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To have and to keep

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Blimey, Father… I didn’t know you had it in you! The romantic streak in this particular parent of mine was a proper shock to me. But not as much as to one Ronald Weasley. He had actually let his precious key drop on the ground. His key! Of course, the bloody key did little to protect their shop – the Diagon Alley wasn’t exactly crawling with Muggles and the elaborate locking charms and the well-known owners’ ability to retribute for mischief more than did the job – but according to Rose, her father loved that key. It was a symbol of his ownership, of his professional success, of him winning at life that offered little prospects to once-poor Ronald Weasley, who, by his own account, never thought he would amount to much. Ronald was always there to lock up, Rose told me. That’s how he liked to end his day: by looking on his good fortune and smiling at his silly key and his kind fate. So, when the key dropped, I knew it was serious.

He picked it up quickly, not by bending down, but by making it zoom into his hand, and this time, he was not smiling. He had a confused, suspicious expression on his face, as if he wasn’t entirely sure that the United Front of Terrible Malfoys didn’t simply decide to pull his leg.

“What are you on about?” he asked, his face frowning. “I thought he was… I thought you were…” He had changed his mind mid-sentence and looked at me, and I knew what he was going to say: he knew about James and I ever since James required his assistance in that disastrous Room of the requirement plan, yet Ron Weasley wasn’t entirely sure if my father knew and didn’t want to embarrass me in front of him. That… was lovely of him, to be honest. I guess I finally figured out where Hugo got it from.

“If you are referring to me, dating your godson James for the last couple of months, yes, that bit was true,” I told him sincerely, though with no little amount of embarrassment. “The operative word being was, of course,” I added as quickly as I could. “We broke up this morning because… because I could no longer keep my feelings for your son at bay. I was quite… smitten with Hugh before I started dating James, but I thought him too young and I couldn’t see… “ – oh, Merlin, how to tell him that I thought his son was not good enough for me without him hexing me into my early grave? – “… I couldn’t quite see how we could be compatible,” I finally uttered miserably.

He was looking at me with those sharp Weasley-blue eyes as if he was trying to figure how much I was adjusting the truth, and I swallowed thickly. Just when he frowned a little and I thought that it was all over – that he was going to tell me what a bloody fraud I was and to get the hell away from his son – he tilted his head gently – another bittersweet reminder of whose father he was – and offered me a single word:


And I couldn’t jump at my one chance fast enough. My treacherous voice was shaking, because this was so bloody important, but I dove into the hazardous water without a single thought to spare:

“But I’m too crazy about him to stay away. Sorry… I mean, yeah… I don’t have other words. I thought I could date someone else while he was… um, off-limits, and for a while I tried, I really tried. But though James is totally gorgeous and the best bloke ever, I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t, yeah? I kept thinking of Hugo, I kept drifting towards him – and every time I dragged myself back again, away from him, I felt more like shit – sorry, uhm, yeah – and more wrong. I totally fu… screwed up my relationship with James and I was making myself and Hugo miserable. So, in the end, I told him I wanted to be with him, and I was, I mean, we were, uhm… you know… together. But then I fu – … I mean I bollocksed that up as well, and I used the wrong words – just my bloody luck! I said something that could be interpreted the way I had meant it or quite the opposite way, really, and now… Now we’re both miserable and I really, really need to see him and tell him how I had actually meant it, and how bonkers I am about him. And if you could only…”

I stopped, because Ron Weasley’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter and he didn’t really bother to keep his booming voice down:

“Your son said “bollocksed”, Malfoy!”

“Of course he did, you… big ginger adolescent,” my father replied mildly, with a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, keeping remarkably calm. “I keep telling him that he can’t expect his manners to improve by associating with you, freckled lot, but the spoilt brat insists, imagine that! Not only he has stubbornly remained best friends with your daughter over the years, I’m afraid he can’t be persuaded to stay away from your – uhm, shall we call him interesting? notorious? – son either. He’s quite convinced, I assure you. Dug his heels in, and all. So, if you’d be so kind as to point us in the direction where your brother Charles took your son – I was told, in quite a spectacular fashion – before he is lost to us in god-forsaken mountains of Romania, we’d be most grateful. Time could be of the essence, you know.”

“Wait…” Ron Weasley’s face once again contorted in a frown. “You mean, you don’t object? To my son and yours? I was willing to point this fine – eloquent, heh – son of yours in the right direction just to spite you! You can’t tell me you’ll take all the fun out of it for me?!”

“Weasley, you absolute… simpleton,” my father rolled his eyes up, but much to my surprise it brought a little ghost of a smile onto Ron Weasles’y face. “Why would I possibly bother dragging my only son around, still in his Hogwarts clothes, if I opposed?” my father wanted to know with pompous indignation and a raised blond eyebrow, that was really getting its annual portion of exercise this evening.

“Besides – much good would it do me, if I did!” my distinguished parent then hmpf-ed and made a face. “I can see you and my son are not very well acquainted, in spite of his many visits to your home. This fine, benevolent-looking child of mine can honestly put any determined mule to shame when he wraps his mind around something – well, someone in this case. So, this is it, I’m afraid. Might as well call this one a deal, and start calling you ‘Ronald, old chap’ because it appears we’re going to be related,” my father commented dryly, and this time Ron Weasley actually knocked his head backwards and roared with laughter.

“Good grief, surely not… Draco, old chum,” he managed to choke out, before the sour expression on my father’s face made his booming laughter explode again.

“Oh, my fucking Christ in Merlin’s reindeer sweater, I haven’t laughed this hard since Hugo accidentally stuck fairy wings onto Harry’s back and he had to go to work like that.”

I couldn’t help it – I knew it was inappropriate, but the mental image of Head Auror Potter floating around with fairy wings on his back made me quite unfit to hold back a giggle. Even my stern father could barely swallow a smile.

“Merlin… what do you lot get up to?” he murmured, trying in vain to sound indignant rather than entertained, but this time Ron Weasley just shrugged nonchalantly and winked at me:

“You’ll find out soon enough if you’re going to be a part of the family. Just you wait until the first family dinner…” he said, with traces of laughter still lingering about his voice that made it sound a little less than a promise of doom that it probably was.

And this time it was my father’s turn to look intrigued.

“You… surprise me, Weasley,” he suddenly blurted out. “I confess I expected more resistance to the idea of your son and mine forming… a bond?”

But Ron Weasley just chuckled.

“It’s obvious you never met my son at all, Malfoy. I’m sure Scorpius can enlighten you in detail, but let’s just say that Hugo didn’t get his reputation undeserved. Frankly, I’d rather go against your mad aunt Bella – dead or not – armed with an Elder wand, than against my devious, unscrupulous child. Blimey, I’d probably never sleep again if I tried to stand in the way of his heart. My son is smart, Malfoy,” the redhead said with no small amount of fatherly pride. “Smart and brave; determined and perfectly obsessed when he truly wants something. And if he managed to persuade Scorpius that he was right for him, there’s no doubt in my mind he truly wants him – and no one else will do.”

Bless the man… bless him! That was Hugo’s father, right here, and he had given me hope beyond anything I thought possible. I tried to express my gratitude with a huge grin that just slipped off my lips and very likely made me looked a tad demented, but he returned it with his own, and added matter-of-factly:

“And as far as I go, I reckon he could have made a worse choice. Some son you’ve got, Malfoy.”

“Quite,” my father replied calmly, but still looked uncommonly pleased. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if we were braver in our choices?” he asked unexpectedly, and though I was left wondering what he had meant by it, Ron Weasley seemed to understand.

“Only all the time,” he said quietly. “As you might imagine, I’m determined not to see my son make the same mistakes.”

“Potter?” my father said nearly gently, and I remembered Hugo’s words. Finally, I knew what this was all about, and Ron Weasley didn’t need to confirm – the expression on his face spoke volumes.

“None of your business,” he finally said curtly, but my father didn’t seem insulted, merely resigned.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the redhead cut off abruptly, obviously determined not to linger upon things he could not fix. His voice was all business again. “I reckon you want to follow me, gentlemen. As you correctly pin-pointed, Malfoy – time might be off the essence. So, your boy can’t Disapparate on his own yet? Merlin, they’re so young! At this age, I was still exchanging my Victor Krum Quidditch cards,” he mumbled, and then ordered us adamantly: “Hold on to some part of me, firmly, unless you want to end up in the sea. This one is a long one.”

So, I promptly took Ron Weasley’s warm, giant hand, and after a bit of hesitation and the obligatory eye-roll, my father took his other hand.

“The things I do for my child…” were the last words he grunted before we disappeared into a rubbery blob of nothingness.


The first thing I heard when the whoosh of air from the Apparition was gone, was a magnificent roar. Seriously. Magnificent. Blood-curdling if you like. And the sight was no less petrifying. We found ourselves literally feet away from a majestic silver dragon, scaled, horned and mean-looking. Even with wings folded it was still looking like a small mountain, and what really made me nearly jump out of my jittery skin was the sight of it trying to burn a hole through invisible barrier held in place by a single man, a very scarred middle-aged wizard, performing intricate spells with the wand. The only comforting fact was, that the beast was currently facing away from us, clearly all the way too livid to notice the presence of three intruders it could easily squash with a mere sweep of its spiked tail. Merlin… Hugo was madder than I thought! Who’d ever want to work with those?! Was he all right?! Heavens…!

“Ups,” Ron Weasley said – calmly enough, given the circumstances! – though he had a good grace of looking alarmed and a bit sheepish. “Stay perfectly calm, will you? We might have apparated into the dragon’s enclosure by mistake. I swear they must have moved the damn thing… Bloody hell, I forgot how big those beasts were. Still, we should be all right if we manage to remain very still. Take my hands again, the pair of you. I’ll move us just a bit…”

In the next second I felt another wooosh of Apparition and we found ourselves mere yards away from the roaring dragon, this time in front of him, but behind the barrier, clearly visible from this perspective.

“Sorry about that. I swear it was not so close to the sea last time I was here! Anyone missing something? Uhm, like, an eyebrow or such…?”

His voice died at the sight of my father’s livid face.

“Weasley, you idiot!” my concerned parent barked without a second’s delay. “I swear if something happened to my son…”

“But it didn’t!” I said quickly, eager to get out of this particular, very heated, spot – figuratively and literally – as soon as possible. What if Hugo was in danger?! He could be hurting! Clearly they didn’t have everything under control in this circus, and the very thought of his reckless bravery and his fascination with the scaly beasts sent shivers down my spine.

“Let’s just get out of here,” I pleaded with my father, purposefully ignoring his fuming face, because, frankly, I didn’t give a rat’s arse how badly he wanted to give Ron Weasley a piece of his mind – not nearly frantic with worry and anxiety as I was! Time for my secret weapon, then…

“Please, Father… Dad,” I looked my upset parent straight in the eye. “Nothing happened, honestly. And I really just want to see Hugo… what if he’s hurt?”  

I kind of choked a bit on that last sentence, but it was not my emotion that broke his resolve. Calling my father ‘Dad’ was something I didn’t do very often, so I reckon he knew I meant business when I played that card. I had a suspicion it melted his heart just a little when I did it, and for Hugo, I was willing to be as heart-melting as it took! My father’s eyes softened a little, and when Ron Weasley unexpectedly clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way – “Yeah, let’s find my son, Malfoy, this is what we’re here for. I’ll buy you a pint later and you can shout all you like at me for my incompetence in front of all the local charred dragon-minders!” – Draco Malfoy somehow managed to swallow all his spiky remarks and he only snorted in reply.

“Sounds like a fair deal, I suppose. Lead the way, you ginger menace. I don’t wish to perish under the accusatory arrows from my son’s eyes aimed at me.”

In the end, we had to ask a few people – all of them worse for wear – if anyone had seen a underage lad running around the camp freely – surely an uncommon sight to behold – but no one had. Perhaps they had left already, and we were too late! Oh, I was completely ready to work myself into a frenzy, until…

“You wouldn’t happen to know if any recent apparitions took place recently?” my father politely asked a tall, chatty fellow, that seemed like the millionth muscled, scarred man we encountered.

“Nope, no international apparitions took place since noon, sorry,” said the man, and smiled good-naturedly. “Someone thought it was funny to nick all the portkeys and we haven’t been able to find them yet,” he explained, sounding half irritated, half entertained. “It’s usually quite calm here, but today the bloody place is a nuthouse!”

He kept talking, but I had already heard what I wanted to hear. Someone nicked all the portkeys. Talk about the leaving a mark! And he was still here, he hadn’t gone yet – didn’t want to leave, perhaps? Oh, time was indeed of the essence!

“Please,” I said hastily. “Have you perhaps seen a boy – a young man – oh, damn, someone my age? We’re looking for him and he shouldn’t be that hard to spot – I don’t think this place is exactly crawling with kids, nor it should be! – but no one seems to have seen him! Have you, perhaps…”

“You must be talking about Charlie’s nephew, I reckon. About as tall as Charlie, same red hair, lots of freckles? Very bright blue eyes?”

When I kept nodding enthusiastically through his words, eagerly enough to break my neck, he whistled, and pointed us to a stone shed, about the length of a Quidditch field away from us:

“Good luck with that one! What a kid! He took on a fully grown Ukrainian Ironbelly, when it broke the confine about half an hour ago! He got injured a bit, obviously, but he survived, imagine that, and the dragon still looks a bit drowsy – I don’t know what the hell he hit it with! Aren’t you, kids, not supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts? Anyway, he should be in there. Someone’s taking care of him. Crazy lad. Totally brilliant.”

I was right! He was injured! Oh, my god, I stupidly let him leave and he got injured and now… what if I never see him again?! How badly was he injured? I didn't even bother giving the man my 'thank yous' for the valuable information, I was too busy sprinting towards the shed not giving a damn about gratitude or my father and Ron Weasley keeping up. But they were clearly on my heels when I heard Ron Weasley’s voice pant angrily in a worried voice:

“Bloody child! He’ll be the death of me, he will! Can’t let him out of my sight, not ever, not for a moment, not since he started bloody walking! All the portkeys missing? I bet you my wand-hand that was him! And now he got injured! Hermione is going to fry my balls in front of me for this, for having talked her into this madness!”

“Calm down, Weasley,” my father tried to be reasonable, but for once he didn’t sound too patronising or snotty. “I’m sure your son is all right. You heard the man; he said he had survived…”

All right, so I never claimed that my father’s sense for giving comfort was well developed… But having said that, you have to give him some credit: at least he tried to sound sympathetic towards one Weasley, and surely, that was nothing short of a blasphemy according to the unwritten book on “How to be a Malfoy”. But at that moment I cared very little for their bickering and the way their relationship was progressing from “intolerable” to a grumpy “if I must”. I had reached the door of the shed and I barged right through, without ever considering if it might be locked or warded. I was lucky. It opened without hexing me back to the Middle ages, and the sight that met me took my breath away.

Hugo, my beautiful Hugh, was sitting on the sturdy old stool in the middle of the room, with his bare back against the door – and he seemed perfectly alright, and very much alive. His flaming hair was once again caught in a man-bun, exposing that beautiful strong, elegant neck I as good as worshipped, and leaving miles and miles of that creamy skin I loved to mark freely on display. The necklace I gave him seemed to still be safely in place; shimmering around his neck like a silver snake. Oh.My.God, he was a vision! My mouth dried up at the sight of him, and I’m afraid my relieved squeak “Hugo…” came out of my mouth quite soundless.

But then there was movement in the tiny room, and suddenly it looked as if the place got entirely filled up by a presence of a very fit, shirtless man, that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and came to stand behind my Hugh, all the way too close for my liking. I’ve honestly never seen anyone with wider shoulders and more badass dragon-tattoos etched across a ridiculously muscled back, and my heartbeat suddenly kicked into a rage at the sight of such competition.

“Hold those up,” the man ordered in a deep voice, sweeping the few lose strands of Hugo’s silken hair from his neck, and it wasn’t until Hugo’s arm shot up to oblige him that I realised what was about to happen. It only took one look at those large hands, sliding across my beloved back, rubbing intently around those sexy square shoulders, I loved to hold on to when we made love, to completely derail me. That, there, was mine. Mine alone! Mine!!!

I didn’t even think. There was no time for that. The wave of possessiveness and jealousy that washed over me was entirely irrational and all the way unstoppable. To this day, I can’t remember taking my wand out and I could not, for the love of Merlin, recall later, what I had hit him with.

“Get away from him!!!” I screeched at the top of my lungs as I launched myself at them. “He’s mine! He’s taken! Can’t you see?! You can’t have him!”

“What the actual fuck…?” the man growled, sounding confused, yet jumping away as if he had been stung. But I pad him no attention. I wanted my Hugh, I wanted to know if we were all right, I wanted to beg him not to leave me.

“Scorpius?!” my beloved redhead finally turned towards me with an incredulous look in those stunning blue eyes, and it only took one glimpse of that pretty, freckled face to melt what was left of my self-restraint and bits of sanity, into a useless puddle. “What on Merlin’s poxy earth…? How did you…?”

“Hugh, I’m so sorry!” I blurted out as I fell around his neck. I paid no attention to the fact that I nearly knocked him over, I kept on blathering with no sense whatsoever as if my life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Please, don’t be mad at me… I’m bonkers about you, I love you. I know I screwed up… I said it all wrong… I came as fast as I could… Please, don’t leave with him! I love you more!”

I wasn’t properly comforted until I felt his arms wrap around me and hold me close, and I let myself drown in that unique, divine Hugo scent that always made me yearn for more… and inevitably made me go hard. Oh, bloody hell, I needed this! He was hugging me back, he wasn’t angry! Oh, the feeling of him wrapped around me was almost too much. I was such an emotional wreck I felt like bawling. If I could have it my way, I would have melted right into him and never leave.

“Well, I did want to leave with him…” he murmured quietly, sounding strangely entertained – and I couldn’t for the love of god figure out why, because there was clearly nothing to laugh about! How was this a laughing matter?!

“You can’t!” I half-sobbed, and held onto him tightly enough to bruise. “I won’t let you. You can’t. I love you,” I sniffed, feeling the silly angry tears pooling in my eyes. Why was he so heartless?!


He whispered my name gently in my ear, the way it made me shiver, and then nuzzled against me like a giant ginger kneazle begging for forgiveness.

“My silly Scorpius…”

It totally melted my heart, hearing him call me ‘his’, all right?! It did. Oh, god, let there still be hope for us…

“Bloody hell, Charlie, you’re bleeding! Was that the dragon or Malfoy’s nutjob son?” I heard a half worried, half entertained voice of Ron Weasley’s emerging from some place behind my back.

Well, that Charlie could go and fuck of! He wasn’t having my Hugh. He wasn’t… oh. Charlie. That wouldn’t be…

I finally pulled my head out of Hugo’s embrace just a smidge, only to take a closer look at my rival, and much to my horror I noticed that the tightly cropped hair was indeed bright red, and then there were all those freckles… a proper ocean of them… oh. Oh! Oh, bloody hell. Just my fucking luck. I'll have an Avada K. over here, please, undiluted. Even my distinguished father looked as he was barely keeping a good hearty laughter at bay, and that was saying something!

“Scorpius Malfoy, meet my brother Charlie… Hugo’s uncle,” the bark of laughter that escaped Ron Weasley mid-sentence confirmed my worst fears. I felt like dying on the spot of embarrassment… and quite a bit of relief, to be honest. But, seriously – how was I supposed to know?! How did someone called ‘Uncle’ end up looking like a hunky sex bomb?! It was improper! And confusing!

“Charlie, this is Hugo’s boyfriend Scorpius Malfoy. He’s got… attachment issues.”

“Bloody hell! A tad mental, is he?” the redheaded brute mumbled to himself, nursing his bleeding arm and looking in general very grumpy. “A Malfoy, you said? I reckon I’m lucky he only got me in one arm, Dad always said they wanted to skin us alive. Is there anyone here that can actually do some quick, on-the-spot healing before I bleed out? I prefer you don’t come near me, Ronnekins, I’d hate it if my wound suddenly started splurting slugs!”


“Git!” Ron Weasley mumbled, but none too resentfully. “Suits you right. You should know better than to come between a mating dragon and his mate,” he waved in my direction. “I’ll let Malfoy Senior here fuck you up if my healing skills aren’t good enough for Mr. Head Dragon-Tamer.” 

“It’s dragon care-taker, Ronnie-boy… and Merlin the sockless, just how many Malfoys did you bring along?!”

I didn’t hear my father’s reply, because at that moment Hugo tugged on a loose strand of my hair gently, and murmured in my ear:

“They can do this forever… Want to get out of here for a bit?”

“Oh, god, yes!” I blurted out, and in a laughable attempt to rescue some of my dignity I added quickly: “We need to, uhm, you know… talk…”

But at that moment he kissed me just under the ear and when his warm breath teased the shell of my ear, I promptly forgot my own name and the rest of my sentence with it.

“We do?” he chuckled playfully, and as he kissed the same spot just under my other ear, I was rapidly losing my footing.

“Yessss!” I gasped out, and made a desperate attempt to clarify that it wasn’t just the talk I was interested in. “That… and more… ohgodHugh…”

“Any objections to putting that ‘more’ first?” he proposed innocently, and I bit my lip, hard, not to moan out loud. “You see, I’m kind of desperate over here. Can’t keep my hands off you, I’m afraid… You smell of pure… undiluted… sex, and I keep getting those really inappropriate, dirty thoughts about you… in much less clothes, you lovely fuckable thing…”

Merlin, Hugh… give the boy a warning. I nearly squealed in horny delight in a most undignified way. Oh, dammit, I could have really done with that Apparition licence right about then, so I could just hold on to him as we got away. You see, I couldn’t handle our hug dissolving, not even for a little. I was dead paranoid I would lose him again. So, risking that I would sound utterly silly and overly clingy, I nuzzled into his neck, and whispered:

“I’ll let you fuck me anyway you like if you promise not to let go of me. Hold my hand… or something. I don’t want to chase after you again… like, ever,” I said sheepishly, not giving a flying fuck if I was being cheesy. Totally worth it, I reckoned, when his soft, hungry mouth sought out mine, and I got my final confirmation that I had made the right decision: just a taste of demanding soft flesh teasing my lips open, the familiar, addictive, god-sexy flavour of him melting my insides into a goo, that delectable, slick tongue slipping into my mouth and pressing against my own like a true master… oh, Merlin, yesssss! It only took one long, delightful, heady kiss to instantly made my knees buck. Sweet Jesus… did he taste of more… oh… bloody hell, I missed him… half a day and I missed him stupidly. I never wanted to let go; I was most certainly not kidding about that!

“If I had it my way, I’d never let you leave in the first place,” he whispered into our kiss, somehow reading my thoughts, the way he would. “But we can’t do this here… your father would decapitate me if he could read my filthy mind right now… God, you taste delicious… I just might have to eat you alive, Scorpius… every inch of you… This sinful, sweet mouth of yours is only a start… I’ll have all of you, baby… again and again… just like last night… punish your nipples just the way you like it, only to make them burn a little… visit those marks I left on those beautiful narrow hips of yours… fit my mouth around your…”

“Hugo!” I gasped – whimpered really, quite pleadingly – because my cock was pressed hard against the confines of my trousers, leaking ridiculously at the sweet promises of his words and I wanted nothing better than to get knocked against the nearest wall and fucked right into it. “Please, baby… you need to…”

“I need to make good of my words, that’s what I need to do,” he murmured, his voice hard, sexy and determined in a way that it nearly made my liquefied insides spill out at his feet. “I need you, Scorpius Malfoy. I need you so much; right now. Right.Fucking.Now.

Fuck those fucking words…  They made me want to eat them straight out of his seductive mouth and bite and chew them straight off those luscious lips to make them real, because we were stuck in this fucked up place, with our fathers chattering at our backs, and bloody words were all I was likely to get.

But I forgot who I chose. This was Hugo Weasley, my crazy, wonderful Hugh, and impossible was his core business. He tore his divine mouth away from me – forcefully, because there was no other way, making me whimper shamelessly – but when he casually locked out hands together his strong fingers spoke of a promise about to be fulfilled, and somehow, he managed to charge me even more with sweet expectation. I was nearly dizzy with lust and quite ready to beg.

“I’m just going to show Scorp here around for a bit while you fix Uncle Charlie up,” he carelessly threw against the set of our parents, and pulled me behind before anyone could object.

“Scorpius!” I heard my father call behind me, sounding anxious, but at the same time the growling voice of Charles Weasley rolled over him like a freight-train.

“Mind my arm, Malfoy! Aren’t you supposed to be good with this healing shit? And for fuck’s sake let them go. If they release any more pheromones, I’ll get sex poisoning. You heard my brother: you don’t want to be standing between the mating dragon and his mate.”

And shockingly, my father shut up. Or, alternatively, could have been having a coronary at the shocking realisation that his baby was about to have some good ol’ dirty shagging. Whichever. In any event, no one tried to stop me to follow Hugo, and follow I did. I would have gone to hell with him for nothing but a kiss and a promise of forever.