6. We Can Crash Together

Disclaimer: I disavow any ownership of these characters and refuse to acknowledge any responsibility for their actions in this fanfic.

6. We Can Crash Together

Harry awoke to a steady, flutter-bump sort of sound and a raging headache. To make matters worse, his pleasantly warm front contrasted uncomfortably with his absolutely freaking polar backside. He had only just assimilated all of this information when his pillow moaned.

Okay... forty years in the Wizarding world, but moaning pillows are a new wrinkle.

He rolled onto his side, grunting at the sharp tug of a couple of arm hairs being pulled out. Sticking to the pillow was also a first, though if he were perfectly honest with himself, sleeping while hugging a pillow was rather a regular thing these days. The blanket feeling as if it was made of feathers, on the other hand, was highly irregular.

Am I actually awake or is this a seriously weird, hungover dream?

His contact lenses seemed to have spontaneously Transfigured themselves into glue during the night. It was with great difficulty that Harry pried his eyes open to discover that his chances of hugging a pillow were pretty much nil, as the pillow not only groaned, but also possessed nipples. Rather significant even to Harry's Bludger-thrashed brain, those nipples were not attached to breasts.

Harry reared up. Agony threatened to split his skull, but his gritty eyes still managed to focus on painfully blinking gray eyes in a flushed, befuddled, and terribly familiar face. The shock was almost enough to distract Harry from the excavation work in his cranium.

While Harry was staring, open-mouthed, Draco emitted a sound that was probably supposed to be a scream, a shout, or a really choice, nasty word. It came out as more of a despairing croak. Draco's efforts to reclaim some semblance of dignity were further undermined when his sudden move to pull a sheet over himself seemed to do for his stomach what sitting up suddenly had done for Harry's head. His flushed cheeks went scarily grayish, and his face puckered into the universal expression for 'imminent vomit.'

Harry, not sure that he could expect cooperation from his own voice at the moment, pointed urgently toward the door of the en suite. Even in pain and in a certain amount of concern for the cleanliness of his home furnishings, Harry still noticed Draco's pale arse, considerably perkier than the rest of him, as he disappeared into the bathroom.

This is not good.

It was a very small leap from there to awareness of the dry, flaky mess on his own stomach.

Oh, God. Oh, lousy, moldy Merlin. What do you do with a...a...one-night stand... he winced at the mere thought of the espression...a fling nope, not any better...the morning after? Harry hadn't any encounters of this nature with the opposite sex to draw on for guidance, never mind the whole same-sex thing. He suspected that it was several thousand times worse with someone you knew than with a stranger, though. And the longer he stayed in his bed, in pain and pondering it, the worse it would get.

This is so not good.

Retching sounds came from the bathroom. Harry felt inclined to second them, though the source of his nausea was more psychological than physical.

Oh, God. He was too blitzed last night to have the foggiest idea what he was doing, and I...I totally took advantage of him.

Harry was almost glad of the pain in his head when he stood up because he felt pretty sure he deserved it. He hadn't any real idea how to begin to apologize for all this, but he figured that helping Draco out of his agony would at least be a start.

This is fucking awful.

Harry plodded slowly to the bathroom, head and wings drooping.

When Draco felt hands come to rest on his shoulders, part of him wanted to shrug off the touch and wallow in mortification alone. A much larger part wanted not to knock himself unconscious on the porcelain. Once he was fairly certain nothing more was forthcoming, Draco allowed himself to be steered to a seat on the bath mat. He pulled up his knees to make a shelf for his arms and buried his face in the resulting pretzel of limbs. Through the dull throb in his head, he noted the sound of water running and looked up with a violent shiver at the too-cold touch of a wet cloth at his temple.

Looking up proved something of a tactical error. Harry's face was right there, squinting at him in a way that looked absolutely painful. And yet, there he was being helpful, damn him.

"Hang on. Got to get rid of these." Harry's voice sounded like it was being dragged down a gravel road. He gently tucked the towel against Draco's forehead and stood up with a groan. Draco thought that he meant the wings until Harry stepped over to the sink and did something odd with his eyes, a vial, and two little cups. He groped around the counter for his glasses and with a sigh of relief, slipped them on. To Draco's dismay, they did nothing to diminish how disgustingly fit Harry looked. Draco hid his face in the cloth.

Why does the earth never actually swallow you up?

More noises, this time of a wand, then tumblers being Summoned, glass on tile, a cabinet door creaking, and little vials clinking. Harry's hand came to rest on Draco's shoulder again, but he hid until he heard a ragged, "Drink this."

Despite the utter and complete shit that Draco felt like now, he knew that he would feel even worse later for letting Harry wipe his face, help him sip water, get those embarrassing feathers untangled from the pitiful remains of his hair, and otherwise take care of him like a sick...well, not child, but debauched flat mate, perhaps. Then Harry tipped a pretty blue vial of Pain Relief potion down Draco's throat and fears of future self-loathing made way for an abjectly pathetic sense of gratitude.

"Feel better?"

Draco took another sip of water. He feared what his head might make of nodding, so he settled for answering in an embarrassingly small voice, "A little." The headache potion and water had washed away the worst of the 'seriously crappy' sensations, leaving mainly extreme embarrassment.

This was apparently the permission Harry needed to proceed with his own 'morning after' healing rituals. Fucking Merlin. No, no, please tell me that Saint Potter did NOT neglect his own hungover state and martyr himself for however long taking care of my pathetic self. Oh, God. Suicide is too good for me at this point. And he needs to cover his honorable arse before it drives me completely barking.

Harry managed to extricate himself from his harness. He let the wings fall to the bathroom floor in a heap. "At least they used the same non-chafing stuff on the harness as on the damned trousers."

Draco grasped at the thin hope that a humiliation shared was a humiliation halved. Knowing Harry, he might get him to take on more than half. "They got you with that line, too?"

"Bloody delinquents."

Draco let his head fall to his knees again. "Where did we go wrong?"

Harry slid down the wall to sit beside him. "Yours wasn't in on it."

"Yes, he was. He was part of the coercion team."

"Oh. Fuck. Where did we go wrong?"

It was then that Draco noticed his stomach. And remembered why it looked that way. Some evil impulse made him look at Harry, and by the blush heating his face until it looked as if it might melt his glasses frames, there was no doubt that Harry had noticed him... noticing.

No crying. No crying in front of Harry in the bathroom. There is no way in hell you will be able to convince Mr. Knight in Shining Armor that it would be a mercy to attempt to kill you this time. You will only embarrass yourself further.

"Would you like to use the shower?" It came out meekly and accompanied by the chivalrous gesture of Harry draping a towel around Draco's shoulders.

If I look up directly into the showerhead, can I drown myself?

Draco hid his face in his arms and hoped that if his voice sounded like it was breaking, Harry would nobly attribute it to being hungover. Just to be on the safe side, he whispered. "Yes, please."

Harry wasted no time in Transfiguring a spare toothbrush, grabbing his own razor and toothbrush, and escaping to the downstairs loo. He even refrained from taking a few seconds to Vanish those lurid leather monstrosities on the stairs.

Under the shower he scrubbed at the mess on his stomach, drowning in embarrassment. Since he'd not drunk nearly enough last night to forget how he'd made the mess, mortification was unable to mount a successful argument against his sex-starved penis, which was of the opinion that a good wank to the memory was in order. Or better yet, a march upstairs to repeat the performance with the principle player.

Why the hell did you bring him home with you?

Harry considered any number of perfectly pure motivations, the most convincing of which was keeping Draco from injuring or making a public spectacle of himself.

Our children are getting married soon, for Merlin's sake, and that's just the sort of thing you do for family.

The problem with that excuse was that Harry could easily have accomplished the same thing by taking Draco to the Manor and turning him over to a house-elf. The elves would have been more than happy to find Harry a room for the night if he didn't feel up to negotiating the Floo again. An even bigger problem with Harry's reasoning was that the image of Draco, nude and writhing on his sheets, was still taking up a considerable amount of his brain's visualization capacity.

Thanks a whole fucking heap, Luna, for bringing up bisexuality. Did it never occur to you that I was quite happy being oblivious?

Even dwelling on the fact that he was soon going to be related to Draco only exacerbated his angst without abating his arousal in the slightest.

The wedding is going to be a nightmare. I wonder if I can arrange to have an emergency call before the reception gets underway?

Harry winced under the onslaught of cold water and futilely wished that he could wash himself down the drain.

He wished it even more fervently about a minute later when he realized that he hadn't brought any clothes downstairs with him and that the only bit of fabric in the bathroom bigger than a hand towel was the bathmat.

No, no, no... it couldn't have happened. I... the alcohol made me a bit randy, and... and... with an actual warm body next to me, I... had a wet dream. Yes, that's it. Nothing whatsoever of a homosexual nature occurred here last night. Aside from the arse grabbing... and the nudity... and...

Water splashed into Draco's mouth, forcefully reminding him of lush, starved kisses that were most definitely not a dream and had most definitely been experienced with Harry.

At least he had the wet part right.

Well, it's not my fault! Potter... Potter took advantage of me! He overpowered me with all those big, strong, sexy Auror-muscles and... I... couldn't stop groping him...

Draco tried to make it work, he really did. It used to be very easy to lay all the blame for his troubles on H...Potter's doorstep, but that bitch maturity was raining on his parade. Not to mention that the mere thought of last night had forced him to frantically turn the taps all the way to cold.

Even in his drunken state, Har...P...bother, all right, HARRY...was trying to do something nice for me. But of course he was completely helpless in the face of my Veela-like radiance and I jumped all over him like some sailor who'd been at sea too long. He's going to go back to hating me and I'll have to feign some terrible illness to get out of the wedding reception so that I don't spoil it for the children by feeding the hostility in the room.

Draco turned off the taps and shivered.

"My life is over."

He grabbed the dressing gown on the back of the bathroom door and slunk into the bedroom. In two more seconds, he would have had a grand plan underway to run downstairs, secure his wand, sneak out the nearest door or window, and Apparate home. He would even convince himself to part with the delightfully warm, Harry-scented garment and owl it back with a painfully formal little thank-you note.

Unfortunately for Draco's master plan, it was only one second before Harry popped into the bedroom, grabbed something shiny...and green?...out of a drawer, saying, "I'll just make breakfast for us, then," in a too-high voice before disappearing down the stairs. All while not quite covered by a very, very small towel.

Fuck. I forgot. My plans never work.

Harry was aware of Draco in a way that was almost painful. The sounds of the kettle and the various little clickings and rustlings attended upon making tea and fishing the bread out of its box for toast failed to hide the soft pad of his feet on the tile. Harry could have sworn that he could smell his own soap and shampoo, scents that he had stopped noticing on himself long ago. Draco's skin seemed to have a remarkable alchemy that turned them into something wonderful and excitingly new. Leave it to a Malfoy to make cheap soap smell like something exotic. This is going to be torture.

"Will tea and toast be okay?" Harry paid careful attention to his breathing so that the words wouldn't come out stilted. Or at least not too stilted.

There was a long pause behind him. Draco was probably evaluating the state of his stomach. "I think so." Harry heard a chair squeak. "Thank you." It came out a bit stilted, but at least Draco didn't sound like someone who was contemplating filing a sexual assault charge.

"What about eggs?"

"Please, don't go to any trouble."

Are you kidding? Any excuse not to turn around yet. "No trouble." Harry was pleased to note that he actually did have eggs in the refrigerator, which was not-too-poorly-stocked considering his bachelor state.

"So. Do you do this often?"

"What?"

"Make breakfast for last evening's... company."

"Company?" Harry was trying to figure out what his frequency of houseguests or lack thereof had to do with their situation and why Draco sounded so... almost petulant. Jealous. He sounds... jealous.

"No! Um... haven't exactly had 'company' since the wife left." Does this mean... is that what he thinks of what we did last night? That it was something... to get jealous about? Harry hazarded a glance over his shoulder and felt a pleasant little curl of warmth in his chest at the sight of Draco's hair trailing down in a soft, almost-white curtain over his faintly blushing profile. And do I really mind if he does?

"Oh. Right. Same h...That is, I haven't really had the time... work..." Some of the tension had left Draco's voice. Luna is not allowed to make another crack about my ability to read people.

"Who has time to go out, really."

"Yes, exactly."

"I suppose that's what got us into this mess."

"Sorry?"

"The kids and their matchmaking-by-costume. They've been bugging me... Hell, everyone I know has been after me to 'get out more.'" Harry felt as if he'd just chugged a Babbling Beverage, but he needed to get back to last night to make sure everything really was all right.

It appeared to be the special of the day, judging by how quickly Draco rattled off his response. "Yes, all their fault. Detestable. Just when we were getting along..." Draco swallowed whatever he might have said in a too-fast gulp of tea.

"I'm really sorry. I should have done a better job of... heading that off." It sounded a bit lame owing to the fact that Harry was having trouble feeling sorry.

"No, I'm sorry. I rather... miscalculated... how much it was safe to drink."

Harry sat down with only the corner of the table between him and Draco. Not as close as sitting directly next to him, but not on the opposite side of the table where they would stare at each other confrontationally... or where Harry would feel as if Draco was too far away. "We were terribly drunk. No reason to...to not get along."

"No reason."

This should have been where Harry breathed a sigh of relief, certain that the awkwardness level at the wedding would be bearable.

Instead, Harry thought about how Draco didn't need to be dolled up as a Veela and looking slightly feminine to make Harry feel slightly dizzy. He contemplated how gorgeously vulnerable Draco looked wearing Harry's silly 'Sexy Grandpa' dressing gown and trying to keep his hair positioned just so that it hid the bald area. He considered how most of his close friends...and rather more to the point, at least while he was contemplating Draco, his own penis...all seemed convinced that Harry was bisexual. Then he threw caution to the wind, looked directly at Draco, and said, "I said that I liked you last night."

Draco looked shocked in an almost comically wide-eyed fashion, then a little upset, then completely pink in the face, and directing his small, mortified voice into the lapels of the dressing gown, he asked, "Before or after we brought each other off?"

Perhaps Luna had a point after all because Harry couldn't figure out where the landmines were in that question, though he could sense their metaphorical menace. When in doubt, tell the truth. You're a crap liar anyway. "Be...before."

"Oh." Draco exerted a palpable act of willpower and ceased shredding the bit of toast on his plate. Harry was afraid that Draco's face might explode if the rather alarming shades it was attaining were indicative. "Right. Well. That's...that's all right, then."

"Er... Good."

Harry sipped his tea to keep from saying anything else. Or to keep from looking as if he wasn't saying anything else. Draco nibbled a morsel of toast and washed it down cautiously as if testing to see if it was inclined to return.

"I said I liked you, too," Draco said suddenly, peeking up over the teacup with a little smile. He'd faded back to a rather cute shade of pink.

Harry couldn't do much besides grin as best he could around a mouthful of eggs, which he swallowed painfully fast so as to be able to utter a profound, "Yeah." Harry suspected that the silliness of his grin was increasing exponentially, if the warm, fuzzy feeling welling up in his chest had anything to say about it.

Draco picked at his scramble again. This time it looked less as if he were afraid of vomiting it up and more as if he was stalling for time. "So, ah, are you," he coughed, took a quick sip of tea, "gay?"

"Bi." Harry managed not to add, 'I think.' That probably would have sounded insulting, under the circumstances. "And you?" he asked, cursing himself the instant the words left his mouth sounding hopelessly hopeful.

Brilliant, Harry. You're just as much of a boob when going after a bloke as after a bird. At least there's one constant in all this.

Harry likes me...when he's half-dressed and entirely sober!

It took Draco a minute to quell the giddy little voice in his mind and recognize that 'bi' meant someone who likes to Seek for both teams, as it were. Yes, the term 'bisexual' came up rather a lot last night. It sounded sophisticated. More importantly, it would facilitate doing something... half-dressed and entirely sober... with Harry. Something really pleasant. Right. 'Bi' works.

"Me, too," he affirmed quickly. Having this discussion at breakfast was an excellent tactical situation. He could shove something in his mouth while he thought of less inane things to say, thinking with a little inward smirk of satisfaction that Harry, unlike Astoria, probably wasn't going to make a pinched face at him and try to guilt him into spilling all his thoughts.

Draco found himself blinking at his reflection in the tea. For the first time in five years, he'd thought his ex-wife's name without feeling a red-hot knife stab him right below the ribcage.

Kissing Harry wasn't so bad. Who am I kidding...it was fucking brilliant, and that thing with the nipples...

"Well, that's, um, not quite as awkward, then."

Draco looked up in a slight panic, wondering if Harry had noticed him reacting to the memory. He calmed himself, realizing that a twitch behind a robe, under a table, wasn't going to get anyone's notice. Not even the Head Auror's. Of course, as 'Head Auror' took on an entirely different connotation in Draco's mind, the twitch developed into an erection of a magnitude that probably constituted some sort of record for a half-hungover all-but-middle-aged wizard.

Come to think of it, dwelling on 'hungover middle-aged wizard' labels wasn't doing himself justice. He had the body of a man in his... early thirties, at least from the eyebrows down. Granted, he didn't look like a poster for a Muggle gymnasium, but Draco felt fairly confident in his ability to hold the attention of the conveniently located bloke in the room who did.

Okay, okay, you win this one, Millie. Tits don't always do it for me, either.

"Well, that's good." It seemed the thing to stand up just then, so Draco did. He didn't stop to consider that he was already 'standing up,' though he realized his miscalculation fairly quickly when Harry's eyes fixed approximately at the sash of the robe, but not quite.

Oops.

Before Draco could decide on an escape route, Harry pushed his chair back from the table. Though he never got to his feet, Draco could readily tell that Harry was rather standing up as well.

"Yeah... good." Harry even managed to look up at Draco's face while he said it. That was more than sufficient impetus for Draco to take the few steps necessary to stand right in front of Harry, their knees brushing. Harry stood so that they were almost eye to eye, and oh, what eyes. Perhaps it was just the contrast with the still pinkish whites, but Draco could swear that Harry's eyes were actually a more intense green than Lily's, and Draco strongly suspected that he would have breathing difficulties shortly if he kept looking into their sea-like depths. Then he swept his eyes over the rest of Harry and wound up lightheaded anyway, his only clear thought being that if he could keep Harry out of shirts, he would really have something there.

"They're right... we should get over it." He leaned in closer still, returning to Harry's eyes. A warm hand on Draco's cheek and warm breath over his lips brought his own eyelids to half-mast. Whatever Harry saw in those half-closed eyes brought something roaring to life that was not at all cool and sea-like; more like emerald lightning.

"Get on with life." The first kiss fell, soft and just the tiniest bit moist, on his chin; the second, on his lower lip.

"Find someone." Draco paused between kisses, his own lips finding Harry's cheek and forehead despite the dark behind his eyelids.

"Have fun." Harry's voice was dark with the sort of promise that not even breakfast breath could diminish.

Even so, it sort of surprised Draco when Harry lifted him up and the little kisses were replaced by a whole lot of tongue. But he honestly couldn't say that it displeased him.

Harry figured that they'd thrown their dignity over the hedge sometime last night. Sitting in the kitchen still slightly hungover and staring bemusedly at each other's crotches had washed any remaining dregs down the drain. So, rather than keep up with the pleasant soft little pecks, Harry simply grabbed Draco about the waist, sat down, and pulled Draco into his lap. Because, damn it, he hadn't had any in ages, and last night had been fucking brilliant, even pissed out of his mind. It turned out that it was even better sober.

Okay, rethinking the sarcasm angle. Thanks, Luna. This time, for real.

Apparently, Draco was equally willing to let dignity be damned. After an initial squawk of surprise, he wriggled around so that he could straddle Harry's lap, and they set about snogging in earnest. Draco's teeth were sharp, and he made little, whiney, growling sounds whenever Harry scraped him with the little patch of stubble he'd missed in his haphazard attempt at shaving. Harry wondered if Draco would be willing to take this to the table... or the floor... The floor's not that dir... Table. Definitely table.

He was distracted by Draco snickering. "Is this your idea of sympathetic magic?"

Harry followed Draco's gaze to where he was staring pointedly at Harry's boxers. It took Harry a moment to tear his mind away from the thought that their erections weren't close enough together to realize that Draco had been reading the damned pants.

"George and Angelina gave them to me after a trip to Las Vegas. So... are they going to prove prophetic?" He leered at Draco and rolled his hips so that the emphatically tented words, 'I GOT LUCKY WEARING THESE' ground against the other man in all their cheap, satiny, card-suits-printed-on-green glory.

Draco stopped in mid-snicker with a low, impassioned groan. Harry took advantage of his open mouth and invaded possessively. Draco's tongue tasted of buttered toast and tea sweetened with whimpering sounds, and Harry sucked on it with great enthusiasm as he felt long fingers work their way into the waistband of his boxers. Harry growled...almost a snarl, really...and practically ripped the dressing gown from Draco's shoulders, his hands wandering in a frenzy down the back of the battered garment before he switched tactics and sent one in through the gap in front to return the favor. If their mouths hadn't been so tightly fused together, Harry was certain that the sound Draco made would have come out as a shriek.

"Still feel like making fun of my pants, Mr. Wizard-in-a-robe-that-reads 'Sexy Grandpa?'"

"I... put it on... I didn't read it," Draco panted. "And it's your robe." He pulled away enough to slip Harry's glasses up to the top of his head and stare at him from intensely close. "Fits you," he said throatily.

There was only one reasonable response to that as far as Harry was concerned. He abandoned Draco's back in favor of a firm hold on his arse so as to pull their groins as close together as their position allowed. It worked brilliantly last night. Why mess with success? Within seconds, they were rocking against each other, the chair creaking a rhythmic protest in counterpoint to their steady moaning.

Which probably accounted for why they didn't hear anything until the yelling commenced.

Morning witnessed the curious spectacle of Albus Severus struggling with the door of his dad's house while Lily, Scorpius, and Anastasia stood around him, all clothed in various pilfered items from Scorpius' wardrobe and expressions much less cheerful than one would expect of people who'd all had the benefit of a decent shag the night before.

Al's mouth was set in a thin, cranky line. Whether it was because of the unusual difficulty he was having with the locked door or because of Scorpius' constant fretting was not entirely clear.

"Father's not been out overnight since Mother left us! Luna didn't remember him being at the unmasking, so he's been gone since before midnight last night."

"For the tenth time, lover, Daddy will be able to find him," Lily wrapped her arm firmly around Scorpius' waist to stop him from pacing. "I'm sure he just got a bit tipsy and went home with a friend to sleep it off. Auntie Luna said that Millicent was there."

"Oh, yes. Dear, responsible Millicent was there to save the day. I feel ever so much better now." Scorpius pulled a face for emphasis. "I still don't know why we're tiptoeing around on the doorstep instead of Apparating right in."

"Because Dad locked the Floo last night. He NEVER does that. And I sure as hell don't want to pop in on him while he's either hungover or with some silly tart he picked up at the party. Or both." Al's patience, not the most impressive to begin with, was worn to a thread. And Scorpius was jumping on the thread.

Anastasia giggled behind her hand. "Al, the only silly tart your dad fancies involves a crimped crust."

"Bloody hell, Dad must have been drunk as a lord to set crazy wards like these." Al swore as the key finally turned.

"Drunk? Hungover? Honestly, Al, since when does Dad drink to excess?"

"If he was as unhappy about his costume as Father was, he might have had a few too many...and he might have decided to sample a different kind of pastry," Scorpius said darkly.

Which just went to show how very unfair it was that Scorpius wasn't awarded an 'O' in Divination.

The door finally yielded, and they all stood for a moment on the threshold, given serious pause by the notion of parental nudity.

"Okay... Ana, you re-open the Floo. Lily, we'll go upstairs to look for Dad, and Scorpius, you go get tea ready so that we can wake him up enough to be useful."

They cleared the small foyer and began branching out off to their respective destinations. Several things happened in very quick succession.

The first was that Lily paused, one foot on the stairs. "Crap! Al, I think you were right." She pointed at the costume bits on the stairs and shuddered.

The second was that Al, barely having registered the black trousers and stray boot sprawled rather obscenely across the steps, heard an unidentifiable noise from the direction of the kitchen. Fearing that Dad might be doing something untoward there...hopefully just burning toast in a state of undress, but one couldn't be too careful...he whirled to head off Scorpius. "Wait, Scorp, I..."

The third was that Ana rushed in from the living room with her eyes bulging, a silver sandal dangling from her nerveless fingers. "Lily..." she whispered, as if she wanted a second opinion before daring to break the news to Al.

And while Lily was trying to pick her jaw up off the floor and Al was sprinting toward the kitchen, Scorpius, having heard none of the warnings and seen none of the signs, strolled into the kitchen and promptly screamed.

"AHHH! MY EYES!"

Harry peeked up over Draco's bare shoulder. His glasses fell back into place just in time for him to see two thirds of his offspring clatter to an open-mouthed halt behind Scorpius, who had one hand over his eyes and the other flung outward as if to ward off something hideous. Anastasia peeked under Scorpius' outstretched arm, Draco's sandal clutched against her chest like a prop in a slightly off-color Cinderella story. Harry had the unsettling feeling that her eyes were wide with interest more than shock; he dazedly marked that her resemblance to Luna was uncanny.

"This is like a Greek Tragedy! Isn't there some sort of fathers-in-law incest taboo?" Anastasia broke out in surprised giggles, somewhat detracting from Scorpius' ongoing rant.

"Now who's taking 'Drama Potions?'" Draco muttered sulkily.

"Well... At least I was right about one thing. Daddy was able to find Papa," Lily said weakly.

Al rubbed at the side of his nose as if he could coax the headache from between his eyes and out of his body by that route. "Dad, um, I know I said you needed to get out... but this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh, God. If we don't look up and pretend they're not here, will they go away?" Draco said, his complaint muffled against Harry's shoulder. Harry couldn't see Draco blushing, but he was almost certain that he could actually feel the blood redirecting itself from Draco's erection to his face.

Harry sighed. "I've been trying that for years and it hasn't worked so far."

Anastasia slid down the doorframe to the floor, still giggling and clutching that bloody sandal.

"Father, even WE don't have enough money for all the therapy I'm going to need."

"Shh, Scorpius, love." Lily snuggled against him reassuringly. Scorpius clung to her.

Not sure what you're worried about, boy. You look entirely too heterosexual for my comfort when you're wrapped around my baby girl. If she didn't have your ring on her finger, you'd be chasing your bollocks down the front walk.

"Bloody hell. Take Sophocles home and shag him so he quits fretting about...whatever it is about this that has him worried," Draco said to Lily. Harry smacked Draco soundly on the bum for his trouble.

"No suggesting that until they're married," Harry said severely.

"No spanking where we can find out about it," Al countered. "You and Mum didn't...no, wait, wait. I don't want to know. Seriously." His face appeared to be stuck in a permanent wince.

Ana's condition deteriorated into a full-on belly laugh.

Lily's face turned a few interesting colors. "Shall we just agree not to mention the sex lives of anyone in this room, and leave it at that?"

"Sounds good to me!" Scorpius addressed the ceiling in a strained voice. "Father... Dad... Ah... Nice seeing...um...Have a lovely day!" He spun and pulled Lily after him.

Al collected Ana from the floor. "Owl when it's safe to come back," he called dryly over his shoulder. As they headed for the door he said more quietly to Ana, "Okay, now you and Lily really need to keep fronting for us. Our reputations definitely won't survive being publicly acknowledged fashion designers under the circumstances."

"I heard that!" Harry shouted after them. Judging by the outraged noise that he made, Draco heard it as well.

Notes:

Well, it's been lovely! I'd like to thank SeverusLovesUs for the benefit of her beta skills, and...

Sorry?

What do you mean, I can't stop it there?

Oh, very well. ONE more chapter. But then, bedtime, you lot.