad come home?” Hugo whispered.

“Who knows, but if he’s home, Mum won’t be far away. Let’s hurry up or we won’t escape from her infamous long lecture.”

Hugo shuddered at the imagined scenario, and he and Rose quickly finished cleaning the kitchen, just mere seconds before their mum arrived.

“La Pâtisserie des petits plaisirs exotiques,” Hugo muttered, not caring that his French sounded terrible. He’d no idea what the whole thing meant. He only knew it was a pastry shop. He set The Quibbler down on top of The Daily Prophet. He was quite surprised to see such a normal sounding pastry shop job in The Quibbler, and he was even more puzzled on why that job wasn’t listed in the Prophet.

However, he didn’t question on that long.

All he cared about was the pâtissier job. A pastry chef at a pâtisserie. A pastry shop in Diagon Alley of all places.

Regardless of the location and all the other fine details, this was his absolute dream job.

The best part? The listing said he didn’t need to have any professional training like those elite pâtisseries in France. Since he was a self-taught pâtissier, he hadn’t had much luck with employment in France or in England since many pâtisseries in the latter preferred the French’s method of hiring certified pâtissiers. Of course, his dream was to be the best pâtissier in the British wizarding world, but he really couldn’t achieve that without actual experience, and he didn’t exactly have the funds to start up his own pâtisserie. But yet, pâtisseries in the wizarding world were unheard of. There were maybe one or two small coffee shops that sold pastries in Hogsmeade, but that was it.

Until now. He’d no idea who came up with the idea to have a full pâtisserie in Diagon Alley, but he wasn’t going to complain. As long as he got the job, he’d be excited with this new turn of event. It looked like Lady Luck was shining on him for once.

Grinning, Hugo jotted down the address, and he saw that they accepted walk-in interviews, quite atypical from most workplaces he knew of, but he wasn’t going to focus on that little titbit. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only eleven o’clock, so he could reach the place in a couple of hours after he freshened up.

Since he lived in his own tiny flat, he tossed his t-shirt aside, not caring where it landed, glad that his mum or sister weren’t there to nag him about the clothing. He stepped into his small bathroom, and he studied his reflection in the mirror.

A young bloke with shaggy, light-reddish-brown hair, its fringe almost covering his blue eyes, stared back at him. He could see the three cartilage piercings on one ear, and he watched the way the light shined on the silver rings. He pulled his shaggy hair back into a small ponytail, wondering briefly if he should cut it or not. His mum and Grandma Weasley wanted him to cut it, but others told him to grow it out until it was just as long as Uncle Bill’s.

He made a face. Sure, with longer hair, he might resemble Uncle Bill from back in the day, but their hair were the only resemblance, along with their height. He wasn’t as broad-shouldered or muscular like his uncle. He ran his hands down his shapeless torso and sighed. He was too skinny, but he was much too busy to go pump himself up at a gym. And exercising was bloody boring. Plus, he really didn’t mind his slender frame compared to all that freckles he’d inherited from his dad. Rose was really lucky that she’d inherited their mum’s skin than their dad’s.

He splashed some water on his face, and he stopped to stare at the one thing he really liked about himself. It was always half-hidden by his pants or trousers, like right now, but he could see it peeking out. His tattoo, the one he got on the side of his hip. It wasn’t an elaborate design; his tattoo was simple. It was the Japanese character for love. At least, that was what his friends had told him. He pretended to forget the little fact that he and his friends had been rather pissed when they had all decided to get tattoos done together. Not one of his best decisions, really, but he told himself that it could have been worse — like getting accidentally amputated. Thankfully, he did like the tattoo, and he slowly traced it with his fingers, going over the familiar calligraphic design and studying the contrast of the dark ink against his pale (and way too freckly) skin.

Figuring he had enough taste of vanity for the entire week, he quickly finished washing up, and he pulled on an outfit that hopefully made him look good — besides, how could anybody go wrong with black trousers, white button-up shirt, a jacket, a tie, and a robe on top? — and he took the tube to the station closest to the Leaky Cauldron.

It didn’t take him long to find the place. The shop wasn’t opened for business yet, but from the outside the place looked quite friendly. The window at the front was huge, and he could see comfortable tables and chairs, all donning earthy colours, that made the place even more welcoming. The shop’s name was on the window, in a flowing font face that fit the shop’s atmosphere. Near the front of the shop, he saw an empty display case, and he briefly closed his eyes to imagine the case filled with pastries, all freshly made by him.

He hoped he’d be the one who could fill the case up.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the shop. The bell above the doorway let out a pleasant ding, and someone came out from the back. Hugo did a double-take. His eyes grew wide and he said, “Scorpius? Scorpius Malfoy?”

Scorpius smiled, making his hazel eyes twinkle with warmth. He ran a hand through his short almost white blond hair. “Hugo? It’s been a while.”

“You work here?” Hugo blurted out. He was surprised. Last time he’d heard from Albus, Scorpius had gone off to France to deal with something business-related. Hugo hadn’t asked for details — he didn’t have any reasons to. Ever since that day Scorpius had helped him accept his fate, Hugo never really had any reasons to talk to him, not when Scorpius was Albus’ friend. Then there was the little matter where Scorpius and Rose mutually didn’t like each other. He’d never heard Scorpius’ side of the story, but he’d heard Rose bitching about “that pompous Malfoy prick trying to steal her number one spot in the academics” or something like that. Really, Rose had a tendency to exaggerate everything, so he was certain that her views were quite skewered.

Nevertheless, after many years, Hugo was now facing Scorpius, and he couldn’t really stop staring at the good looking bloke. Scorpius was well-built, slender like him, but with more muscles. He was taller than Hugo by a couple of centimetres. He didn’t have on a robe, but Hugo wasn’t going to complain. Wearing only a rather tight black jeans and a beige-coloured jumper, Hugo was able to see how appealing Scorpius’ body was. Not to mention the way the jeans hugged his arse. God, that bloke had a lovely arse.

And Scorpius’ voice sounded so smooth. It was as if the world’s softest velvet was brushing against his whole body. Hugo couldn’t remember the last time any guy made him feel this way. Not since that one bloke from two years ago, some Carlos guy from Spain who was quite a looker but way too jealous and clingy for Hugo’s tastes, did he feel such attraction.

To say the least, this job was looking more and more interesting.

That sexy voice brought Hugo back to reality. “Yeah, I’m working here — as a manager, more or less. Are you here for something?” Scorpius leaned against the counter, with his hands in his pockets.

Hugo’s eyes really could not stop staring at Scorpius’ lower body. He forced them to look upward, and he said, “I’m here to interview for the pâtissier position . . . if it’s still available?” He was worried. What if the position was already filled and he was too late?

“Oh, it’s still opened. Are you ready for the interview?”

Hugo nodded, even though his stomach swirled unpleasantly. He hated interviews. He had this terrible tendency to always mess them up. But this time he would try his best with all the confidence he felt deep inside of him. After all, if his parents could go through a war at a much younger age than him, then he could do a ruddy interview.

“Excellent,” Scorpius said. “Come with me to the kitchen!”

Once in the kitchen, Scorpius asked him the standard interview questions.

“How long have you been making these pastries? What is the best thing you can make? Have you studied at any school? Are any of these recipes your own personal ones?”

Hugo answered them to the best of his ability. Then he was told to make some sample pastries. The ingredients and the dough were already prepared, so he just had to make some choux à la crème, éclairs, and financiers as his samples.

Scorpius ate each ones carefully, and Hugo held his breath, hoping that he’d past this test.

“They’re great. You’re amazing. If you hadn’t told me you were self-taught, I would have never guessed it! These are better than some of the pastries I’ve tried in France!”

Blushing, Hugo replied, “Thanks.”

Scorpius’ face turned serious, and he studied Hugo. “Are you well aware what kind of shop this is?”

Confused, Hugo tried not to frown at the strange question. “This is a pâtisserie. You tell me what to make. I make pastries. Then they get sold to the customers. That’s the kind of shop this is, right?”

“Yes, you’re correct.” Scorpius sounded like he wasn’t done explaining, but Hugo didn’t push the matter since Scorpius said, “Now, one final test. Well. Not really a test, I guess, but we have one more thing to do before I can officially hire you or not.”

Hugo looked wary. “What’s this test that’s not really a test?”

Scorpius hesitated and took a deep breath before saying, “Swimming.”

“Sorry?”

“I’ve magically-charmed swimming pools at the manor. Let’s go swimming and have fun. Albus and some other people will be there as well.” Scorpius went on before Hugo could question this madness. “You can just consider it as a part of your job interview. Would you like to join the party?”

Hugo was very puzzled at this unexpected proposition. It was very strange and he couldn’t fathom what swimming had to do with pastries, but he didn’t mind swimming. He liked swimming, and if Albus was at least there, then he could just say this is a strange get-together-but-still-part-of-an-interview thing. Shrugging, he touched the Portkey that was offered, and he concentrated on making sure he didn’t land on his face.

Thankfully, Hugo landed on his feet, but his balance was off. His impending fall was prevented when Scorpius’ strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders. His shoulders burned from the contact, and he found himself remorseful when the hands left him. “Sorry. M’not used to Portkey travelling much.”

“Not a problem,” Scorpius answered smoothly. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” His head turned to the side. “The pools are over there. As well as the changing room. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Hugo just realised something vital. “I don’t have my trunks!”

“It’s okay. I’ve got plenty. You can borrow one of mine.”

As they walked to the changing room, Hugo hoped Scorpius didn’t look that hot almost naked. He already thought Scorpius looked quite good fully clothed. If Scorpius looked even better in a pair of trunks, then he’d have an interesting time fighting down his own desire that would be evident through his own trunks.

Once in the changing room, Scorpius snapped his fingers, and with a loud popping noise, a house-elf wearing some kind of towel appeared. “You called, young master?”

“Please bring us two swimming trunks.”

“Yes, young master. Diddy brings them.” Diddy disappeared and re-appeared in about three seconds, which startled Hugo. Even Kreacher had never been this fast!

“Thank you,” Scorpius said, accepting the two trunks — one in a deep, rich shade of blue and one in shiny black. He handed the blue one to Hugo.

Taking the trunk, Hugo thanked Scorpius, who walked into one of the stalls to change. Hugo did the same and went to an empty stall. In there, he looked at the trunks closely. He saw that they were the tight Speedo variety. He gaped at them. He was more used to the looser boxer kinds. He’d never really liked the Speedo ones because they made him feel too exposed. He wasn’t fond of showing off his body to the public as much as say James — who was practically a natural nudist — but he wasn’t exactly a prude either. He just didn’t really like the idea of being this bare in front of his future boss.

But his future boss did invite him here, and it would be rude to just leave right at this point.

He slowly began to strip his clothes, and a realisation came to him. Scorpius would also be wearing the same kind of trunks. That awareness made him feel a bit better; after all, he could see how Scorpius looked underneath the clothes. He didn’t mind the eye candy, yet he also hoped Scorpius didn’t look that great. He’d really have a hard time hiding his hard on in these trunks.

His prediction came true.

The next two hours at the majestic pools — yes, pools, there were two of them — would have been a dream come true for anybody who enjoyed pool parties. The pools were spacious, there were floating trays of food and drinks everywhere, there were loud music blasting the entire perimeter, joyful cheers and shouts echoed all around, and it was a veritable paradise for everyone there.

Everyone but Hugo. He was too busy thinking of unattractive and traumatising images of old people — like his former teachers who were all hags and trolls — in costumes that ranged from BDSM-type outfits to ballet costumes. He really didn’t enjoy picturing Mr O’Reilly in a hot pink tutu, but it did the trick of making his libido non-existent while he was at the pools. Never mind that it was a bloody difficult task. Why must Scorpius Malfoy be that good looking with or without clothes?!

Hugo recalled the pale skin that looked better than his own, the two contrasting nipples on the nicely toned torso, the water droplets on the long muscular legs, the friendly smile and the hazel-coloured eyes that sparkled when he laughed, and that little black trunks. He could see the outline in the front, and he almost wished he could see the cock hiding behind the tight material. But it was the backside that really captured Hugo’s attention. Scorpius really did have a lovely arse, where it appeared firm and “grabbable”.

Hugo was definitely going to be busy tonight.

At least one thing good thing came out of this lovely torture. When the party began to dwindle, Scorpius came up to him. “I hope you had fun? I know this was an unusual interview, but this shop’s going to be different from the others, and I figured I’d try things a bit differently.”

Hugo briefly wondered about that. Just what did Scorpius mean by different? That it would be the first pâtisserie in the wizarding world? He tried not to analyse this to death — not when he was busy holding his desires at bay. He forced a smile and said, “I had fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

“I’ve decided you’ve passed everything. You start Monday at eight in the morning.” Scorpius dragged a towel over his chest, and that momentarily distracted Hugo. “Whenever you’re ready to go, there’s a Portkey on top of your clothes. Say the word ‘éclairs’, and it will take you back to Diagon Alley.”

“All right. Thanks.” Hugo wished his voice didn’t sound so strangled, but luckily, Scorpius was called away then, and that made him hope that Scorpius hadn’t noticed anything odd.

Drifting away from the crowd, he waved to Albus, but he didn’t stay to chat. He wanted to leave the place as fast as possible. Once out, he was back in the changing room and he muttered, “So I don’t start until Monday? Fuck.”

That meant he’d be busy wanking the entire weekend. Not just tonight.

Images of Scorpius in the trunks bombarded his mind for the millionth time in the last couple of hours, and Hugo decided that he’d held out long enough. It was time to go home! After he stocked up on some lotion.

After a long weekend of spending time with his hand and images of an almost naked Scorpius, Hugo was glad Monday arrived. He could start his job, and he could concentrate on making the pastries instead of Scorpius’ chest or any other body parts. He was sick of his overly active sexual imagination.

When Hugo arrived at the shop, he was greeted pleasantly. “Good morning. Did you have a nice weekend?” Scorpius asked with a smile on his face and a folder in his hands.

Hugo eyed Scorpius’ hands, noticing the long fingers, wondering how it would feel . . . Hugo mentally shook his head. He did not need this now! Clearing his throat, he replied, “It was fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” Scorpius handed him the folder. “Here. These are a list of pastries I expect you to make. Along with the regular pastries, there will be a special pastry for each day of the week except on Sunday. Each day, I plan to have a Monday special, Tuesday special, and so forth so on.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Hugo said, opening up the folder to glance at the list that was all in French. Not wanting to show any signs of panic, he swallowed hard before continuing. “I, er, I don’t understand French.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. I never learned it.” To be honest, he’d never wanted to learn any of the Romantic languages. When he was in school, he’d opted to learn German, but now it was looking like he should have picked up French like Rose and his mum had tried to tell him.

He mentally cringed, hoping Scorpius wouldn’t say anything about how someone can be a full pâtissier without knowing French, but Scorpius surprised him by saying, “That’s not a problem. I’d be happy to translate the list for you.”

“Thanks!” Sitting down at a table, Hugo pulled out the list and looked at it. He recognised the names of the pastries he’d been making for years. When he reached the specials list, that was when he needed Scorpius’ help, especially when the specials list looked like this:

Monday: Éclairs en forme de verge
Tuesdays: Mont-blancs avec deux amants dessus
Wednesdays: Macarons en forme de mamelon
Thursdays: Pains au chocolat en forme de torse bien ciselé
Fridays: Choux à la crème en forme de fesses
Saturdays: Financiers en forme de menottes
Sundays: Notre spécialité la plus attendue ~ Le Spectacle d’Hugo, le pâtissier à demi nu

He grew very curious at what these specials were, especially on Sundays! Why was his name on the list? “Can you translate the specials list?”

“Sure,” Scorpius said. Grabbing the list he wrote down the translation. Upon completion, Hugo read:

Monday: Penis-shaped éclairs
Tuesdays: Mont-blancs with two lovers on top
Wednesdays: Nipple-shaped Macarons
Thursdays: Well-chiselled torso-shaped Pains au chocolat
Fridays: Arse-shaped choux à la crème
Saturdays: Handcuff-shaped financiers
Sundays: Our Most Awaited Speciality ~ The Hugo Show, the Half-Naked Pâtissier

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

“You’ve to be joking!” Hugo exclaimed. “What kind of a pâtisserie are you trying to run here?”

He did not like the way Scorpius had blinked his eyes in obvious confusion. He especially didn’t like Scorpius’ soft answer to his question. “I thought you knew what kind of a shop this was.”

Hugo felt like someone had just spun him around for a good five minutes. Feeling dizzy and faint from this unexpected menu, he said, “How? You never mentioned this in the interview!”

“I did ask you if you were aware of what kind of shop this was.”

Hugo gritted his teeth. True, Scorpius did ask him that, and Hugo had even answered that question, but how could the fact that this was to be an adult-themed pâtisserie slipped past him? “But I don’t remember seeing anything about this shop being . . . being . . . sexual in nature!”

“It was in the fine print of the job announcement in The Quibbler. And the name of this place, ‘La Pâtisserie des petits plaisirs exotiques’, means ‘The Pâtisserie of Small Exotic Pleasures’.”

“What fine print?” Hugo definitely did not remember seeing any fine print on that advertisement.

Scorpius summoned The Quibbler, turned to the page, and pointed at the ad. “It’s there, see?”

Now that he was pointed at the fine print, he read the tiny letters that would put Aunt Fleur’s handwriting to shame. He saw the short message about this being an adult-themed pâtisserie. His mind whirled as he wondered just what he’d got himself into. And he also cursed himself for being overly enthusiastic about this job announcement to read it closely.

“If you really don’t want to work here, I understand. I can see why you’d miss that fine print,” Scorpius said kindly.

Scorpius was giving him a way out. The most logical thing to do was to say he didn’t want to work here. But Hugo was not exactly the logical sort. He was, but he thought about his current predicament. It had taken him this long to finally find the job of his dream, and it was one where he didn’t have to have any special training in France or wherever. This place was in the wizarding world, and he did want to be a famous pâtissier there as opposed to the Muggle World where competitions were stiff. Sure, he’d have to make some unusually shaped pastries, but it wouldn’t be that bad, right? This had to be better than working retail, which he’d done before and hated it with passion.

But then again, he quite worried about the Sunday special. He had a vague idea on what was being requested of him, and he did not fancy that idea at all! He thought about quitting, but then he thought about the benefits. The pay was good, he’d get to do what he enjoyed, and he had a sexy boss on top of it all . . . but were all those really great for him to ever tell anybody he worked in an adult-themed pâtisserie? All in all, he could just try this out, and if he really couldn’t handle it, then all he had to do was resign — even if he had to give up this dream job and such a hot, smart, and so far, a nice boss.

“I’ll do it,” Hugo said nonchalantly as possible. He didn’t want to give Scorpius any indication of his true feelings inside. “I’ll try it out . . . but can you give me some time to practise making those pastries into those . . . shapes?”

“That’s not a problem. We won’t open up until another week. Will that be enough time?”

Hugo nodded. “Plenty.”

“All right. Do you need anything else before you start in the kitchen?”

Hugo found himself looking straight into Scorpius’ eyes, and he almost felt like he could drown in them. The mixture of colours — the browns, greens, greys, blues, and golds — blended nicely with his features. He recalled seeing Mr Malfoy once, who looked like an older version of Scorpius, but with grey eyes. Those eyes were cold and void of emotions, yet Scorpius’ eyes are so different, so unlike those steely eyes.

“Hugo? Are you all right?”

Jolting back to reality, Hugo flushed in embarrassment, and said, “I’m fine. I’ll just need to experiment and practise!” And he headed straight for the kitchen and forced himself to walk normally instead of breaking into a run.

Until lunchtime, he worked in the kitchen. He shoved Scorpius out of his mind, and he concentrated fully on trying to make those specials. To his surprise, he found some moulds already in the kitchen. He stared at the pan he had to make the financiers in for Saturdays. They were indeed in the shape of a handcuff.

For the penis-shaped éclairs on Monday, he’d probably have to knead and shape the dough into the proper shape. Same thing with the torso-shaped pains au chocolat on Thursdays and the arse-shaped choux on Fridays.

The nipple-shaped macarons for Wednesdays would be the easiest. All he had to do was to make the macarons as usual and put some kind of a nut, chocolate chip, or something dark in its centre.

The hardest would be the Mont-blancs on Tuesdays. To make the thin chocolate-figures of two lovers would be tricky, but he could do it. He just wasn’t sure what kind of a lover Scorpius wanted. Did he want heterosexual couples? Homosexual couples? Before lunch, Hugo decided to go ask.

Scorpius was in his private office in the back. The door was opened, and Hugo quietly walked up to the doorway, and he stood there, studying Scorpius’ profile. The room was bright and cheery like the rest of the shop. The desk there was in the deepest shade of mahogany brown, and it was a wide and large desk, looking almost too rich for the place, but it matched Scorpius well. Hugo’s mind began to wander again, and he found himself lying on top of that desk, squirming on top as the parchments and books fluttered and crashed to the floor. Scorpius would be above him, breathing hard and moving closer until their lips met. Hugo would wrap his legs around Scorpius’ waist, and he’d return the kiss until both were breathless.

“Hugo?”

“Oh, er.” Hugo really needed to stop daydreaming around Scorpius! “I had a question about the Mont-Blanc special.”

“What is it?” Scorpius set the parchment down, and Hugo tried not to look at the desk.

“What kind of a lover did you want on top?”

“Ah, whatever. Any. Sexual orientation doesn’t matter when it comes to love, I think,” Scorpius explained frankly. “Make some heterosexual ones, some homosexuals ones, and so on.”

Hugo wasn’t expecting such an easy answer. At least he now knew how open-minded Scorpius was. Nodding, he said, “All right.”

“It’s almost time for lunch, isn’t it? Go on and have a good lunch.”

Hugo glanced at the clock, and he saw that he’d be late for his lunch meeting with Rose if he didn’t hurry. “Thanks. You have a good lunch, too!”

“You’re late,” Rose said with a frown.

“Sorry. Had to ask Scorpius something,” Hugo apologised, taking a seat across from her.

“I still can’t believe you’re working for him.”

He stifled back his laughter. “Just why do you dislike him so much? Other than him taking your number one spot at times? I mean, you did eventually graduate at the top, with him at number two or something, didn’t you?”

She tossed her long, bushy, reddish-brown hair. “Nothing,” she admitted grudgingly. “I just don’t like him. Though I know he’s not a bad bloke. At least he’s much better than that McLaggen bloke. Now he was a right arse. But regarding Scorpius . . . maybe Dad’s dislike of his family rubbed off of me more than I like. Speaking of which, did you tell Mum and Dad about your new job?”

“Not yet,” he sighed.

“Why? Is it because it’s an erotic pâtisserie?”

He gaped at her. “How’d you know?”

“I read that tiny print in The Quibbler.” She smirked. “You didn’t, right? I’m not surprised. You never pay attention to details unless it deals with your precious pastries.”

He coloured before saying, “Shut up.”

“Well, the name of the place sort of gave it away.”

“I didn’t know that’s what the name meant,” he mumbled.

Taking a sip of her water, she gave him a knowing look. “I told you to study French. That’s entirely your fault for learning German instead.”

“Just because you’re a magical artist who studied in France and had the chance to learn French, you don’t need to act so mighty about it!”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, I’m sure the family already knows. After all, Albus is Scorpius’ best friend, and Albus does have a tendency to gossip.” Her face turned thoughtful. “I wonder if gossiping is a Slytherin trait.”

Hugo groaned. Rose was right. If Albus knew of his job, then every single one of their family members knew now. “I doubt gossiping is a Slytherin trait alone. You’re a Ravenclaw, and you gossip just as well as he does!”

“I do not!”

“You do!”

Just then someone’s hands slapped both of their shoulders, and Hugo looked up to see Lily grinning at them. “I’m so glad I don’t turn into a five-year-old doing the whole ‘Did not, did too’ thing.”

Both Rose and Hugo said, “Shut up.”

“Nice welcome,” Lily said dryly, grabbing a chair from the next table and taking a seat at theirs. She turned to Hugo and said, “So I hear you’re working at Scorpius’ new shop. An erotic shop at that!”

Hugo buried his face on his arms and bit back a frustrated scream. He could tell this was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s okay,” Lily continued on. “I think you’re lucky. Scorpius is rather good looking. Maybe I should learn how to be a pâtissier.”

“I don’t know about that, Lily,” Rose said, scrunching up her nose. “You’re worse in the kitchen than I am.”

“I know,” Lily said ruefully. “Oh well. At least I can admire and eat those erotic pastries! You can bet I’ll be one of your most loyal customers.”

Hugo accidentally said, “Just don’t come on Sundays.”

“Oh?” Lily quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Is it because of that lovely Sunday show you’re going to put on?”

For the first time in ages, Hugo wished he was a wizard so he could Apparate away from this hell he was going through. “How do you know that?”

“Simple,” Rose interjected. “Albus.”

“And he’s going to be dead when I get off work today.”

“Stop being so melodramatic. And if you two are ready, I want to order so I can go back to work on time instead of being tardy like Hugo here.” Rose opened her menu and scanned it.

Lily gave Hugo one last smirk. “Did you enjoy that swimming party? You know the only reason why you got invited was because Scorpius had to see if you looked good half-naked, right?”

“Say what?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Think about it. He obviously couldn’t tell you to actually strip during the interview, so Albus came up with the plan for you to be invited to that party so Scorpius could see then.”

The entire idea was definitely something Albus would come up with. Hugo was mortified. He could not believe the swimming party was a cover for Scorpius to see how he looked almost nude. The entire plan was absolutely devious! And then there was the fact that Scorpius was checking him out, and even though Hugo had passed that so-called test, he couldn’t help but feel aroused and self-conscious about being checked out in that fashion. “That’s a pretty snea–”

“A brilliant plan. I was totally all for that plan,” Lily interrupted, her brown eyes twinkling.

Rose just shook her head. “And you two are the sneakiest Slytherins to ever grace this world.”

“And modest,” Hugo said not so nicely, his patience running thin. “Let’s just order now. I’m bloody starving.”

Hugo wanted to question Scorpius about the Sunday special, and he also wanted to ask about the so-called swimming party. Well, he didn’t really need to ask about the latter, but he was curious, and his curiosity always won in the end.

He didn’t get the chance to ask until a few days later since he was busy practising making those erotic pastries. Scorpius came into the kitchen to check up on him, and after seeing everything was all right, Hugo blurted quickly, “So did you really use that swimming party as a way to see me half-naked?” He blushed, and he was pleased to see Scorpius blush as well.

“Er, yes, well, I didn’t think it’d be polite to ask you to strip during the interview,” Scorpius muttered, looking down at his feet. “And Albus came up with the plan . . . but I was hesitant to do it, but I figured his way was better than asking you . . . directly.” Lifting his head up, Scorpius’ face turned apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry about that, especially if it came off as being creepy and odd. I really should have told you myself.”

Hugo felt himself softening. He could see that Scorpius was genuinely sorry, and Hugo wasn’t really one to hold unnecessary grudges. He could forgive Scorpius for the whole swimming party thing, but he was still a bit iffy on him getting half-naked for the Sunday special. Right then, though, an idea came to him, and he let out a slow smile. “About that Sunday special, how is that supposed to work exactly?”

Scorpius blinked, probably surprised by Hugo’s easy acceptance of everything so far. “Well, the plan for that is simple. We’ll set up a mini-kitchen in the front, and you’ll prepare the pastries like you normally do, but you’ll be topless. This will be more of a treat for the customers.”

Hugo knew there were some crazy people out there, so he had to ask, “There will be some barriers preventing them from — I dunno — molesting me?”

Scorpius let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, there will be magical barriers around you, so that nobody will try to do anything to you.”

“What about sanitation?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” Hugo explained. “I’ll be topless . . . if I were a customer, I’d question the sanitation of it all.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. With your permission, I’ll cast a cleaning spell over you, and it will be in full effect until you’re done.”

Raising his eyebrow, Hugo said, “Looks like you’ve got everything well planned out.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Except you forgot one thing.”

“I did?” Scorpius frowned, and Hugo could see him mentally going down an invisible checklist. “What did I forget?”

“You.”

“Me?” Scorpius sounded confused.

“If I have to flaunt around in my half-naked glory, then so do you! That’s only fair. And whoever else that works here. Though, I guess for the ladies, they can just wear a bikini or something. I think making them go topless is pushing the limit.”

Once again, Scorpius blushed, and he began to stammer, “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a good idea!”

“Why not?” Hugo teased, not minding the idea of having a bit of fun with him.

“I . . . I . . . ” Scorpius cleared his throat and mumbled, “I don’t think I look that good to go around topless.”

It was Hugo’s turn to blink. “Excuse me? You think you don’t look good? That’s rubbish! You look better than me!”

Scorpius coughed. “Thank you, but you don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“Who says I’m lying?!” Hugo’s eyes blue eyes flashed in anger. “I don’t lie about stuff like that! I mean hell! When we were at that pool party, I could barely keep my eyes off of you! I could not stop thinking of you during that weekend!”

Scorpius stared, his mouth opened a bit, and Hugo wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He couldn’t believe he just said all that!

Before he could force out an apology, Scorpius began to laugh. “Well, thank you for, ah, convincing me. I’ll think about your idea. Like you said, it’s only fair.”

“You’re welcome,” Hugo mumbled, grinning sheepishly, but still wishing for the ability to disappear.

Scorpius quickly changed the subject and said, “By the way, I want to discuss the daily baking schedule with you . . . ”

Hugo was amazed the shop was doing well so far. It’d opened for a couple of weeks, and every day, the number of customers increased. He also read some reviews in The Quibbler — written by Luna Lovegood-Scamander, unsurprisingly — and in The Daily Prophet, and he was pleased to see good results from the reviewers, even if one of the reviews were written by Rita Skeeter. Hugo had read the article, but he wasn’t sure if Skeeter was praising or insulting the shop. He found the article to be quite baffling.

Aside from bizarre “Skeeterish” article, he was glad the customers seemed to enjoy the shop. But either the customers liked his pastries or they just had strange tastes, he hadn’t quite figured out which one yet. Then again, it could also be the Sunday special that attracted the customers. He’d noticed that was their best day during the week.

It was also a difficult day for Hugo. It was bad enough he was on display — not that he minded much — but Scorpius working nearby half-naked made it almost unbearable. Oh, he didn’t mind watching Scorpius, but trying to hold down his libido while being surrounded by drooling men and women wasn’t as much fun. Oh, and neither was watching the customers lust after Scorpius as well. He couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous.

Speaking of his audience, Hugo was eternally grateful for that magical barrier. Without it, he was certain he’d be mauled by them. It was very odd. When he was at the swimming party or at any place he was half-naked, he hadn’t had anybody staring at him with a huge amount lust. But here? In the pâtisserie? It was the opposite. These men and women must all be sexually deprived to the point of enjoying this special.

Aside from Sundays, the other days of the week were a bit better. He’d noticed that the specials for each day flew off the shelves, and that gave him a sense of pride. Sure, he argued that these were erotic pastries, so it wasn’t something he should be that proud of, but his stuff, all made by him, were selling, so that mattered.

He would never forget his parents’ reactions when they first came here. They’d frozen on the spot as their eyes scanned the display case. His dad had turned red, and his glare had been directed to a very respectful and courteous Scorpius. Fortunately, his dad didn’t start on his rant — most likely diverted when Scorpius had said, “Have whatever you want. It’s on the house, sir.”

While his dad tried the pastries — never commenting on their shapes — his mum had quirked her eyebrows and said, “This is all interesting. I never knew you could make such shapes with pastries! Did Scorpius help you charm these to be magically made? No? No magic was ever used? I’m impressed, darling! You need to show me one day on how it’s done. Maybe I should do a research on all this and see if it’s possible to enhance it with magic.”

Only his mother would approach erotic pastries as a research opportunity. He was afraid Scorpius would get that bored look on his face when she’d launched on some more about the topic, but Scorpius had surprised him. He’d listened attentively and took her suggestions and questions to heart by saying, “You know, Mrs Weasley, that’s actually a very good idea. Thank you so much for suggesting it. I’ll have to look into using magic on the pastries and see what kind of visual effects we could have.”

Honestly, Hugo was impressed. All of his friends were never quite sure on how to handle his parents, especially his Muggle friends, but Scorpius was always charming and polite.

And he was a great boss. Perhaps the best boss Hugo ever had the privilege to work under. Hugo noted that Scorpius always had something nice to say about his pastries, always complimenting their designs and their tastes, always thanking Hugo for his hard work, always helping whenever something extra was needed. Scorpius was good at delegating the tasks amongst the other workers, and Hugo saw that his other colleagues were happy working here, too.

Scorpius wasn’t perfect, though. Hugo had noticed that Scorpius could be quite cranky in the morning without the right amount of coffee, and Scorpius was hard-working to the point he was always the first one here and the last one out. Then there was Scorpius’ indecisiveness. Hugo hated it when Scorpius always changed the menu on him. It just simply drove him mad!

And yet, Hugo had a small problem.

He was falling for his boss.

And in his mind, that was a recipe for disaster. He’d heard enough horror stories about inter-office romance, and he was certain liking his boss would be a very bad idea.

While his mind knew that, his heart and his physical attraction towards Scorpius didn’t seem to agree at all.

“Do you know how to make tiramisu?”

Hugo slightly frowned at the rather random question. “Yeah. I know how to make it.”

Scorpius smiled, one of those easy-going smiles that made Hugo’s stomach flip-flop. “Do you think you can make them so that it looks like two mounds on a plate instead of a rectangle or in a small cup?”

“Mounds?” Hugo tried to picture what Scorpius was describing, but he didn’t have much luck.

“Well, you know how when you scoop ice cream and put it on a plate, it looks like a half-circle?”

Hugo nodded. “Ah, so you basically want them to be semi-circular, but have two of them side by side?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Well, I can easily do it,” Hugo said, rubbing the back of his head. “And I can show you the results later, but why do you want them in that particular shape?” Just as he said that, he pictured the description closely, and he saw what they sort of resembled. “Oh.”

“Yes, if you could make them resemble a woman’s breast . . . ” Scorpius’ cheeks reddened slightly, and Hugo felt his own cheeks flame up.

“What’s up with these strange suggestions? Are you that sex crazy?” Hugo asked before he could stop himself.

There was an uneasy pause, and Hugo lowered his gaze, wondering if he’d offended Scorpius.

“I’m not . . . ” Scorpius sighed before muttering, “And these are really not my ideas.”

Not his ideas? Hugo wasn’t sure if that was what he’d heard, but he didn’t press the issue. He sensed that Scorpius hadn’t got offended, which made him relax a notch. Muttering a quiet apology, he continued, “Let me see try making the tiramisu. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Turning around, Hugo went to work. He cursed himself as he gathered the ingredient. He really hadn’t meant to say that to Scorpius, but he did, and now he felt incredibly foolish. He wanted to redeem himself by making the tiramisu Scorpius had requested.

He prepared the tiramisu, making sure the layers were all perfectly aligned, measuring the right amount of liquor, using the best cream and cocoa powder, and ensuring it resembled a woman’s breast. When he’d finished, he looked at his creation, smiling because it turned out well. He wasn’t attracted by the female body as much as the male body, but even he could see that this was perfect.

He put the plate on a tray, placed a fork next to the plate, and he took it to Scorpius, who was in his office, the door opened. “Here it is,” Hugo said, presenting and setting the tray carefully on the desk. He stepped back and waited a bit nervously to see Scorpius’ reaction, forcing himself to not bite his lips.

Scorpius’ eyes took on a serious look as he studied the tiramisu, and when he looked up, they looked friendlier. “It looks great!”

“It does?” Hugo felt warmth growing inside of him. “Try some.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll taste delicious. Everything you’ve made so far tastes fantastic.” Regardless, Scorpius lifted the fork and cut off a piece.

Hugo felt as if time had suddenly slowed right then. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He watched Scorpius bring the fork close to his mouth, watched that luscious-looking lips part. He saw the tongue dart out, touching the tiramisu, and the tiramisu disappeared into Scorpius’ mouth. Hugo observed the way Scorpius’ hazel eyes closed in absolute pleasure, giving his face a very tranquil appearance. Hugo’s gaze travelled down to Scorpius’ pale throat, which moved when he swallowed, and Hugo found himself wishing he could kiss that pale skin.

Hugo was entranced. He’d seen Scorpius eat and sample his pastries many times before, but this was the first time he could see it being so erotic.

Scorpius was eating another bit of tiramisu, and Hugo wished he was that piece of tiramisu at that moment. His own cock twitched at that idea. He was growing aroused by watching Scorpius eat.

Hugo had to leave quickly.

Forcing his own mouth to move, he asked, “Does it taste okay?”

Scorpius nodded. “It’s delicious.” He broke off another piece and lifted the fork towards Hugo. “Did you try it yet? Here.”

Hugo blanched at the sudden intimacy of this motion. He didn’t mind sharing utensils — he’d done it with past lovers — but this wasn’t something he expected Scorpius to do. He also worried on what might happen if his mouth touched that fork. He didn’t expect England to explode, but he feared he might lose his control and pull Scorpius closer and snog those soft-looking lips.

He really needed get out of the office now.

Hugo quickly shook his head. “I’ve already tried it. I’m real glad you like how this turned out. If there’s nothing else, I need to go back to the kitchen. I don’t fancy burning the place down. Excuse me!” Not waiting for Scorpius’ response, he turned and swiftly walked towards the direction of the kitchen. He bypassed the kitchen and went straight for the loo, making sure the door was locked behind him.

He sat on the toilet, not caring it was dark, not wanting to turn on the lights. He stared at the wall in front of him. He didn’t see the dark outline of the door or the light switch; he could only envision Scorpius bringing that fork up to his lips, his mouth covering the tiramisu, and oh how Hugo wished that tiramisu was his own cock.

He’d only been half-hard in Scorpius office, but in the privacy of the loo, his cock became fully hard. Closing his eyes, he unzipped his trousers, slipped his throbbing prick out from its constraint, and he stroked himself as images of Scorpius never left his mind.

Panting, his hands all sticky, it didn’t take him too long before he came. He sat there, feeling spent and strangely empty.

Wanking wasn’t enough, he realised. He needed — no, craved — Scorpius’ touch and kiss and all the other stuff he’d yet to experience. He didn’t know for sure if doing all that with Scorpius would feel that fantastic or not, but he imagined it would feel more enjoyable than a solo wank.

“God, I’m fucking pathetic,” Hugo said softly, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Why did I have to fall for him? I blame these fucking pastries!”

One night, Hugo and Scorpius were the last ones left in the shop, and they were both closing up — Scorpius out in the front and Hugo in the kitchen. Hugo didn’t mind this arrangement. This meant he didn’t have to stay so close to Scorpius, something he really had trouble doing since he’d been imagining Scorpius in many different sexual scenarios.

But to his dismay, Scorpius came into the kitchen. Hugo’s heart began to race, and he forced himself to take deep breaths to calm himself.

Scorpius smoothly walked across the room and leaned against the counter closest to Hugo. His eyes took on a serious effect. “I’ve been meaning to ask this before. How do you like working here?”

Hugo hadn’t expected that question, and he actually was touched Scorpius would even ask this. He could see Scorpius really cared about the working environment and how it affected those working here, and that made Hugo feel more appreciative towards him.

“Honestly? I like it.” Hugo grinned. “You’re a good boss, and it shows by how everything works darn well here.”

Scorpius nodded and stared off to the side.

Hugo waited for Scorpius to say something, and while he waited, he tried to come up with something to distract his libido. He really didn’t want to get horny now. His mind raced around to try to think of something non-sexual before realising something crucial. When Scorpius didn’t say anything, Hugo said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?” Scorpius looked puzzled. “What for?”

Hugo smiled slightly. He couldn’t believe he’d never really thanked Scorpius for this. “For that time when I found out I was a Squib. You’ve helped me realise that it wasn’t the end of the world to be one.”

“That?” Scorpius chuckled. “That was ages ago! You don’t need to thank me or anything.”

“Still, if it weren’t for you, I’d probably never have really got out of that anger.” Hugo’s face turned rueful. “Though I still do wish I could have gone to Hogwarts and experienced and felt the magic of that place. I think it would have been nice to have my own wand, study the magical subjects . . . ” Falling silent, he thought about all the stuff he’d missed out because of his Squib status. Every once in a while, like now, he’d feel a pang of regret, and he’d wonder and imagine how his life would be like at Hogwarts. He wondered if he and Scorpius would have got to know each other better that way. There were so many things he speculated on what just could not be.

Scorpius’ next question broke the silence. “You don’t feel like you have magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, but that’s where I think you’re wrong.”

“How?” Hugo asked with a frown.

“I personally believe that you have magic in you. It just chose to express itself differently from most people. It shows when you make pastries. I think your magic’s suppressed, but it reveals itself when you bake.”

Hugo was taken aback. “So what you’re saying is that my magic is what makes the pastries so . . . good?”

“I think that’s a part of it. I think you’re naturally gifted at making pastries, but your magic also helps enhance what you make.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Hugo admitted.

Scorpius laughed. “If you want to explore this, just go talk to your mother!” Scorpius’ eyes twinkled as Hugo started to snigger. “Your mother strikes me as someone who loves to do research.”

Hugo’s laughter increased, and he had to put his hands on the counter to support himself. “You’ve got that right! My mum would really love to research that if I mentioned it to her!” Picturing his mum at her best in front of a pile of books, Hugo shook his head in amusement.

After that little laugh fest, he had the urge to stretch, so he lifted his hands in the air and stretched, his shirt going up as well, revealing his tattoo.

“That tattoo really is nice and simple,” Scorpius commented.

“Thanks. My friends and I got it one night. We were kind of pissed, though.”

“That sounds rather risky.”

“Yeah, but it turned out all right. I rather like mine. It means ‘love’ in Japanese.”

“It does?”

Hugo didn’t miss the strange lilt in Scorpius’ voice. He only nodded before saying, “Yeah.”

“Do you know much Japanese?”

“Nope. I only know this one character due to my friends.”

Scorpius pursed his lips in a comical way. “Oh, well, perhaps you should tell your friends to review their Kanji — the writing system your tattoo is based off of.”

Hugo was quite perplexed by Scorpius’ vague statements. “Why?”

“Because,” Scorpius said dryly, “that’s not the Kanji for ‘love’. That’s Kanji for ‘Scorpio’.”

Dropping his mouth, Hugo exclaimed, “No way!”

Scorpius looked apologetic. “I’m afraid it’s true. But I’m also honoured.”

“Bloody hell!” Hugo groused. “I feel like a stupid prat! I can’t believe I took Tony’s words like that! I thought since that prat loved Japanese culture and language, he’d know his stuff, but I guess not when he’s pissed! I’m gonna go slap him silly!”

“Calm down,” Scorpius said as he began to laugh again. “I doubt slapping him would help him learn Japanese better.”

Hugo tried to glare, but he started to laugh, too, and it wasn’t long before his embarrassment dissipated. Right about then, he felt warm fingers brushing against his cheek. He stilled and stared at Scorpius, who was looking at him in a peculiar way. Scorpius had a very intense look on his face, a look Hugo had never seen before, and it made his stomach churn in a way that sent warmth all over him. His mouth grew dry, but he still managed to say, “Scorpius?”

“You had some flour there,” Scorpius explained in a husky voice, taking another step closer.

“Oh.” Hugo grew dizzy at Scorpius’ nearness. “Is it all gone?”

“Yes.” Scorpius’ other hand grabbed Hugo’s hip, the same area with the tattoo.

Hugo felt his tattoo burn from the touch, and the feelings deepened when Scorpius’ thumb circled that spot. Sucking in his breath, Hugo looked straight into Scorpius’ multi-coloured hazel eyes. Those eyes electrified him; he felt shivers of pleasure go down his spine. His eyes moved to look at Scorpius’ lips, and he slowly brought his head forward. Scorpius tilted his head to the side with his lips parting ever so slightly. With mere centimetres separating their lips, Hugo waited, wondering who’d close that tiny gap. He could feel Scorpius’ hot breath on his, and he could almost even taste him. So near, but still so far away.

Closing his eyes, Hugo decided to make the first move, but before he could touch his lips against Scorpius’, a voice from the front rang out.

“Scorpius? Are you here?”

Hugo’s eyes snapped opened, and he jumped back, ducking his head to hide his reddening face. He mumbled, “I should go now. See you tomorrow.”

Without waiting for any response, Hugo walked out of the kitchen, out to the front where he saw Mr Malfoy standing there rather stiffly, looking very out of place surrounded by the erotic pastries. If Hugo wasn’t so flustered, he’d probably would have found this picture very amusing, but he couldn’t. Not currently.

“Scorpius is in the kitchen. Please excuse me, sir, and have a good night,” Hugo said politely, right before making his hasty escape into the dark night.

Because it was so late, there were nobody else on the streets, and he welcomed that. He figured if he started to mumble to himself, nobody would be around to think he was deranged. And he knew he’d be talking to himself a lot during his long walk home. It would be a great way to get rid of his pent up emotions as opposed to riding the tube, and he had a lot to berate himself over after tonight’s incident. Plus, he knew, knew, he’d be thinking about the kiss-that-almost-happened, and his body would not let him rest until he’s been satisfied in the only way he could get satisfaction by himself.

Really, it was going to be a long night.

The next few days of work ended up being very awkward for Hugo. He and Scorpius both tried to minimise their contact with one another, and whenever they talked, they both sounded formal and uncomfortable. Hugo could barely look Scorpius in the eyes. He was afraid if he did, he’d do something drastic. Getting fired from his job for indecent act was not what he wanted to go through!

Still, avoiding Scorpius proved to be difficult. Hugo’s desire towards him didn’t lessen; it only increased, and he only wanted the man more.

Something told him to make the first move, but Hugo wasn’t sure if that’d be a good idea or not. He really didn’t want to risk anything, but he knew that something had to be done. He just wasn’t sure what needed to be done.

He didn’t really have a lot of time to think about the next step. With the Christmas holidays coming up, things at the shop were quite crazy. Decorations had to be put up, both magically and non-magically, and he had to experiment and make holiday-themed pastries, some erotic and some not. He was quite fond of the candy cane striped, penis-shaped, peppermint éclairs. They’d become instant hits with the customers. Again, Hugo couldn’t help but wonder why so many people had bizarre tastes.

Nonetheless, Hugo made what needed to be made. The demands for pastries were high, so one morning, he came in earlier than usual, and Scorpius was there to help him in the kitchen. After their exchanges of “good morning”, they silently worked together. Hugo tried not to stay near Scorpius, but once in a while, their hands would brush against each other, and these touches made Hugo tingle with suppressed needs. The longer they were in the kitchen, the more he wanted to just say “fuck it” and throw himself on Scorpius. It was all torture, and Hugo wondered if he should ask his uncle Charlie to cast a libido-suppressing charm on him or something, though he really didn’t want to explain the reason for needing that spell to Charlie, even if Charlie was his favourite uncle!

As he pondered on that idea and other workable solution, he heard something come into the kitchen, something with a pleasant twinkling sound to it. He looked up, at the same time Scorpius looked up, and they both saw a dancing mistletoe hovering above them. Hugo stared at it, and muttered, “No way.”

He risked a glance at Scorpius, whose face had gone red. The blasted mistletoe continued to dance, its cheerful tune getting louder. It shook itself hard, and Hugo saw it sprinkle something sparkly. As soon as the sparkles hit him, he knew it’d been spelled with something unusual. Before he could figure out what that something was, he felt Scorpius’ strong hands grab him at the front, and he was pulled into a crushing kiss.

“Mmph!” Hugo said against Scorpius’ soft lips, his nose smushed against Scorpius’. Automatically, he angled his head so his nose wasn’t so squashed. That made it better, and it was even better when Scorpius parted his lips, and a warm tongue traced over his lips, which allowed the tongue to slip inside his mouth, and oh, that felt so fucking good. Whatever tea Scorpius had earlier still lingered on his tongue, and Hugo found the taste to be overwhelmingly delicious.

Hugo was being snogged to death, and he did not mind it at all. He brought his own hands to fist into Scorpius’ shirt, and he tugged Scorpius closer, wanting to feel Scorpius’ body against his. His back hit the counter, and he felt one of Scorpius’ legs between his, and when that leg began to move, he moaned into the kiss, and he mentally begged Scorpius to do that again, wanting to feel that much needed friction in his middle. He became harder than he’d ever felt, and he reached around and grabbed Scorpius’ arse, the very arse he’d been admiring for weeks. Through the trouser, he massaged them, wishing he could touch them without any clothing in the way.

But that desired warmth, all that pleasure disappeared the minute Scorpius had let go and backed away with a shocked look. “I . . . I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!” Scorpius gasped out, looking horrified at what had just happened.

Dazed and feeling lost, Hugo shook his head. “No, no. No! Why are you sorry? Why? I didn’t mind this. I’ve been wanting this for ages!” He reached out to grab Scorpius’ shoulders. “Please. Don’t walk away. Don’t just leave now.”

“But . . . ” Scorpius sighed and bowed his head.

“You want it, too, right? You and me, we both want it. Let’s not fight this, Scorpius. Let’s not. I like you, I really do.” Hugo took a deep breath to calm himself. “I want this. I want to try this. Only if you do, though.”

He was relieved when he saw Scorpius’ face softened. “You really want this?”

“Yes,” Hugo said strongly. “I want you.”

Scorpius’ response was to pull him into another mind-shattering snog, and Hugo had no complaint. He eagerly kissed back, eagerly wrapped his arms around him, wanting to feel the warm body against his again. He could hear the twinkling of the mistletoe above him, and it made him feel so light and happy. Breaking the kiss, he trailed kisses down to Scorpius’ pale throat. He lightly nipped and sucked the area. Hearing Scorpius’ moaning in desire, it made him bolder, and he began to unbutton Scorpius’ shirt. He easily slipped his hand inside to touch one of his nipples. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing, what with Scorpius’ leg grinding against his hardness.

He felt like they were in another world at the moment. He felt like time had stopped around them. He had no care for the world around them. Not even the pastries he had to make. Not even the burning smell his imagination brought up. Nothing could separate him from Scorpius until they’d made love.

“Oh, how lovely! I’m so pleased to see that the mistletoe worked!” a voice rang out, but Hugo ignored the voice. He only wanted to focus on getting Scorpius naked.

“Too bad I’m not a voyeur. I would definitely enjoy this show,” the annoying voice persisted. “But I don’t think either of you would want to burn or suffocate to death. It’s getting rather smoky in here . . . ”

Hugo stopped and looked over Scorpius’ shoulder. He saw Luna looking at a stove, which had black smoke coming out. “Holy fuck!” He let go of Scorpius and ran to the stove. He turned it off, opened it up, and yelled, “Can someone cast a spell to make the smoke go away!”

The next few minutes flew by as Scorpius and Luna helped him fix up the kitchen. The burnt pastries were brought out from the stove, and the tray was set on the counter, and Hugo stared at the ruined macarons.

“Luna,” Scorpius said, “thank you for stopping us, but . . . ” His eyes narrowed. “Did you charm that mistletoe?”

She gave a serene smile. “Yes, I did! You know what I’ve always said! Unresolved sexual tension is really not great for the Nargles. They only thrive on our positive sexual energies!”

Hugo blinked at her words. He was fond of Luna, even if his mum didn’t particularly care for her, but even he could see how eccentric she could be. But what was she doing here? “Luna? Er, why are you here?”

“I came here to give Scorpius some new ideas for the holiday pastries!”

Hugo’s eyes widened. “Sorry?” He turned to Scorpius. “She gives you ideas?”

“Remember how I told you that these pastries are not my idea?” Scorpius muttered. “It’s hers. To be honest, she’s the mastermind of this place. This pastry shop and its theme were all her idea, and she somehow convinced me to run it.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She’s the one who came up with all this? Why?!”

Luna giggled. “Why not? The wizarding world needed something new and different, and like I’d already said about the Nargles, they need positive sexual energy from us, and ever since this shop had opened, the Nargles are so much more content!”

Hugo and Scorpius shared a look of bewilderment.

“Well, I do apologise for interrupting you two. I’ll just go wait in your office, Scorpius.” She hummed the cheerful tune the mistletoe had sang earlier and left the kitchen.

Hugo shook his head. “Only Luna . . . ”

“Yes. I should have told you about her earlier, but she insisted on not telling you yet. I guess she wanted to show herself to you like this . . . ” Scorpius shrugged with a small smile.

“I guess. I’ve given up trying to understand her.”

“Same.”

Hugo shifted uncomfortably, wondering what would happen next, but Scorpius surprised him.

“Tonight, after we close, would you . . . ” Scorpius trailed off.

“Would I . . . ?” Hugo prompted, hoping Scorpius would ask him what he suspected.

“Have dinner with me?”

Hugo slowly grinned. The shy way Scorpius had asked gave him warmth, and it took all of his control to not jump up and down like an idiotic git. “Sure. On one condition.”

“What?”

“Let’s go to a place Luna would not know of.”

Scorpius coughed and sputtered, and Hugo started to laugh, the tension between them melting away. Recovering from his fit, Scorpius said, “I know of a good place.”

“Great!” Hugo looked forward to their first date. Nothing — not even Luna — could prevent him from going to dinner!

“Where’s the fruit cake?”

“There’s no more Christmas biscuits?”

“George Weasley! Why is the Christmas tree decorated with exploding candy canes?!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“Never mind the tree! Where are the presents?”

Hugo ignored the cacophony outside of the kitchen. He was busy making the croquembouche, and he glared at it, willing the mountain of choux to not fall on him like that one and only time he’d tried to make before. He’d sworn to not make it anymore, but Scorpius had requested it of him, and he was willing to try it one more time for his lover. Besides, along with his family, Scorpius’ family had come to the annual gathering at the Burrows, and he’d wanted to impress Mr and Mrs Malfoy with his skills.

Taking a deep breath, he placed the final choux at the top, and he stepped back, hoping the mountain of choux will stay intact. Nothing happened, and he gave it a gentle poke. They all stayed together.

“Yes!” Hugo shouted in delight. “I did it!”

“Just like I thought you would.”

Hugo turned around to see Scorpius, who was smiling with pride. “Yeah. Now I just have to take it out to the front and put the string of caramel around it.”

“Mmm.” Scorpius came closer. “You really are talented at making pastries.”

“Is that the only thing I’m talented at?”

“No. You’re also a great kisser.”

“Only great?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Cheeky, aren’t you.”

“If that bothers you so much, you can do something about it.”

“Like?”

Hugo traced his tattoo, glad that he now knew its real meaning. Glad that it matched his lover’s birth sign. He wrapped his arms loosely around Scorpius’ neck and brought their faces near. “You could kiss me.”

“I could,” Scorpius whispered. “And I don’t need any mistletoe encouraging me to kiss you.”

“Especially one that’s spelled.”

Scorpius gently kissed him. “No. Not one that’s spelled. Happy Christmas, Hugo.”

“Happy Christmas, Scorpius.”

“And a happy Christmas to all of us. Come on, you two, get a room later, all right? But first, we’re waiting for your masterpiece! We can’t call it an end until the best pâtissier of the wizarding world come and present that croquey thing!”

Hugo made a face at Charlie. “Croquembouche. Okay, Uncle. Give us a minute.”

Charlie left them, laughing. Scorpius pecked him one last time, and he said, “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Scorpius carefully picked the croquembouche, and Hugo followed with saucepan filled with caramel. Side by side, they went out to join the celebration. Sharing a secret look, Hugo was glad Scorpius was with him, glad he finally found the right person to love and spend Christmas with.

Hugo smiled widely. He knew this was to be the start of something special.

“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!”

Click on the image for the larger version.

Outside, in the snow covered landscape near the lake, stood a single figure. Snow was gently falling around him and he wore a pensive expression. He lifted his head up so he could feel the snow on his face and sighed. Fortunately, the weather wasn’t all that cold. Chilly yes, but freezing? Never. Not when he had so much to think about, and each thought brought him such happiness and warmth.

It’s been almost a year since we became lovers. I, myself, can hardly believe it. Who would have thought this would turn out like this? I still remember the first day we met. I thought he was the one who caused the pain in my scar, but alas, I was wrong. Nevertheless, I despised him and made a vow to stay far away from him. He did the same or so he tried, but fate just had other plans for us. He chuckled.

I remember how we were paired up many times during the war. Ironically, each time we were together, we were the ones fighting. However as time went on, I came to respect him. I’m thankful that the war ended just when I was ready to leave Hogwarts, at the end of my seventh year. The war was tough on everyone. We’ve lost many wizards and witches who were on our side. Nevertheless, life still went on.

Yes. Life did go on. It was tough on all of us. The pain was all heavy in our hearts. Yet as time passed, it grew dimmer and dimmer. Each of us found new ways to be happy, and my lover and I definitely found our joy.

As he was gazing at his surroundings, he sighed contentedly. Regardless of how familiar it was, it felt magical to him. The wind softly blew around him and even though little bits of snow were getting on him, he didn’t mind. Right now he could care less if a volcano were to erupt right from under him.

It was two years later when I saw him again. He hadn’t changed at all. I had returned to Hogwarts to teach Muggle Studies, and seeing him turned my world upside down. I didn’t know what I was feeling then, but then I realised that the emotion was love. At first it scared me deeply. I thought I was deluded so I tried denying it to myself. That just made me felt worse.

Yet, he was the one who gave me courage and hope to approach him. There were times when I felt his eyes on me. At first, I told myself that I was just being paranoid. However during dinner one night last year, I caught him staring at me, and I knew then he felt the same way as I did. Call me crazy, but I saw so many emotions in his eyes in a short period of time. I was only able to distinguish three emotions and they were love, hope, and lastly fear. Yes, fear. Strange for someone who’s been leading a double life since he was a teenager. But I understood.

Not everyone supported our relationship. Sirius nearly blew up Hogsmeade when he found out. Hermione and Ron were aghast. They couldn’t believe I snogged, shagged, and of course loved the “slimy git”. The entire Weasley clan, minus the twins and Ginny, were disgusted. The twins just found it hilarious. Ginny, who’s quite fond of potion, got to know our professor and found out that there was a lot more to him than that arrogant façade. She greatly supported us and I am thankful of that. Same thing with Remus. If it weren’t for him, Sirius would have killed Severus by now and I’d have to kill Sirius to revenge my lover. Fortunately for all of us, that didn’t happen.

Yes. Call me a hypocrite. I thought he was a cold bastard, but he wasn’t. Deep inside lives a cunning and sensitive man. His sarcasm will knock down anyone, but that’s one thing I’ve come to love about him. I don’t care about the fact that he went to school with my father and mother. Age shouldn’t be associated with love. People claim that he is ugly. Well not to me. I see a handsome and sexy man in front of me. I don’t give a damn about what everyone says. He’s my Severus. My sexy Sev.

Harry’s train of thoughts were suddenly interrupted by soft footsteps behind him. He smiled gently as a pair of strong arms wrapped around him. Harry instinctively leaned into the taller man’s broad chest. Severus tightened his hold and bent his head to nuzzle in his lover’s dishevelled hair.

“Aren’t you cold?” he huskily asked.

Harry shook his head. “Sev, I am never cold when I think of you.”

Severus turned the Gryffindor around till they were facing each other. “You stayed out here for the last thirty minutes thinking about me? You must be mad.”

Harry grinned. “Well, I’ve been called mad a thousand times, so one more time makes no difference.”

“Insolence will not be tolerated, Mr. Potter,” Snape deadpanned.

“I cannot wait for my punishment.”

“So what exactly were you thinking?” He started to kiss Harry’s cheek.

“I was just contemplating our relationship.”

“My my, so my foolish Gryffindor does know how to think after all.”

“Of course, Severus. I do have a brain after all.” With that said, Harry kissed him. “Happy Christmas, love.”

It was two days before September first, two days before Teddy Lupin went off to Hogwarts.

At that moment, Harry climbed up the stairs of his house and stopped in front of a door. Harry knocked on Teddy’s room. His godson had been living with him for the entire summer since Andromeda Tonks left to visit some places in Canada. Fortunately, she will come back tomorrow to see her grandson off to Hogwarts.

“Come in,” said Teddy.

Harry walked in and saw Teddy’s room in a state of upheaval. He shoved aside some clothes off of Teddy’s bed and sat there. “Need some help with packing?”

“No, I’m fine…” Teddy’s voice trailed off, his eyes glancing at “Hairy Teddy” sitting on top of his pillow.

Harry’s green eyes travelled to where Teddy’s eyes had rested. “You’re not going to take Hairy Teddy?”

“I’m eleven, not five anymore, Harry.” Teddy made a face.

“Then can I keep him?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

Teddy gave Harry such an incredulous look that the older man chuckled. “What? Can’t an old man like me keep a teddy bear?”

A long pause followed as if Teddy was deep in his thoughts. Finally, in a thoughtful and mature manner, he said, “I think I shall take it.” He grabbed Hairy Teddy and clutched it to his chest. “Besides, I think he’d be more comfortable to hug than a pillow.”

“Good choice. I think he’d also miss your presence.” Harry reached out and ruffled Teddy’s hair up.

Instead of getting indignant at Harry’s action, Teddy just smiled softly. “Yes, he’d miss me, and so would I.”

Harry was fixing snacks in the kitchen when he felt someone tugging on the end of his shirt. He stopped and looked down to see a very unhappy Teddy Lupin. He crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes and said, “What’s wrong, Teddy? Why the sad face?”

“I can’t find me and you…”

He blinked as he tried to process what his godson was trying to tell him. “You can’t find…me or you?”

“My teddy! It’s gone bye-bye!” Teddy’s lower lips pouted out as tears began to gather in his large eyes.

“Oh! You can’t find ‘Hairy Teddy’?” Harry gave the boy a reassuring smile. “Then let me find him for you.” He stood up and took out his wand. “Accio Hairy Teddy!”

Appearing out of nowhere, the teddy bear came flying into the kitchen, and Teddy, squealing with happiness, jumped up and down as the bear landed in his opened arms. “Hairy Teddy! It’s not bye-bye anymore! It’s hi-hi again.” Teddy beamed at Harry and then wrapped his thin arms around Harry. “Thank you!”

Pleased that Teddy found his constant companion, Harry ruffled Teddy’s hair. “You’re very welcome, Teddy. I’ll do anything to make you smile. Now how about that snack I promised you?”

Andromeda Tonks brings little Teddy to visit his godfather at Grimmauld 12. The three year-old clutches onto a teddy bear in one arm and holds hand with his grandmamma with the other.

Expecting their arrival, Harry sits there, highly anticipating their weekly visits. He stands up when he sees them, and Teddy, letting go of his grandmamma, runs on his short legs and allows Harry to pick him up and hug him tightly. He swings Teddy around, making the child laugh.

They both then wave goodbye to Andromeda. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Have fun, Teddy!” She leaves them.

Once inside, Teddy says, “This bear is me and you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “And just how is it the both of us, Teddy?”

“Well when me and Grandmamma went to a toy store, she said I can choose one thing. So I choosed this bear, and you know what she says after?”

“No, what did she say?”

“She says that it was one ‘hairy teddy’.” Teddy flashes a wide smile at his godfather. “She said both of our names! So that means it’s me and you!”

Not sure whether to laugh or cry at the child’s innocence, Harry chooses to do the former. That simple little comment set the tone for the rest of the day for the two of them.