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Chapter Text

"Draco, look at me," Theo grabbed his shoulders, turning the moody blonde his way. 

Gray eyes glared at him, steely and full of hate. 

No. Focus. Draco needs you.

"They don't know you. They call you a murderer when you've never killed a soul. Draco, they don't know what I know. What they call you, that's not you."

Draco scoffed, pushing Theo off and turning away to the frost tinted glass that looked over Malfoy Manor. To the writing in chicken blood that appeared mid air, despite the many wards.

Death Eater. Scum. Murderers.

Draco and his mother were found not guilty in the wake of the war. Lucius was sentenced to Azkaban for life. However, the duo were placed under a sort of house arrest primarily for their own protection.

Still, it didn't keep away the hate that ebbed beyond their home. 

It certainly stung Theo, to have Draco push him away, but he was determined not to let go.

He would never say it, never confess to what he felt. The bubbling warmth that brewed in him deep whenever he heard Draco laugh. It was not lust, he knew. It was something more. Something stronger. Something that would never be accepted, so he let it sit, deep in his heart. The least he could is stand beside his oldest friend in his time of need.

"They're not wrong," Draco said icily, clenched hands by his sides, shaking. "I was a death eater, no matter the circumstances. I am scum for treating people I thought lesser like scum."

"But you are no murderer!" Theo insisted. 

Draco laughed then. Cold and nipping. This laugh was not the kind that warmed Theo. No. It was claws, tearing across his beating heart. Slowly. Maliciously. 

Gray eyes turned to him once more. Hardened.

"You see what you want to see. Just like they do. Believe you me, You don't know me better than they do. Leave."

And so Theo left. With his heart torn from his chest, ripped into ribbons and bled into his soul.

Chapter Text

After the war, he found he enjoyed sleep far more than he thought he would.

Perhaps it was the sense of peace that finally settled into the world. But those around him often battled nightmares that had them screaming into the early hours of the dawn.

When people asked him, he spoke of the wonders of sleeping draughts.

Never once did he say that it was the only way he reached out to hold, even for a moment, and hold the one that was long gone.

On the fifth of June, five years later, Harry found that sleep didn't return.

He'd known it was coming. The only thing he'd seen lately was the strands of heavenly snow hair, silky as he remembered them. That was all he remembered now.

Five years and he no longer remembered what Draco looked like, what he smelled like, what he felt like.

He'd sacrificed himself for Harry.

And today was his birthday.

Harry perched himself on the roof of his house, looking at the shiny gray moon.

The light that danced.

"Draco," he exhaled into the cold night. "Why do you torture me so? I can't see you in my dreams anymore. Come back. Haunt me if you must, but please come back."

Chapter Text

"You didn't care, did you?"

The old man stiffened, watching her warily as her knife grated along the stone walls of the tower.

"You lead us to the hands of the devil, himself. You told Harry to go after him."

She laughed aloud, cold and daunting, turning to face him. The snakes that tied him to the seat hissed and squeezed tighter.

"As if a mere child could do when many a man have failed."

She stalked closer, bloody footsteps in her wake.

"He knew what you were up to. Lured Harry with a trap. Planted a vision of Sirius in his head."

The old man shuddered and squeezed his eyes tight.

Her voice was a soft taunting purr.

"He killed them both - Ron and Harry. Bathed me in their blood and crowned me his queen."

"No." Albus Dumbledore wept now.

"You gave me a book of children stories. Faked your own fucking death. Malfoy could have never killed you, the coward. He helped you get away, didn't he?"

Her voice grew louder, steadily and Dumbledore rocked in his seat sobbing.

"He laughed when I told him that I'd come for his head. For his inability to serve his lord. Little old mudblood, he called me. I could never do what he failed. I wish he could see you now. Look at me."

Something rolled along the ground to his feet, jolting his eyes open and he stared down at the decapitated head of Draco Malfoy, his face frozen in a scream.

A knife under his chin tilted his head up and Hermione smirked.

"Who's afraid now of little old me?"

Chapter Text

If someone was to ask Hermione Jean Granger how she'd gone through the war, survived five years in its aftermath hounded by reporters and haters alike, she wouldn't have any proper answer to give them.

The Wizarding World had become overwhelming.

Harry married Ginny and settled down easily.

Ron basked in the glory that was finally his.

But for Hermione it was all too much.

It wasn't enough that she'd sacrificed everything to help win the war.

The Wizarding World wanted her to sacrifice her sanity too for their own sick amusement.

She kept to herself in her own little flat in Muggle London, determined to bury herself in her misery and her books.

But she wasn't going to be forgotten, it would seem. 

Then Draco Malfoy reached out to her in the spirit of redemption and she accepted the invite to his party with utmost hesitancy. Not because she had any qualms about his reformation, no. But because she'd be thrust back into a world she was trying to escape from. 

What happened that night was a blur. She was one of the few non-Slytherins to have accepted the invite.

It grew too much for her - the looks, the stares, the whispers - and while Draco was a warm host, his doting wife, Astoria, with the swell of her pregnant belly reminded Hermione that she was scarred, ruined and destined to be alone.

Forever spoken of in hushed whispers and pointed looks. 

She found herself sobbing in lonely alcove where she was discovered by a quiet voice and a person who'd been perpetually enshrounded by mystery. Strong hands gently wiping her tears off her face and in his words were the comfort she had craved for so long.

A year later, Blaise Zabini was still a man of mystery, in some ways more than others.

Yes, she knew how he sounded when he was beneath her as she rode him, how her hair felt wrapped around his large fist as he laved his tongue down the length of her throat and how his hand felt, splayed possessively on her hip as they walked through the Christmas Market.

But yet there were things that she couldn't understand. Why did he do the things he did, for instance? Why her? 

"Blaise," She looked up at him with a coy smile. He looked at her, brow arched in question, but smiled back. "Did you mean when you said you wanted this?"

She'd been in a state of disbelief for a day now, but Blaise chuckled with a low, rumbling laugh, pressing his lips onto her forehead.

"Yes, my love," His eyes twinkled as he brought her left hand to his lips, the large diamond ring glinting under the fairy lights. 

A day since he'd asked her to marry him and she still couldn't believe it. That he'd chosen to love her, that he had wanted a future with her. 

With her. 

"And children too?" She was giddy with happiness.

He nodded, smile growing wider. "With you, my love? Everything."

Chapter Text

"For the last time, Nott," Draco hissed, gripping the sides of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Leave me alone!"

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, the dirty black of the dark mark against his pale skin a stark reminder that his life had been decided for him. The tears that rolled down his face turned to silent rivulets, none of their sadness bled into his voice though.

No, his voice would be steady. He would not break. No more than he was already broken.

The doorknob of the locked bathroom jiggled again.

"For the last time, Nott!" Draco snarled, but he was cut off by Theo’s angrier voice on the other side.

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF YOU'RE JERKING OFF, MALFOY. I NEED TO FUCKING PEE! GO BROOD IN THE ABANDONED GIRLS' TOILET IF YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE, YOU MORON!"

Chapter Text

Ginny often thought herself a cool tempered person, a patient woman even. Perhaps her husband would choose to disagree, but what her husband thought didn't count. He was an arse. A sexy arse, perhaps. But still an arse.

But when Rose came home for the third Hogsmeade weekend in tears because the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team refused to let her play on the main team because of her surname, Ginny felt she had no more patience in her generous reserve.

"Names," Ginny slammed her palms onto the kitchen table, making poor Rose jump. "Names of all the little shits who hurt you."

Rose blinked, dabbing her eyes. "Mum, let it go. There's nothing you can do."

Ginny loosed a low growl, but was immediately caught off guard by a soft chuckle. Her head snapped to the kitchen entrance where her husband was leaning by the door frame, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

Draco smirked, sauntering up to the pair. 

"Stella Rose Malfoy," He purred, "You ought to know by now how this family works."

Ginny rolled her eyes, straightening up and folding her arms. Rose chuckled through her tears. "What, dad?"

Draco’s smirk grew wider. "Mommy's going to drop kick anyone who touches you and Daddy's going to bail Mommy out of jail."

Ginny tried to stop the chuckle that escaped her, but gave in, looking at Draco in fond exasperation. Rose giggled as her father tugged her mother close and kissed her forehead. 

"Thought I was the dragon, but here's my woman actually breathing fire," He teased, silver eyes twinkling. 

This time Ginny laughed freely.

Chapter Text

Coming back to Hogwarts for eighth year was beyond terrible. It felt like Draco had died in a previous life as a Malfoy and had come back as a Weasley. 

Postively dreadful. 

The way people were looking at him would have you thinking he'd killed someone or something. He hadn't. Everyone knew it. Still they looked at him like he was dirt on their shoes. Or worse, a Weasley. 

He'd found himself wishing he knew where the entrance of the chamber of secrets was so he could have himself killed by the Basilisk, for all Old Voldy's threats, he never did feed him to Nagini, his snake lover. 

"Mate," Blaise groaned. "I still don't think that snake was a shifter." 

Oh, was he speaking his thoughts aloud again? Damn, these herbs Pansy had got from her plant head boyfriend were beyond good. 

"I don't know how to say this without hurting your fragile feelings, Draco, but get some help," Theo was struggling to pull on his pants. Wait, that was not pants. He was wearing pants. Was he pulling on a skirt over his pants? 

HAH, and they thought he needed help. 

Pansy yelled from somewhere underneath the bed. "Leave my skirt alone, Theo!" 

Theo was blinking like a dummy, as if he couldn't understand how to take it off now. As stupid as a Weasley. Hah. 

Blaise smacked the back of his head a little too hard. "Shut up, Draco."

Chapter Text

"You've got chocolate on your - wait, I'll get it." Draco gasped in horror as Theo grabbed a wet cloth and started rubbing the front of his pants rather aggressively.

"Theo!" He hissed in mortification, almost stumbling back. His face and neck were flushed so very red.

Hermione, watching from across, held onto the counter top, giggling helplessly.

Their annual chocolate making party was going as swimmingly as always, hosted at Malfoy Manor this time.

Draco glared at his wife for not coming to his aid as his best friend straightened up.

"Oh, calm down, Draco," Theo scolded. "It's not like I haven't seen your pink panther before."

Draco spluttered and Hermione wheezed.

"Besides," Theo went on, moving to Harry who was smirking at the scene, "Once you go brown, all the other colours let you down." and kissed him.

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around the brunette's waist. "Glad to hear you're happy with me, baby."

"Always," Theo said seriously, kissing him again.

"I don't know why you've got to get worked up about a bit of chocolate on you," Pansy mused, dipping a strawberry into some and licking it off. "I pour it on myself and Neville all the time."

"Too much information, Pansy!" Draco choked out, redder than he'd ever been, Hermione kept giggling.

"Oh, grow up, Malfoy," Neville smirked, kissing a drop of the chocolate off Pansy’s lips. "Everyone knows chocolate tastes better off the one you love."

Chapter Text

"You're not supposed to be here!" Draco locked the door twice just in case, leaning against it for additional protection in case Theo manages to burst in anyway.

Harry chuckled, unruffled by the way Draco had dragged him in and let his eyes take in the view before him.

Draco, in a white suit, no doubt the most expensive money can buy. His hair so expertly combed back when he first opened the door, now mussed as he dragged his fingers repeatedly through those soft light tresses.

Always such a beautiful man. 

"Thought you'd be happy to see me," Harry smirked.

Draco threw him a glare.

"My parents will kill me!"

Harry merely shrugged.

"Just came for what's mine."

He watched the bob of Draco's throat as he stalked closer, wrapping his fingers around that pale, delicate face as he dragged his gaze up to those soft lips and those widened grey eyes.

"You're not marrying Astoria, Draco," Harry told him calmly, his fingers tightening just a bit but not enough to be painful.

Draco blinked, his breath hitching.

"And it's time you told your parents what you were up to in eighth year." Harry ran the back of his fingers along the side of that perfect pale face. 

"Okay," Draco breathed. Harry's smile grew wider.

"And I'm taking you home." He raised a brow. 

Draco blushed now, shaking his head in disbelief even as relief flooded him in torrents. He met Harry's adoring gaze once more. Somehow, Draco had always known that Harry would save him. Like he'd always done. For years.

He'd been an idiot when he thought that he was going to be trapped by his parents forever. And idiot to accept that Harry didn't care anymore. 

"Okay." Draco whispered with a shy smile. 

"Okay," Harry's lips brushed Draco's temple, letting go of his neck. "And you look beautiful in white."

Chapter Text

They were arguing again.

Like clockwork.

Every Friday night after sex.

Like the fucking world didn't have enough unpleasantness already. Like these moments weren't precious and few. 

They were dancing with the flames of fate, risking getting caught at any time. 

Theo had barely slid out of Granger's mouth, heaving uneven breaths and the good girl swallowed every drop.

His eyes went immediately to Draco who dragged his dripping cock out of her and Theo picked Hermione into his arms, lavishing the warmth he felt for her when Draco opened his fucking mouth.

Perhaps Theo should have fucked his mouth instead.

"Things would have been better for all of us if you'd chosen the right side, Granger."

She hissed back, because of course Draco was an arse.

There was no doubt, Theo and him would have given everything to protect Hermione, but at a time like this, Theo had to acknowledge that she was safest with the Order.

Wrapping his arms around her body tight as she yelled at Draco for his idiocy and nuzzling her neck, he mumbled, "Must we fight?"

Draco, fueled by his hate for Potter and Weasley, jealous that Hermione goes back to the safe house to them, snarled in response.

"It's a war, Theo! Of course, we fight."

"No, you pompous prat! He means between us!" She wriggled in his embrace, but Theo held on.

"Draco, we aren't going to fight the order," Theo said calmly, reminding him of the plan. "We're biding our time. What is it that the muggles say, Granger? Make love, not war?"

She cracked a ghost of a smile and rolled her eyes.

Theo grinned and Draco opened his mouth to talk.

"Ah, Ah, ah, Draco," Theo cut him off with a wag of a finger. "On your knees. That's not how we talk to our girl."

Draco flushed with embarrassment and to no one's surprise, obliged.

"There's a good pet," Theo cooed, running his fingers through the blonde hair appreciatively, curling his fingers at the back of Draco's head and urging him forward, slipping his now rapidly hardening mound past those soft pink lips. "And my sweet girl, think you can sit yourself on my shoulders? I'm in need of you."

Hermione giggled, the argument forgotten. "Of course, Theo."

Chapter Text

Draco always wanted her happily ever after.

That's what she'd been promised.

From the time she was a little girl, she was told that her prince would come.

And parents knew everything, didn't they?

She had no reason to doubt them.

So even when that awful prick of a boy rejected her hand in friendship (even though he was a little bit cute) she was hurt that he didn't see her as the princess her parents said she was.

She hated him for it.

He hated her more.

She tore at his friends, trying to make him see that she was a far better option, but he hissed at her.

Could you believe that? He really hissed at her.

Draco, the perfect princess.

How dare he?

She was 16 when the world fell apart.

16 when she saw that he parents did not know everything they were talking about.

16 when she realized she was lost and alone.

Everyone did say that Harry would help. He was the supposed saviour after all.

So why did he leave her bleeding?

It was that unfortunate year, at 16, that Draco realized she wasn't the princess she was told she is.

She wasn't the princess with her pet dragon

And no princess charming would ever come to save her.

So she picked up the sword.

She became the dragon.

They didn't know how the beast turned up at the final battle, setting flames to the evil ranks.

Then the evil ones regrouped and she was forced down to earth with fifteen stunners.

It was then that he came forward raging.

He killed them off one after another - ruthless & wild.

Saving her.

But only after she tried to save herself.

He saw, in those dragon eyes, her soul staring back and he placed his palm on her forehead, drawing out the pain from her and to him - through the red bond between them. 

So she may return to her own form.

The two sagged with the pain, even as the side of golden celebrated.

She was fading and so was he.

In the haze of the pain, they, sobbed, they kissed and begged for forgiveness. Grateful to have found each other even at the very end.

But help came.

And they awoke on a hospital bed, still holding onto one another.

He begged her for forgiveness.

She answered with a kiss.

Draco stood watching the city of old, on a vacation with him, years after the war.

She knew she was a princess - his princess.

And yet she was also a dragon, a knight in her own right and she needed no man.

She didn't. So who was he?

He was her choice, her friend, her partner.

Their hands intertwined, like their fates. Harry and Draco looked at each other and smiled.

All was well.

Chapter Text

Draco knew he had fucked up.

Yes, yes. He was the one who made all the wrong decisions as a kid and then apologised for the mistakes he made.

He moped a good amount of years and then some more till he happened on the Delightful Single mother that was Hermione Granger. He promised to be everything she needed.

But then he fucked up again.

It wasn't that he didn't live Hermione, no. He obsessed about her far too much and cherished little Rose Weasley with his whole heart.

But Draco lived up to his name sake and was as possessive as a dragon.

Too possessive.

Something that was beyond the limits of what Hermione could bare after the birth of their son, Scorpius.

And so the wheel turn once more.

He fucked up.

He apologised.

He vowed to do better.

Then he moped.

And somehow this train of fucking up lead Draco to the night of Hermione's birthday at her house, minding the kids while she was out for the night, playing strip chess with none other than Ronald Weasley, Rose's father.

And now Draco was down to his boxers.

You could confidently say he was truly fucked.

Thankfully, the kids were upstairs, fast asleep and the two fathers had a million wards to alert them if either child was to wake up.

(Draco had also enlisted the help of one of his Malfoy house elves, but Hermione was never to know)

But if that wasn't bad enough, Ron Weasley no longer looked a scrawny git. No. He was large, powerfully built with a sharpness in his eyes that wasn't fazed at all by his careless smirk.

He moved to rub the back of his neck, his forearm bulging, and Draco shivered in his seat.

The Weasel King was now handsome in a disgusting way and Draco hated his own thoughts.

As Ron moved his Queen to a final position of victory, his smirk grew as his eyes trekked down to the shameful bulge of Draco’s boxers and then back up to his eyes.

His eyes darkened and his voice was a low growl.

"Checkmate, Malfoy. Now strip."

Oh, fuck.

Chapter Text

Theo was in tears. 

"Look at its little hands."

"Bean hands," Luna nodded sagely. 

Ron whispered to Blaise, holding his hand tight. "Its a baby. Why are they—" 

"Shh... Just let them love in their own way," Blaise smirked at Ron, turning back to where one of his oldest friends and his wife were counting those tiny toes for the millionth time. 

Chapter Text

Blaise had never expected life to turn out this way. He imagined it would lead him to marrying fifty witches and killing them off one by one like his family was cursed to. 

But when he looked over at Ron, his red hair alight in the flames of the setting Italian sun with dumpling sauce smattering on his lips. Blaise smirked, sipping his wine.

Life had been kind. 

And all was well. 

Chapter Text

Pansy loved her shoes. 

But she had no clue what her louboutin was doing on top of the ceiling fan when she woke up next morning. Her husband grunted, cuddling a rutabaga and she laughed, kissing Ron's cheek before she turned back to cuddling her own pillow. 

Six years of marriage and they were still as wild. 

Chapter Text

Oliver Wood was thirty years old.

As the captain of the English Quidditch Team he had a lot of fame under his belt, with his many wins. 

Which was why on a Saturday morning, he was yelling at his husband for not getting the column of their sandcastle right. 

Magic was involved of course, Theo was just enchanting a sand Hermione looking out the window to a sand Draco on a broomstick. 

Theo slid a smirk at Oliver. "Relax, babe. Granger’s the judge of the couples sandcastle competition. She'll be a sap for this."

They did win (thanks to the Slytherin in Theo. Granger really ooohed and ahhed about that little tower) and when Oliver kissed Theo in celebration, he realized that Theo was his life's greatest victory. 

Chapter Text

Draco fidgeted with his tie. He was going to kill Granger if this didn't work. Merlin, he never thought he'd see the day when he'd go to Pansy's for advice and see Granger lounging on a couch with barely anything covering her bits. 

Regardless, his ex girlfriend's current girlfriend had him convinced that he'd look good in a Muggle suit.

Well, obviously.

Draco would look good in anything.

As Theo walked out from his office at the Ministry, he started when he saw Draco trying to appear nonchalant as he leaned against the wall.

"Hello, stranger," Theo smirked as he walked up to the absolute prat of a wizard, trying to look ever so bored.

"Hello, Theo," replied Malfoy with a drawl. "Blaise said you needed company to the Ministry Ball tonight. I was free so I —"

"You absolute cunt waffle." Theo cut him off calmly. 

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise.

Theo leaned on an arm pressed against Draco’s head. They were they same height, but Draco was broad where Theo was lean. 

He crooked his head in to whisper into Draco’s ear.

"You didn't dress up for no fucking ball, you dressed up for me. Now stop being a coward and own it."

Draco sounded strained. "Theo..."

Theo grabbed at the tent of Draco’s trousers. "Go on then, tell me to stop."

"Dont stop." Draco panted, grabbing Theo's arms and staring heavily into Theo's big blue eyes with the storms that he owned.

Theo trailed his tongue along that sharp jawline he'd spent the many years imagining how he'd press sweet little kisses on.

Fuck Draco for making him wait. So fucking long.

Fuck him. 

Wait...

Thats an idea.

His hand curled around Draco’s tie and tugged his neck close.

"Im gonna use this damn thing to tie your arms back and then I'm gonna fuck you on Kingsley's table since the fuckers at the fucking Ball," Theo whispered against those pink lips. "Tell me what you think about that, lover?"

Draco whined needily and Theo answered by wrapping his hand on the man's throat and squeezing it gently. A promise. A threat. 

"Use your words, pet."

"I... I... Please," Draco whimpered, his hands slipping off Theo's arms to find home on his hips instead. He pulled him flush against his body and ground himself against Theo's own erection, hidden cleverly behind those magically designed slacks with in seam notice-me-nots.

Theo tsked.

"That's no answer, Draco. Cat got your tongue?" He purred, sinking his teeth on that beautiful jaw, before he moved away to lick at the bruise.

"Theo, I need you." Draco’s hands shook with the restraint he struggled to hold. 

"Very good, Draco." Theo moved off, tugging at the buttons of his slacks. "On your knees, pet. Let's see if your mouth is as big as you pretend it is."

Chapter Text

There was once a house.

Stately, grand, gorgeous.

It homed generations of purebloods, cherishing the laughter that echoed in its hallways, the pitter patter of feet.

But winter crept into the hearts of people. And a chill seeped through the house from its core.

Running turned to quiet muffled steps.

Laughter turned to whispers.

Families grew smaller.

Then came the girl who became a lady. The lady of the Manor. 

And she had a son. 

And her son's father went out for a walk in the estate, only to sink into it's plentiful greens. Then another husband followed. Then ten more. 

The son was blessed to have been at school away, but he came home. His unhappiness the house felt.

 And when he grew into a man he left.

The woman grew wicked with age and the house had never been more happier than when she died. 

But it felt quiet. 

Alone. Abandoned.

Days turned to weeks turned to months turned to years and the House wished for the warmth of being a Home.

Winds no longer sang their songs of faraway to it. Or perhaps it had forgotten what their joy meant. 

A few children passed it by, shattering a window with rocks. The pain could not have been worse than being alone. 

Oh, how it wished it wasn't alone. 

Then it happened. 

It felt awakened from its melancholy slumber just when the hand, imprinted with age old magic of the families of years ago, touched its knob. 

Awakened, not daring to believe when the boy — now a man walked into the House with a laughing girl by his side. A girl with hair that blazed like the sun. 

Sun bringer? Maybe she could burn away the frost. 

Hope bubble as the doors swung open and the door rejoiced when the carpets felt the running of life around the hallways. 

At last. At long last. 

But wait. What was this?

Her tits pressed against the glass with windows as she welcome her husband home. He made her scream on the pianoforte and the walls didn't escape their... Redesign either? 

For what else would necessitate a man and woman moving against a wall so much? 

The House knew it was old, but to imagine it being so weak? 

Yet, it was grateful. 

Maybe a little traumatised when the laughter in the hallways turned to moans and screams and the cracking of a whip. 

But it's patience was well rewarded. Years after, it got what it always longed for. Children laughed in its gardens and rooms. 

"Blaise," called his wife often. "I love you." 

And the man smiled, so bright that the ice in the house was broken. They made their home within those old walls, raising their children with the sound of laughter and music. 

Love blazed through the Home. 

And all was well.

Chapter Text

Harry sucked in a breath and counted to ten. His hand trembled as he held onto the door knob.

He had to tell them. They were his family. They deserved to know. So he summoned his Gryffindor courage and walked in.

"Mum Dad Pads. I have something to tell you," he said as he walked into the room, his hands clammy by his sides.

His father and godfather had their heads together, huddled behind a magazine, cackling, while his mum was sitting by the open window, painting.

Three pairs of kind eyes looked up at him.

"Go on, little star," Sirius grinned. "What have you been up to now."

"I'm - I'm gay." Harry stuttered.

Silence followed and stretched a small infinity.

Sirius wondered aloud. "Could have sworn we named him Harry."

"Hello Gay, I'm dad," James smirked.

Harry groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, his anxiety now replaced by annoyance. "Are you serious?"

He shot the two a withering look. 

"He's not. I am," Sirius quipped.

Harry glared at him.

"Boys, boys," Lily scolded, "Let him be."

Harry slid her a smile of relief.
Then she continued.

"I know you've been waiting a while. But be nice."

Harry frowned. Whatever did they mean? What had they been waiting for? 

"It's the Weasley boy isn't it?" Sirius slid forward, hands clasped and his smirk widening.

Harry gaped. "W- what? Ron?"

James shoved Sirius playfully. "It's not Ronald. It's the Quidditch captain. Harry always uses his entire goddamn name when he talks about him."

"Oliver Wood?" Harry blinked.

"That's the boyfriend. Cough up, Sirius. You owe me 10,000 Galleons."

"He's not—" Harry began.

But Lily cut him off.

"There's one boy that Harry hasn't shut up about. Not since he started Hogwarts. Not even after he partnered with him at Auror training," Lily gave the two men on the couch a look. "The one who's hair gleams in the sunshine apparently?" 

Sirius and James paled.

"Malfoy?"

"Cissa's gremlin?"

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged awkwardly. "Draco’s an annoying git. But.. Well.."

Sirius was the first to recover while James clutched his chest. 

"It's alright, Harry. We can't choose who we love. Remus still can't believe it himself sometimes."

Harry gave his godfather a bewildered look.

"Uncle Moony? Who's he in love with?"

Sirius paused. James snorted. Lily turned away with a grin.

"Wait... Harry, what do you think Moony and I are?" Sirius asked slowly.

"Um... Best friends? Roommates?"

James roared with laughter.

Sirius groaned into his palms.

"Oh, my god. We're roommates. I can't wait to tell Moony." 

Harry decided he would much rather talk to the only adult in the room.

"So, mum, can Draco come over on Friday? I'd like him to meet everyone."

"Sure, sweetheart." Lily answered warmly. 

Harry left beaming.

After he was gone, James sighed dramatically, dropping his head onto Sirius's lap.

"What would it take for a psychotic killer to do me away so I don't have to see my dear boy with a Malfoy," lamented the man, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Sirius sighed as well, running his fingers through James's messy hair. "You and me both, Prongs."

Chapter Text

Harry's throat was as dry as the Sahara and he shifted ever so slightly, as he crouched by the bed, camera tilted up to catch her best possible angle.

What an impossible feat that was truly. For none of the pictures he took of her were ever less than perfect. Today she was in a white dress, long sleeved and artistically tugged up those perfect pearly thighs in an almost careless grace.

Her body arched as she braced herself on her palms on her side. Her head thrown back and the natural light the flittered in through the attic window, caught the softness in her face and the light of her hair.

Goddess, he thought to himself.

Thankfully, the rest of the room was in darkness, concealing Harry's pesky little problem as he cursed himself for his unprofessionalism.

This wasn't the first time he had been hired to shoot her. And he was grateful to Ron for getting him the job. Fleur Delacour paid well for her shoots, needing to renew her shots for her modelling profile ever so often.

The only problem was that Harry had fallen in love with her since their first shoot.

Which was bad considering she was Ron's older brother's fiancée.

And also because Harry couldn't afford to fuck this up. He desperately needed the money.

And a moment apparently, because the tightness in his pants threatened to knock him right out.

He stumbled as he pushed up onto his feet, stuttering as sweat beaded down the back of his neck and his sanity began to slip.

"I need to go. I need... A moment."

Her voice was a sweet purr from behind him, doing nothing to alleviate his situation. "You always seem to need a moment."

"Allergies," Harry rasped, hurrying for the door.

"Wait!"

He stopped.

Her voice softened. "Turn to me."

He couldn't help that he did. Her voice was a siren's, calling him to his doom.

She was sitting off the side of the bed, a coy smile curving her lips and glitter of dark mischief in her eyes. Bare feet, so smooth and she walked up to him with the sweetest sway of her hips.

Vanilla drowned his every sense and she purred into his ear, 

"What if this time you stayed?"

Chapter Text

Astoria had never been more in love. There was Draco, sipping his wine as he walked over to her, with his terrible smirk and twinkling eyes.

"Are you ready, my love?"

He kissed her cheek and she blushed.

"For the rest of our life? Yes." She giggles sweetly and a he chuckles, hands on her waist as he kisses her nose.

"Little dove, I'm talking about tonight."

"Silly Draco. The night is done. We are married."

A pause. He frowns.

"No.. About us. About sealing this marriage."

She laughs as she gives him the gentlest of kisses on his lips.

"There. Sealed."

He looks flabbergasted.

"Gorgeous... You do know right?"

"Know about what, my love?" She tilts her head to a side like a bird.

Draco swallowed hard.

"About the act?"

"What act?"

"Well, when a man marries a woman. He... He inserts himself—"

"Inserts himself?! Inserts himself where?" Then it dawns on her and she giggles. "Oh, inserts himself to her heart? Oh, love. My heart has homed your soul from the day we met. I adore you, Draco."

Draco nodded, gathering his beautiful bride into a cuddle and trying not to think about his rather excited appendage tenting his pants.

He was going to need some charcoal, that was certain.

And more to drink.

Chapter Text

There was little Bill enjoyed more than reading, but not many knew that about him.

He was a quiet soul with a fondness for books that none in his family ever quite shared.

No one else, till Ron introduced his girlfriend to the rest of them. Then everything changed for Bill. 

Did he feel awful that he encouraged the beautiful witch to meet him while he read his books on the rooftop during those summer nights Ron had her over?

Sometimes.

Did he feel rotten about luring the witch away from his younger brother with their shared mutual interest in books?

Often.

But right now, in front of the warm fireplace on a cold winter night as she curled against his side listening to him read to her in his low, deep voice,Bill thought of neither his little brother nor the rest of his family aghast at his actions.

No. What he focused on was the head against his shoulder, the arms around his waist.

The smell of her pure soul just waiting to be his once more as she was every night in their quaint little house.

Bill Weasley was at peace. And in love.

And nothing would ever change that.

Chapter Text

It was a cool autumn eve, when Ron did it. He was no longer the boy from back at school. Broad shoulders, a body that fit well into the Auror leathers and a smile on his face, his jaw lined with a four o'clock shadow.

"Hey Harry. Guess you know how this is going to go anyway. I mean.. You knew before I did that she loved me and I have always been a fool about it. But yeah..."

Ron's smile was both shy and bright. "Can't believe I'd be anyone's first choice, much less hers. She's Perfect, you know? Hermione is, she could have anyone she wants and she wants me. How wicked is that?"

He laughed and shook his head, the wind tugging his long red locks darkening with time, mussing his hair like the gentle hand of an old friend.

"Anyway. I did it. I asked her to marry me an hour ago and I can't straight to you. Can't believe you chose to live on a fucking Mountain. Do you know how hard it is to get a bloody portkey here? And then your damned wards. I swear you make me climb the whole mountain on purpose."

His exasperation was laced with amusement. "Now I've got a job for you and you can't say no."

A bob in his throat grew too hard to swallow. 

"I need you.."

Ron's voice cracked and he Inhaled a shuddering breath before he continued. 

"I need you to be my best man and you can't say no. I've bought you a sandwich. Yes, that weird one you made ever since our first year at Hogwarts. Marmalade on one side, strawberry jam on the other."

A pause.

"I'll never forgive the Dursleys, you know? I hated them since the first time I saw you make that sandwich and you told me you've never done it for yourself before. Had a sandwich the way you liked. But here. I got you five. Made them for you myself."

He sat a large brown bag on the grave on the mountain side, staring at the tombstone.

A tear trickled down his face. It hurt even after so long. 

"There's no one else, Harry. You're my brother and the place beside me with always be yours. Empty if it need be. No one else can take it. So... I guess I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

He left the quiet mountain top and the gleaming white stone that had the simplest inscription.

Here lies Harry James Potter.

Saviour of the Wizarding World for neither could live while the other survived.

Beloved best friend. 

Chapter Text

Regulus knew he wasn't brave. 

Not in the way it mattered. Not like Sirius had been, all their life — unafraid to be honest and truly himself. 

His mother often told him he was the true heir, the rightful black. The one that would smooth over the cracks Sirius had made when he was outspoken and when he left. 

Regulus didn't see them as cracks but waves, patterns, a legacy, his brother had forged. 

Because he wasn't brave, 

He kept his thoughts to himself. Because he wasn't brave he didn't speak, didn't tell his mother that maybe Sirius had a point. 

Maybe Tom Riddle was wrong to want the streets bleed with the muggle blood or when he wanted the pure to remain on top. 

For there had never been a name of the pure as one of Riddle. 

It wasn't strong or powerful. And neither was Riddle himself. 

Because he wasn't brave,

He didn't tell them when he knew, how Riddle trusted his soul to things, mere objects. 

You see, Regulus was pure of birth and blood. He knew that sealing magic into an object only made a weapon. 

And a weapon can always be welded against the one who made It.  

And Regulus knew for sure that Tom was a fraud and his knowledge was limited. 

And that Sirius was right. 

But he wasn't brave. 

So he didn't seek his brother out, didn't confess to the sins he thought he had to commit, didn't ask for the help he so badly needed. 

It marvelled him sometimes, how Sirius found a real family amidst the madness of their very Black lives. 

And that luck had lead him straight to James Potter. 

And James Potter was a symbol of hope and joy, laughter and beauty. Mirth and forgiveness. 

But Regulus was much too big a coward to tell James that.

And Regulus would pretend that maybe James was his friend too. 

That James knew and was proud of him.

 And that James and his wife might survive Tom Riddle and the pain he swore to rain on the world and those who were good.

He would pretend to be brave. 

Pretend that James was by his side when he smiled to Barty and Evan as if he enjoyed the killing that they were ordered to carry out. 

Pretend that he didn't see how it broke Barty and Evan as much as it did him. 

Pretend that James knew that Regulus had a plan. 

It was hard. 

Pretending that he was not afraid. Pretending that he was brave. 

When the hands came for him.

 He closed his eyes and thought of Sirius. Sirius who could finally be free. 

Then he thought of James. 

Jame with his boyish grin and laughter, James with his kind eyes and messy hair. 

James.

James would have the love Regulus had never tasted. James would not taste pain at the hands of Voldemort. 

The way down, everything hurt. 

But Regulus had his eyes closed and a smile on his face. 

For the first time in his life, he had been brave. 

And Sirius would know. 

And it would all be okay. 

Chapter Text

"You'd think the prat you got off for the first ten times of his life would actually try to find why you died in a fucking in the building you were sent off to as a unwilling solider stuck in war," Pansy seethed to herself, watching from the floor above, hidden by the stone floors that remained of the old castle. 

"You join the order for him and then work as a double agent because of him and what does he do? He shoves his tongue into the cunt of a woman over the very spot you died. Well, there was a wall there, the stone ledge he's bending her over. But that's hardly the point."

She sighed, pulling back as Hermione ground on Draco’s awfully pale face, moaning like a being possessed. 

Daphne smirked slowly, laying on the floor beside her. 

Pansy smiled at her old friend. "Well, I can't believe you're dead and here too."

"Well, I didn't survive too long after I killed you. I was stationed here to keep the order members locked in and when you came over, I knew you were a spy. What was a healer for the Death Eaters doing in our most secure location for the top Order captives." Daphne giggled, leaning in for a kiss that Pansy reciprocated with enthusiasm. 

"Still hate you for killing me," Pansy pushed her over, straddling her old friend's lap and pushing her down onto the floor. 

"Don't blame you," Daphne sighed, arching into her friends hands when Pansy fondle her breasts over her ripped ghostly shirt. "Besides you threw the first spell."

"And you distracted me with these," Pansy hummed, freeing those mounds easily, before moving her mouth over a perfectly pebble nipple, rolling her tongue around the pretty peak. 

Daphne panted and moaned, wriggling for the friction she would soon receive. Pansy smirked. 

"Good girl. Let's show Granger what a real woman sounds like, sweetie. Now scream for me."

And Daphne did. 

Chapter Text

Pansy had been his first love, his only love.

They bonded in the quiet of the greenhouse back in first year. He was the calm to her chaos. And, in time, the garden to her bloom. 

He was her real friend. The one she confided in all her secrets. 

He thought she never looked more beautiful than she did in white.

Smiling at Neville.

Walking up the path.

Past Neville.

To her intended, arranged by her family, Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was smiling at him when the war ended. Theo hadn't seen him smile in a very long time. 

When they were younger — at flying class — Harry's face often broke into that shy ray of sweetness, radiating a wisp of beauty that often had Theo's heart stuttering. 

And he was smiling at Theo now, after the war of Hogwarts. 

It was incredible, almost mesmerising and like something out of a fairytale, Harry was walking to him, reaching out his arms.

Grasping Theo gently to move him aside and pull Ginny — who was behind Theo — into a kiss.

Chapter Text

It was Ron's fault really.

He had asked Harry the other day if he felt like a hot dog when he fucked Draco since the blond's arse was so round in those black slacks. Like a squashed bun, Ron had sniggered.

Harry couldn't get the thought out of his head. It had been a busy week at the Auror office and his boyfriend was needy. They had been up all night and the morning light had begun to flit in through the bamboo binds.

So when Harry looked down, pulling his half limp cock out slowly from between the tight arse dripping with his spent, he mumbled, "Needs mustard."

Chapter Text

The torment of Azkaban would have been kinder than staring at the perfect cunt of an unwilling bride because some merlinfucked piece of shit high up in the Ministry thought it was a good idea to bind magic and force marriages.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Well?” Huffed Hermione Granger peering over the roundness of her shoulder, all bent over in bed. “Get on with it. Or do you need a manual?”

The slap of his large hand on her perky arse had her squealing. A grin, both wicked and wild, curled the side of his lips.

The witch had a mouth on her alright.

One he would take pleasure filling up time and time again.

“Don't you worry, witchling.” His voice rumbled out as a low growl, his tattooed thumbs sliding up the slit of her bottom, pulling her cheeks apart. “I can see how desperate you are for my cock. Fuck. Look at you. You're dripping.”

“Only for tonight. We'll break it through a Muggle divorce—” She broke off, arching with a low moan as his tongue stroked slowly along her cunt, tasting her essence.

Antonin Dolohov wasn't listening.
All he knew was he had a taste of her now.

And he wasn't going to let her go.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger had a secret. 

Did you know?

For a very long time, she had always admired Ron Weasley's twin brothers and their mischief from afar. But then who didn't?

She was delighted when one of them asked her out. It embarrassed her that she had said yes and still didn't know who of the two had asked.

One date turned into more dates and she only called him her darling. Those dates ended with slow kisses and breathless whispers with her small hands squeezed in much larger ones — secret night's that only the stars knew of.

There months later, she was bewildered. Because who was she dating really?

And how could she ask?

For she only ever saw one on her date and the other was never around.

And then one night, she was sitting there with Fred or George, watching a movie, when the other Fred or George dropped into the vacant spot beside her. Each boy had a hand on her thigh and gave her a gentle squeeze.

They smirked and winked. 

And then she knew.

They teased her for never finding out, smartest witch and all that. She huffed about being played around with. Then they both promised her their penance each in their own separate ways.

Hermione Granger had a secret. One she truly enjoyed. 

And now you know. 

Chapter Text

Theo was panicking. 

A trickle of sweat beading down the side of his face. He was well and truly fucked. Granger thought he was gay. Well, he did like a cock in his ass, but he enjoyed a cunt on his mouth too. And lately he had found himself salivating about the thought of Hermione riding him, calling him her good boy because she had made the colossal mistake of calling him that last week when he finished her report for her. 

Now Granger wanted his help with a tear on her back she couldn't see, bending over and urging him to hurry. He pointed his wand at the rip across her magnificent rear, felt his other wand stirring in his trousers, and whispered to himself, "Oh, mama."

Chapter Text

It was raining. 

That cold day in August when she realised the part that didn't make sense. The part that kept blanking out. Because the cursed dagger that curved a taunt onto her skin forever more didn't stop skin deep. No. The plague was deeper. 

A long festering evil that slept in her veins and drank her of happiness. A shadow in her head prevailed, sitting by her side. Giving her the potions she needed. 

And in moments like this, the fog cleared. 

Maybe the rain had magic of its own.

"It's you." Hermione Granger spoke to the figure that had followed her, stepping out of the darkness with hair a little too long and eyes that smiled in spite of the shadows beneath it. 

Ron kissed her on her forehead. "Always."

The menace of a boy who had grown into her best friend and then some more. Something more special.

But she had forgotten. 

Too much. 

So very much. 

They watched him take her in, hold her close, kiss her face and tell her the parts that she couldn't make out. Everyone told him to stop. But he didn't. 

Year after year, it was the same. 

Year after year, she grew worse. 

He told them it didn't matter; his pain. Because to him, it really didn't. She was always his best friend. His perfect girl. Her bravery even in her pain reminded him of who he should be. For her, because she deserved it. 

He read to her the stories of her childhood and his. He told her the tales of their lives she had lost over time. 

But the worst he couldn't speak of, because it hurt her too much when she forgot. 

Was the daughter under the invisibility cloak, watching her mother forget her.

Chapter Text

Lucius Malfoy managed to piss him off merely by existing.

It was an incredible feat, if you thought about it, that a merely flick of his long platinum hair had Antonin Dolohov seething.

They were the same age, only four and twenty when Tom Riddle gathered them into his death eaters to train and raise as a glorious army.

Technically, Lucius wasn't even qualified to be a part of the elite squad.

His aim was abysmal. His range of spell work amateurish. Antonin was certain that if it hadn't been for his father funding Tom's cause, the silly piece of plastic human wouldn't have even passed the first round of training.

Antonin dreamt of curling his hand into those long silvery strands and bashing that pretty face in to stop the bastard from looking at him, but he held himself back. Reminded himself he needed Tom's favour. 

But Lucius apparently was blind to Antonin's hate. He just didn't seem to get it. He would always come around to the quiet Russian's tent when Dolohov was cleaning his knives or cooking his soup with a "My father sends a house elf to cook me my meals. I haven't a clue how to." and "That doesn't look appetising. My father says a man should eat his worth in food. I mean, I know I eat the good stuff. I know I eat good, but is that all you're going to have? The night is going to be awfully cold."

Of course it was fucking cold. 

They were in the middle of Alaska, training with the dark arts outside the trader of any magical governing body. The snow made it hard to trace dark magic as storms and magical imbalances were common in this part of the world. 

Antonin said nothing, not trusting himself to speak lest he cursed the pretty piece of a plastic person into a toad or worse. 

One day, Lucius went too far. 

They had been in a skirmish with a few American wizards who had been travelling to study the same magical imbalances the dark wizards used as a cover. A stray curse had hit Antonin in the ribs, and the man staggered when they got back to camp, seeking rest and warmth. In the privacy of his tent, Antonin struggled to warn his soup, mixing in some herbs with a series of little healing spells his grandma had once taught him. The soup would heal, if he managed to finish cooking it first. 

The blond head popped into the tent and had Antonin snapping. 

His large tattooed hand wrapped around that pale neck. 

A low growl of warning. 

"If you're going to open that damned mouth," Antonin snarled. "It's only going to be to wrap your pretty lips around me and suck till I come all over your face."

A smile broke out across Lucius's previously startled face. A smile so very charming. 

"I thought you would never ask."

Chapter Text

Growing up was hard for Ginny. 

Yes, she was an only girl, but she was the last of many. Life passed her by in a swirl of hand-me-down robes and constant ribbing by her brothers some who were so much older that she could barely remember the time they used to be at home.

She was never a princess and she never asked to be. It was alright. She did her best to fit and she fit in quite well, honing her Quidditch skills in private so her brothers may finally see her as an equal and not just a girl. 

Unconciously, the word girl became sort of damnation she shied away from. Hated it, even. 

Then the diary happened and she was damned once more. 

Just a girl, they said. How could she have known.

She tried again. 

To love what they loved. 

All their eyes set on Harry and hers did too, naturally. 

And finally, fucking finally, when he saw her the way she wanted him to see, it was fleeting. And then it was gone. 

The war changed him and he found companionship in the very girl who would have cast him into the hands of the darkness without so much as a thought. Pansy. 

Her family blamed her for not understanding. For her broken heart. And then she snapped. 

Revenge was something new, but Merlin did she crave it. She ached for the taste of blood that her tongue never knew and set herself to win the affections of one that she knew would break them all.

Draco Malfoy was her revenge. 

And he was an easy prey to nab. The war had shattered him like it had shattered them all and in his earnest need for redemption, he welcomed Ginny into his home and heart. 

But there was something Ginny never saw coming. 

For not many could imagine having it all and yet.. Not. Perhaps, their upbringing couldn't have been more different but loneliness was an old friend to the young children they both had been. He had fallen into the darkness as she once had. He acknowledged that Tom's influence was blinding. 

And she never thought that his gentle stroke down her spine when he thought her asleep would snip away the binds of her true self that she had sealed away.

He loved her for her. For her wild heart and free spirit. 

He told her that she healed him so very much, never knowing he had done the same for her.

So she became every version of herself that she wanted to be and Draco laughed, saying his estate was big enough for all of them. The dresses she revelled in, the Quidditch she placed. The horses she raised. 

Everything the girl in her never thought she was allowed to want. 

You see, Ginny had never been a princess. 

But Draco made her his queen. 

Chapter Text

Neville Longbottom lived a quiet life after the war, minding his many plants on the Longbottom estate and greenhouses.

His grandmother worried about his bachelorhood more than he was comfortable with, wanting nothing else but to see the lone Longbottom heir settled with a family of his own before she closed her eyes for the last time. 

But it was no use. Neville disliked crowds and questions. Meeting new people made him nervous and he was quite happy with his plants, truly. Even if the rest of his old friends from Hogwarts were now getting married and settled in their mid thirties. 

Augusta Longbottom had long since lost faith that any of Neville's friends would turn him in the direction of a good woman, seeing that they'd settled with the first person they came across.

So she turned to the help of an old friend and a person of interest who had long been in her care and under her protection. 

For the world saw Regulus Black as animagus he had been in hiding for so long, Trevor the toad. 

So confronted Trevor — Regulus in disguise — and demanded he repay her many years of kindness with a simple (yet not so simple) favour. 

Find Neville a girl to marry. 

Difficult enough for a human, even worse for a toad. 

But Regulus did his best. He slipped into Neville's pocket on a night out, one that Neville reluctantly joined, and aimed his long toad-y tongue at the girl who was so obviously interested in the oblivious Neville when she bent over.

Yanking her knickers quick enough into Neville's hand and hopping back into the startled man's pocket. 

Before Neville could react, Pansy squealed and cooed, climbing into Neville's massive lap and murmured filthy words of appreciation that he finally reciprocated her advances. Regulus watched with bated breath but thankfully Neville had enough sense to cup the beautiful woman's arse in his large hands and hum a low rumble into the crook of her neck. 

The events of that night was traumatising for Regulus who was trapped in the coat pocket till Neville returned to the Estate the next evening. 

But when Augusta Longbottom finally breathed her last, she smiled because she knew she hadn't left the family tree to die.

By her side was Neville and his pregnant wife, while "Trevor the toad" sat by the window, watching.

Chapter Text

A pinecone hit Neville squarely on his bottom while he bent over to tend to his young bush of Weeping Bells. 

He grunted, furrowing his brows as he looked over his shoulder, spotting the cheeky grin of one Theodore Nott lounging on the apple tree.

"I've always wondered," the leaner man drawled, dropping off the tree with cat-like grace, "How long is your bottom, really?" 

"Good evening to you too, Nott," Neville replied with a long suffering sigh as he turned back to the plants he was tending. "Where the fuck did you get a pinecone?" 

"Always a man of few words, eh, Neville?" Theo chuckled, ignoring him and poked the bulge of Neville's massive bicep as he crossed in front of the quiet gardener. "Pansy will like that. A man who would listen to her morning, noon and night."

"Not this again," Neville grumbled, tugging at one of his petulant bells a little harder than necessary and apologising to the mewling plant immediately. 

"I don't get what your problem is, Longbottom." Theo stroked the side of another weeping bell, upset by the cries of the one Neville was tending to. "She likes you. You've been in love with her since eighth year. Why the fuck won't you let me set you up with her?"

"Theodore—"

"Surely the great sword of Gryffindor needs a sheath." 

"Nott, please go home."

"Hush. I'm having a dinner party this Friday and I'm seating you next to her. Don't let me down."

"Theodore!" Neville straightened up crossly, glaring at the grinning Nott. "I don't understand why you give a shit." 

"I take great interest in my fiancé's best friends, especially when they're pining after my own." Theo answered cheerily, slipping his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks. "Besides, Harry—" 

But he was cut off by the sight of the witch that appeared at Neville's back door, her eyes heavy with sleep in spite of the late hour. If that wasn't proof enough that Neville had completely wrecked her the night before, the purple bruises on her neck and shoulder — from which Neville's oversized t-shirt had slipped off— were a dead giveaway.

"Neville?" Pansy said, rubbing her eye. 

Theo glanced at the flustered Neville and his smirk morphed into a full fledged grin. 

"Oh."

Chapter Text

The sword of Gryffindor was a thing of legend, said to seek out the one worthy of such a huge responsibility. 

One chosen especially for this endeavour, to own and wield in the favour of those who ask for it. And the gracious bounty had fallen on the shoulders of one Neville Longbottom.

 Those who knew flocked to the court he held in the late Saturday evenings so they may be blessed with the glory he could share with them, but Neville had a limit of people he entertained each session and a group had made it their mission in life to be the only ones there, scaring the rest of the world away. 

Pansy, Ginny, Hermione and Lavender had formed a pact to hold the four spaces every week for the experience was unlike any other and Merlin knew they couldn't stay away once they had a taste.

"That's it my sweet girl," Neville hummed, stroking the naked curly haired witch's head as it bobbed on his lap, kneeling by the massive man's feet. She whined at the praise. 

"What about me, Neville?" Lavender's tits pressed against his left bicep. Ginny sat behind her, laving her tongue along Lavender's shoulder, her fingers slipped between the girl's heavenly thighs, making Lavender's beautiful eyes hazy. 

The side of Neville's lips tugged at the side, wrapping an arm around the girl to palm her bottom, fingering her puckered hole. "Only if you come for me, pet. Come on Ginny's hand and show me you're a good girl."

The fourth girl — his brat — grabbed his face with her little hands and forced them back to her as she ground on his right thigh. Pansy's eyes flared and she pressed her lips against him, hating when he looked at the rest of them.

Neville rumbled out a laugh, his thick hairy arm pulling the girl close to him and he bit her lip before he pulled away. 

"Pansy," he tutted, shaking his head, trying to fight a smile at her antics. "You're being a bad girl, princess. Careful of I'll have to give you detention later."

"And punish me?" She bit the plump of her lower lip, not masking her eagerness at the promise of time alone with him, arching against him with her arms looped around his neck. 

"Careful, Witch. You're asking for trouble." But she only laughed at his growl, sucking her claim onto his neck.

It was a lot of sensations for the thirty year old bachelor, but he could handle the women. With Hermione choking on his length, Lavender whimpering as she came, pressed against him and Pansy giving him those eyes. He could handle them all. 

Merlin, it was good to be the chosen one. 

Chapter Text

Cry baby, she had called him.

He dabbed his eyes and scowled at the little girl in her pretty little party dress who had thrown his glitterball into the mud.

Neville always hated the parties that his nan made him come out to. She told him they were his people. Purebloods. And that it was important for him to grow up with them. But he was so tired of them being mean to him.

Especially Pansy. 

She thought she was little miss perfect with her shoes, short hair and the perpetual hands on her hips, judging everyone around her.

He had only offered her his glitterball because he had seen her father scold her when her family had entered. She had been walking slowly, too slowly in his eyes and then had hidden away to cry.

Instead, Pansy hissed at Neville's kindness, tossing his glitterball into the mud and then called him a crybaby when he found it broken; tears streaming down his face.

Neville promised himself that day he would stay as far away as he could from that dreadful girl, and for a long time he kept that promise.

Pansy was in his year at Hogwarts and barely acknowledged him, for which he was greatful. He took his chance to observe his old nemesis as she paraded around with the rest of the Slytherins like they were Merlin's gift to Wizardkind.

To his greatest amusement, he soon learnt that Pasy harboured an unrequited infatuation for Draco Malfoy. Draco was an arse and if he ever suspected the interest Pansy openly had in him, he only ignored it and used her for his popularity instead.

Watching all this drama unfold gave Neville a pleasure of sorts for which he immediately felt guilty for. It was true that Pansy had been horrible to him when they were children, but Draco was infinitely worse.

Maybe, Neville thought to himself, maybe she didn't deserve to be treated this badly. 

It was during the Yule Ball that he found her again, crying in private, away from the party. He offered her his handkerchief and sat beside her without a word.

"Go on then," She sneered after a moment of composing herself, uncomfortable in the warmth of their silent proximity and familiarity. "Make fun of me."

"If you insist," Neville said with a straight face. "But I don't believe I have the skills required to make fun of a crybaby."

She huffed and then chuckled against her will. He slid her a grin and she smiled back, tears forgotten. 

During their sixth year, she sat beside him at potions. Under the desk, she would reach for his hand. The space between her fingers were where his fit perfectly. 

But then the world fell apart and so did they. 

He found her at the battle of Hogwarts, her pulse weak, but she still managed to shake her head when he tried to heal her. 

He couldn't stop his tears. "No... Please. Stay."

Her laugh came out a rasp. "Nev, you're such a crybaby."

Then she was gone. 

Chapter Text

The Mirror in the Castle Old spoke of a future which the Princess resented. Of a poor gardener who will one day be favoured by her father and would one day be king. 

Blinded by the hurt that she would be replaced, Pansy stole into the night. Searching for the one that would steal the fortune that was hers by birth. 

She found him easily. He was kind and quiet. Never doubted the poison and drank the petal's poison in the vial she offered him with a sweet word and a coquettish smile. It was amazing that a man who lived by plants would be fooled into dying by one. But here lay the problem. 

The gardener, unfortunately, fell asleep.

Chest rising and falling. 

Not dead. 

Now Pansy was a princess proper and she never did like her hands all stained. So she decided the bloodier route wasn't the way to go and she would kill him in her dungeons deep another less messier way. 

But this was harder than it should have been. In the darkness of her deep, a stray light from the curvaceous high seeped in, illuminating the man's handsome sleeping face. And Pansy toiled around him, concocting a poison to end him completely. 

Yet, every time she looked upon his face, she would pause. 

Every time she was to break another vial into his defenceless mouth, she turned away.

She was trapped in a circle of her own making and too late she learnt she had gazed upon his face too long and had, in her mind, charted the depth and curves of his body and face. 

She kissed him so that perhaps the poison would punish her instead and he sat up, finally, shaking his head and wiping away a tear trailing down her face. 

"I switched the drink." He admitted with a sheepish smile. "When you happened upon my cabin, I prayed to the stars to have you and made the change while you looked away. If you were ever to be mine, I would awake and I did. So pretty petal, blooming in darkness so cold, would you allow me to hold you? Till there's light?"

The mirror of old was right, it's true. The prophecy every bit the present. For the king favoured the gardener and crowned him, because he won the princess's heart and married her. And loved her endlessly. 

And Pansy's darkness was a nightmare long forgotten for she revelled in the gardens of the life she grew, hand in hand with her husband Neville. 

Chapter Text

Theodore Nott took the last drag from the cigarette that hung between his lips before he flicked it away to a side before he turned to glare at the long line of people sitting on his right. 

There was Blaise right beside him, stroking Draco's back as the prat continually dry heaved, an ashen faced Hermione with the most delectable chocolate cake sitting perfectly on her lap and Harry Potter who looked as though he wished the Death had spared him today by taking him as a teenager. 

"Right," Theo gritted, running a frustrated hand through his wavy brown locks as Blaise suppressed a laugh, masking it into a cough when Theo gave him a look before continuing.

"Let it be known that Hermione Granger is not the cleverest witch of our age any longer." He narrowed his eyes as the witch in question protested. 

"Theo, it wasn't my fault!" 

"It most certainly was." Theo snarled back. 

"Leave my woman alone." Draco mumbled shakily, just loud enough to be heard. "She didn't know."

"But she insisted we do it her way." Theo hissed. "Didn't she, Blaise?" 

"She did," Blaise grinned widely. 

"I couldn't have known this would happen. Ever." Hermione said crossly.

"Did she allow us to suggest anything, Blaise?" Theo hissed, still salty that Hermione hadn't allowed him to plan anything for the evening which was now ruined.

"No, she didn't."

"Theodore!" Hermione cried. 

"Quiet, you. It's entirely your fault that I've seen my sister's naked arse."

"Not your sister, Theo." Blaise hummed, stroking Draco's hair as the man rested his head on Blaise's lap.

"Well, the closest thing to it anyway. But no, we had to burst into Neville's private party of one with Pansy tied up all spread open for him while he impaled her with his sword of Gryffindor. Surprise parties are a terrible idea, Granger. And whatever made you pity poor lonely Neville anyway? Did you even care that it was Harry's birthday too?"

Hermione was about to retort but Draco cut her off with let out an exasperated moan. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Well, since that went so horribly." Theo pushed to his feet dramatically. "All of us stuck in the closet till the happy bloody couple were done and left the damned apartment, I think Harry and I are going home now. Especially since we were forced back into the closet again. And we're taking the cake, Granger."

He snatched the gorgeous cake from Hermione's hands and beckoned Harry over with a crook of his fingers. Harry obediently followed at once. 

Hermione watched as Theo continued to rant to his boyfriend before the two dissapparated. Then she sighed. 

"Well, that went terribly." 

"Well, at least we got a show out of it," Blaise reasoned. "Thank heavens for cloaking charms. Your finest spellcasting yet, Granger. Too bad you were too mortified to concentrate so we could have saved our sanity with an Irish exit."

Hermione didn't bother to dignify that with an answer. 

"The cake looked really good too." Draco said in some what of a mournful tone. "Shall we go out for some coffee and cake?"

Blaise and Hermione agreed, anything to leave the vicinity of Neville's home. 

What a birthday. 

Chapter Text

He could feel the ice on his lips. Winter had never been so cold before, but he would sit with Theo in the snow outside Hogwarts that year anyway, trying not to listen to the screaming from the insides. Screaming that was once laughing and chatter in the prior years.

"Its going to be us next," Theo says, cigarette in his hand. Ash against the snow. "I hope they wait till its green again. I want to see some green before I die."

"Don't.. Don't joke like that." Draco grits out, but deep in his pockets his hands shake but not because of the cold.

Theo chuckles and there's no trace of joy in it.

"Or maybe they won't find out. That we let her escape." He pauses, lifts the cigarette to his lips to take a drag. Blows it into the dead skies. "Pity I didn't get to say goodbye."

"There was no time." Draco says.

But there was never time. Not really. And Theo was sure the two of them were running out of whatever time they had left as well.

And for good reason.

"Yeah." Another mirthless chuckle, more of a rasp. "The only brave thing we ever did. Maybe I'll tell them it was just me. No need for both of us to burn."

"Or maybe they'll never ask. They'll never suspect us. And we'll see Hermione again one day after she helps Potter win the war. Alright?" Draco managed a smile in return, his heart breaking at the finality in Theo's eyes.

Draco takes the cigarette from him, his nail grazing against Theo's cheek, capturing a tear that escaped from his eyes. "I'll see you after Winter, Theo. It's only the holidays."

Theo nods.

But when spring came, Theo stayed cold and Draco made sure he had flowers of every kind growing around him. And the patch that he was, stayed forever green.

Chapter Text

Watching mortals meander about their lives was one of Zeus's favourite parts of the day. It amused him how little their lives were, how much they scrambled to leave behind a legacy that people may remember them and how futile the attempt was.

For they chased the glory they believed would make them happy, only to find it would slip through their fingers into nothingness when they finally reach it.

All too late, they would realise they'd wasted their lives, having chosen fame over true happiness.

An exception to this madness that was humanity, was a sweet woman by the name Daphne who lived amongst nature in peace. A gorgeous queen wearing robes of gossamer silk that wrapped around her soft curves like a second skin, sashaying her way through an endless green forest, singing to the birds with an allure most captivating.

Zeus watched with a keen — albeit lustful — eye, hatching a plan to claim the nymph-like beauty for himself.

Unfortunately for him, along stumbled an anomaly into Daphne's peaceful life in the form of an awkward man with messy hair and green eyes.

It irked Zeus, for he had noticed not such a man and his ire only grew as Daphne's red threads of fate intertwined with the man — Harry's — own.

In a fit of jealous rage, the old god had a bolt of lightning strike down where the mortal Harry stood.

The smoke cleared. Yet the man was still alive. Unscathed, except for a scar on his forehead.

Harry raised a slow, cold glare up to the heavens.

And for the first time in his eternity, the immortal grew afraid.