I don't know who you think you are, but I know this much is true;
I want to do Bad Things with you.
Harry felt his blood freeze when he saw the headline, his own picture cheerily waving beneath it. Photo-Harry had his arm slung around a broom, all careless ease and flashing white teeth under the entrance arch to the Manchester City Quidditch Pitch. Two little girls whispered giddily behind him, paper and pens in hand, but he did not seem to notice.
"No," Harry said, and only realized when Hermione looked up quizzically, that he'd spoken aloud.
"What's that, Harry?" she asked, craning to see over his shoulder. Then she gasped, and hugged him. "Oh, you've decided to play the charity match after all! I'm so glad you came around. Your name alone will draw so many people to the-"
"I told them no!" Harry grit out between his teeth, thinking furiously. Hermione flinched, but he was too angry to notice. People had been at him constantly since the Ministry's charity fundraising tournament had been first announced, and every time, no matter who had asked, he had told them no. Even Kingsley. Even McGonagal. Even Ron! And now there was the Prophet, printing fake photos, and claiming that Harry would not only play, but that he would be captaining one of the teams? How had this happened?
He looked around the room, finally hearing the excited pitch the Great Hall's breakfast-murmur had taken on. Everywhere he looked were beaming smiles, thumbs up, and pewter juice glasses raised in toast – except for the Slytherin table, at which the few students who'd returned to classes from that house sat eating their breakfasts and pretending not to notice the clamour. Malfoy alone seemed to be aware of the paper at all, and he seemed to be absorbed in the financial section.
Then there was the head table, where the teachers were being stoic and teacherly, and not quite successfully hiding their own pleasure at the news. Except for Snape, of course. It took a bracing moment for Harry to work up the nerve to seek his furnace black eyes, and once he'd managed it, his heart sank the final few inches to settle firmly into his bootsoles. The DADA instructor's face was as still and hard and pale as a marble mask, the only spots of colour two high streaks across his cheekbones. And his blazing stare was fixed on Harry like a trained wand with a Crucio spell poised at the tip.
I didn't! Harry thought, as loudly as he possibly could, shaking his head minutely and hoping – desperately hoping Severus would read his honesty there, I swear I never …
But Snape merely sneered and looked away, and his frozen teacup resumed its journey to his lips, crushing Harry's last hope of getting out of this.
"Well, you must have told-"
"I. Didn't." Harry turned on Hermione as savagely as he wished he could to the damned sports editor who'd written the story, the organizers who'd set their stupid minds on him playing, and especially the unmitigated bastard who'd scheduled the stupid Ministry Charity Quidditch match for the very weekend Harry could LEAST afford to give!
Behind Hermione's shoulder, Ginny caught his eye, and tried to give him a quelling look, but there was no stopping the temper now, especially when Hermione put her hands on her hip and got that 'oh, honestly' tone in her voice.
"But Harry, on page three there's a photo of you with the writer, giving the interview, and-"
"Says the girl who turned herself into a cat in Second year," Harry bit out, shoving his untouched breakfast away and rising to go. "Bet you can work it out if you spend a moment thinking."
But his exit was spoiled by the feeling of a ghostly hand curling tight around his bollocks, of a cold ghostly breath at the back of his neck, and an angry, resonant voice winding its way like a python up his spine. *Sit. Eat your breakfast. You'll be needing your strength… Captain*
Please, Sir, Harry dared a glance at Snape, thinking loudly and desperately, I swear I- Harry couldn't suppress a gasp as the cold hand clenched him harder, and an icicle probed him farther behind.
*No excuses. Sit down and eat, or else disobey me.*
Angry as he was, Harry did not quite have the nerve to do that – he was in for enough already. So he sat, gingerly, turned his shoulder to Hermione, and picked up his spoon. Ginny gave him an inquisitive eyebrow, but he gave his head a tight shake, and mouthed 'later' at her.
The ghostly fingers around him eased a bit, but instead of withdrawing to their owner, who – Harry risked a glance – was scowling out over the Great Hall, looking for all the world as if he were awake, aware, and annoyed as usual, rather than projecting his magical self to the Gryffindor table in order to torment his boy. The fingers trailed along Harry's growing length, just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of twist. It was all he could do to get the porridge into his mouth and chew with that going on, but clearly this was part of the plan.
He chewed each bite carefully. He breathed through his nose every four chews. He kept his eyes on his bowl. He did not shake. He did not come. He did not come. He did not, dear God, come in his pants without permission like a-
At the high table, Snape was turning to answer some question from Headmistress McGonagall. The whine of relief that escaped Harry's throat felt like a teapot's fading whistle as it was pulled from the flames. Dear God, he was so hard it hurt!
Ginny, the traitor, snickered under her breath, and Hermione looked over but was still too narked at him to ask what was wrong, which was good because Harry was pretty sure his ability to make up a plausible excuse for whimpering into his oatmeal was somewhat impaired, what with all his brain's oxygen-supplying blood hanging out below his belt and all. So instead, he attended to his porridge, and his misery, and his chewing. And on the bloody revenge he was going to exact on whoever it was who set him up to be faffing about a Quidditch pitch on the very afternoon when Severus Snape was scheduled to be receiving his long-awaited Order of Merlin!
Severus 'checked up' on Harry several times throughout the day, expressing his annoyance through the little magical projection trick he'd brought back as a souvenir from his near-death-experience.
Without fail, every time Harry's erection faded to bearable levels, and he brought his attention to class, Severus' unseen fingers would make themselves known again, drawing Harry to the painful edge of orgasm, and entirely derailing whatever concentration he'd managed to summon up. Lavender Brown nearly lost an eyebrow when it happened in Transfiguration while Harry was trying to turn a teapot into a titmouse. And when Professor Delacour took him to task for his wobbly wand work, Harry had to stand there and take the scolding while trying not to let on that his prostate was being tickled from afar by a not-quite-dead-but-completely-sadistic-bastard.
The erection was humiliation enough, thank you. Luckily, nearly every bloke in the class tended to have that same problem, though not for the same reason, and the girls had long since stopped giggling about it when one of the boys failed to hide his condition.
So Harry held his tongue, held his breath, held his balance, and held back his orgasm with every ounce of his concentration, and got himself a telling-off, a twelve inch essay on the importance of precise wand motions in transfigurations, and a renewed case of bollocks so blue and hard they could have been shot from a cannon.
And all before luncheon, too. Lucky him!
The lecture and the torment ended just when the bell rang them to the freedom of lunch hour, but Harry did not turn toward the Great Hall with the others. His concentration was shot, his temper was fraying down to the last nerve, and if one more person congratulated him, or asked to be chosen for the Hogwarts team, Harry really didn't think he could vouch for the results. He dawdled, made a production of packing up his bag while the rest of the class poured out into the hall. Hermione looked as if she might wait, but when he refused to acknowledge her hovering, she made a disgusted noise and stormed out into the hall alone. He'd pay for it later, of course, but it was SO much easier to force himself into the detatched, iron-cold removal of occlumency without her hovering at his elbow. And he needed that buffer now – even inside his own head things were getting entirely too loud.
He ignored the chattering tide draining down to the Great Hall – he could eat later, assuming he felt hungry. Even a full year away from the tent, and their time of solitude, silence, and hunger, Harry hadn't quite got used to all the noise and bustle that being around people could produce. It helped to retreat to Severus' rooms when he could get there unseen, but today he suspected his welcome would be less than warm, if he dared turn up.
So instead Harry let his feet carry him up to the prefect's bathroom. Closer and more private than Gryffindor Tower, and less perilous than his lover's domain, he hoped. Once there, he locked himself in, cast a freezing charm on the mermaid window, and took his strangled cock out into the humid air with a heartfelt groan. It pulsed against his hand, lifting from the palm he did not wrap around it, bobbing toward his stomach as precome slid eagerly over the tip to pool against his rutched-back foreskin.
"Stop that," he told it, walking into a toilet stall to sit. It bounced at him again, and he scowled. "You know that's not possible, he'll be ten times worse if you do!"
And he would, too. Severus had very specific and particular ideas about what Harry was allowed to do with 'his property', and equally strong ideas about what constituted just punishment for Harry's overstepping those allowances. Some days Harry almost wondered if, had he known all that when the 'ghost' of Severus Snape had first appeared to him at the comatose man's bedside, he might not have run for the hills instead of accidentally falling in love with the man.
Those glum thoughts tended to last only up until Severus made Harry come so hard that he passed out, but they did still arise from time to time… like when he'd been hard all day, his kidneys were as full as his bollocks, and his stupid prick wouldn't let him reset the plumbing, for instance.
"Look, will you just go away and let me have a slash, please?" he begged the turgid, twitching thing. Unhelpfully, it drooled a thread of precome over his knuckles.
"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" Severus' voice, heavy with threat curled around his spine and squeezed like a python. Harry shivered, and his cock leapt with P`avlovian glee at those familiar, velvet tones, too deep, too resonant to have spoken from the half-light spirit plane – the man, his nemesis, his lover, his torturer, -- was in the room, and his traitorous cock knew it!
"Believe it or not, I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing in a toilet." He paused to cut a glare at his cock and mutter, "or at least I'm trying to do."
The stall door swung away with terrible slowness, and Snape filled the space beyond with black wool and a scowl. "And why," he purred, crowding into the tiny space, "are you hiding from me?" He brushed long fingers into Harrys hair and caught a handful tight, craning back his neck, locking their eyes so that Harry could feel the gentle, insistent pressure of his lover's mind against his occlumency. It was barely a fraction of the force Harry knew Snape could bring to bear – as much of a 'polite knock at the door' as the man would ever give, but against the balance of Harry's rubbish day, it was the last straw.
Grinding his teeth, Harry braced his feet wide and stood, trying not to care that his cock rubbed its way up miles of thick wool before running headfirst into the buttons. He wrapped both his fists into Snape's lapels so he wouldn't accidentally grab himself and toss off a load of frustration all over the man's teaching robes.
"Why would you care?" he snarled, up on his toes and harder than iron, "You're not interested in listening to me anyway! You don't care that someone's set me up, and I don't even want to DO that stupid charity match, and I would NEVER miss your award ceremony, but all you want to do is wind me up when I can't do anything about it, and now I've got to piss and I can't and that's what I'm doing here, and if I want a bit of privacy for it, then you can just get it through your head that Not. Everything. Is. About. YOU!" Then he snogged the magnificent bastard as hard as he could.
Severus made no pretense of unwillingness. He caught Harry up against him with a growl, swathed them both in black woolen armour and rutted an equal hardness against the crook of Harry's hip while their tongues battled back and forth.
"Selfish… brat," he panted, turning them both to pin Harry against the wall while he tore his own flies open, "did you think it was only you? Did you think I could touch you so," and here, he gathered them both into his merciless fist and squeezed, "for hours and not feel it myself!"
"Ng!" Harry said around a mouthful of tongue as he gripped Severus' shoulders in warning. "Mph gmm-cmph!" But Severus was coming as well, pulsing hot and slick and oh fucking hell so perfect between them, so that was all right.
Harry clung, one foot half-braced on the toilet, the other turned awkwardly between Severus boots so that, but for his lover's weight and the wall behind him, he'd have poured to the floor in a puddle of satiation. "M' gonna call that reporter," he heard himself promising what had been on his mind all morning, "make 'im print a retraction."
"Don't be ridiculous," Severus cut him off, banishing the mess between them, and straightening Harry's clothes with brusque, warm hands. "You'll do no such thing."
Severus pressed a musky finger to Harry's lips. "You'll play it."
"Have you seen the practice schedule?" Harry tried again, resisting the urge to suck that finger into his mouth when it refused to be dislodged from his lower lip.
"I've not, but given that the date of the tournament is fast approaching, it will no doubt be aggressive." Severus skated that finger along Harry's lip, where it turned into a warm palm cradling his jaw, and threading strong fingers around the back of his skull. "But you'll meet it, every practice, every lap, every tedious pass and play. I expect it of you."
"You will captain the Hogwarts team to sufficient readiness that the school will not be embarrassed when the day arrives,-"
"And on that day you will mount your broom and you will fly like the mad, wild little Quidditch hooligan we both know you are, Potter…" and then they were kissing again. Harry couldn't have said which of them did it, but they were definitely each giving as good as they got. Which was quite good indeed. And then the slide and twine of tongues somehow rolled into Severus' final words, pressed tight against Harry's cheek; "Do you understand me, Potter?"
What could he do, really, but nod?
Severus smiled at him, a strangely terrible thing without the stain of loathing and sarcasm he'd grown up expecting to see there, and he kissed Harry again. This time, just a sober press of closed lips to closed lips, and another on the bridge of his nose. "And I also expect you to make it up to me."
Then he backed away, slowly enough that Harry just had time to get his feet straight under him, and spare himself an uncomfortable tumble to the tiles.
"As for myself," Severus went on conversationally as he tucked himself away and fixed his own clothing, "I shall be glad of your distraction over the next week and a half."
"You'll what?" Harry would have turned to argue, only his bladder caught up with his spent prick just then, and he daren't move out of range of the toilet.
He could hear the smirk in Severus' reply though. "I've an investigation of my own to undertake, and so I shall be far too busy to keep you entertained." Harry made a noise of disbelief, but Severus allowed him no time to form the protest. "I take the theft of my personal potions supplies to be a serious offense, as I'm sure you remember, and I'll not waste both our time by listing the dangerous uses to which a young brewer could put lacewing flies and boomslang skin."
"Boomslang-" But the outer door creaked open and Harry, still not done, scrambled to push the stall door to as the hallway noise filtered into the quiet.
"It will be dealt with most severely, Mr. Potter," Snape called back to him in full snarl, as much a lover's promise as a show for the benefit of the curious students out in the hall, "Of that you may be certain!"
Draco Malfoy was the real problem of course.
"Don't be stupid, Potter," he said, all eyebrow and gleaming teeth once he finally let Harry get near enough to talk to him, "Of course I won't be on your team."
"It's Hogwarts' team," Harry replied, the soul of patience, "not mine. It's just for one game, and anyway, it'd be a good chance to boost up Slytherin House's public standing, don't you think?"
Malfoy made a show of thinking, tapping one manicured finger against his lower lip while his grey eyes scanned the ceiling. "Hmm… you're right. Slytherin's honour will be so improved by my sitting on the bench and watching you fly around in circles." He flicked his fingers at Harry then, as though to shoo off a fly. "I don't think so."
"Did you not hear me say I'd put you in as the starting Seeker?" Harry grit through his teeth. "If anybody's going to be on the bench, it'd be-"
But Malfoy was already turning away, waving one hand airily. "I said no, Potter. I've much better things to do with my time than to waste it playing silly, pointless games," and there he smirked over his shoulder at Harry, just to make things perfectly clear. "Especially on that day. But thanks for asking." And then he winked, and trotted down the stairs.
Malfoy was two floors away, and had put a crowd of third years between them by the time the red had cleared from Harry's vision, and his chest unlocked enough that he could draw a shaking, furious breath. That bastard. That weasel-faced, treacherous, poaching bastard! His dad had to be on the planning committee for the damned game, and if not Lucius, then surely someone who owed the man a favor. A favor that would put Harry out of reach and out of sight during the most gratifying moment of Severus Snape's life – the moment when the Wizarding world admitted 'all right, we fucked up,' to his face.
And who would be right there beside the man when Kingsley handed him his medal? Who would be smirking at the cameras like a thieving ferret, and leaning close for a 'friendly' hug, and buying the man of the hour a congratulatory drink laced with who-knows-what while Severus waited for his unacknowledged lover to finish playing silly children's games?
Harry's wand was in his hand, drizzling very hot sparks onto his trainers.
"You will trust me, or this will go no farther between us!" Harry forcibly recalled Severus' words to his mind – the closing salvo of their first real fight as a couple, when Harry had first worked out that Draco wanted Severus for himself, and had got an idea of just how Slytherin-dirty he was willing to play in order to get his chance. "I have lived under the world's worst suspicions for decades now, and you mark my words, I will NOT accept those shackles from the one I love!"
And then he had stormed out, and Harry, though in full roar of hurt and anger a moment before, had only been able to watch him go, mouth open and stunned, while his silly heart did somersaults around his stomach. It had been the first time Severus had admitted in as many words how he felt. It was also a sentiment Harry had resigned himself to never hearing pass those lips. Somehow, even tacked onto the closing cut of a vicious row, those words, spoken by that man had somehow smashed Harry's insecurity to pieces.
Neither of them had picked the fight up again once Severus had cooled his temper enough to return to his rooms to find Harry curled on his sofa, doing charms homework while he waited. Neither mentioned it and neither apologized. Harry asked the elves to bring supper, Severus made both of them something to drink, and they sat together on the sofa, side by side until the meal was done. By unspoken accord, they left the fight, the jealousy, and the insecurity they'd both brought to it buried in a silent grave, and had proceeded on to a night of sex that was spectacular even for them.
And though the words hadn't passed Severus' lips again, Harry found that he heard them clearly every day.
But that didn't make Malfoy's machinations any easier for Harry to stomach. And standing there on the third floor landing, wand sparking in his hand, Harry's mind was spinning with things he'd like to do to even the score between them, starting with putting that pointy nose out of joint, and proceeding on toward turning the blond bastard over his knee and teaching him the meaning of 'baser instincts'.
Not that way though, of course.
With a sigh, Harry put his wand away and dug the Marauder's Map out of his back pocket. He still needed to find Millicent Bulstrode, and talk her into playing Keeper.
"Snape has to know he's up to no good," Ginny observed over contraband butterbeers one evening after the rest of the team had gone on to the showers. She clawed her ponytail out of its band, and shook her hair loose in the gathering summer twilight. "I mean seriously, if anybody knows that Draco Malfoy can't be trusted, it'd be him."
"'Course he knows," Harry grumbled, stretching his stiff shoulders. "He knew it was a ruse when Draco was making passes at me back around Easter, after all." It was hard not to shiver, remembering the calculating gleam in Malfoy's eyes as he'd grabbed Harry outside the potions classroom, snogged him hard, and not let go until Severus came out and caught them. It was even harder not to shiver in remembrance of the fury in Severus' eyes as he'd ripped Harry up for 'rutting in the hallways like a Quidditch hooligan', and assigned a week of detention, which turned out into some spectacular sex, and changed Harry's mind about whether he'd ever enjoy being spanked. Malfoy'd had a stimulating effect on their love life in spite of himself, that much was true.
Ginny chuckled darkly. "I still say you should have let me blacken both his eyes for it. I mean you're meant to be my boyfriend, after all. People really did expect to see Malfoy with a snootfull of bats for poaching on my territory."
"I wish I had now," Harry admitted. At the time, Severus had convinced him that the best revenge to Draco's attempted meddling would be for them to enjoy each other all the more thoroughly, and to watch him seethe over knowing he had failed. And Luna hadn't much liked the idea of Ginny risking expulsion for fighting, either, of course – it was hard enough for the two of them to find time together without Ginny having to sneak out of the Burrow to manage it. "Don't get me wrong, I actually have loved building this team up, and you've been a brilliant co-captain, but Malfoy's seen more of my lover in the past two weeks than I've done since Easter!"
"Well, Malfoy's decided he can get away with it," Ginny predicted darkly, her eyes shadowed with the ghosts of Crabbe, Carrow, and things she'd made Harry promise never to ask her, "He thinks you can't or won't do anything to stop him, he knows you can't tell anybody about it, really, and it's plain that Snape's not going to stop him, so why shouldn't he keep on escalating? Sooner or later, you're going to have to make a stand, Harry."
He shook his head, staring up at the sky as the lowering sun stained it blood-bright. "I trust Severus. I do."
"And it's hard since you can't be open about that," she agreed, nudging his shoulder companionably, "I get that. It would be easier if you could snog him right in front of Malfoy and tell him to his face to quit fucking about."
"Not until I leave school," Harry reminded them both.
"Noted," she answered, "but in the meantime, who says it's a sign of mistrust to fight for what you love?"
Harry sighed again, and finished his butterbeer. "If it were that easy, I'd have broken Malfoy's nose a fortnight ago," he said. "Trouble is, I can't get the bastard alone. Anytime I'm not at practice or in class, he's spellotaped to Severus' side, and smirking at me about it. And I can't even sneak down the dungeons after hours for a quick one-"
"Oh, like you don't?" Harry glowered. "You two don't even have to leave the dormitory!"
"Hello! Roommates." Ginny shot back. "And you know Hermione can't keep her nose out of anybody's business now Ron's not around to distract her. Anyway, what's stopping you sneaking off, Mr. I-got-a-hallow-from-my-dad?"
"He's borrowed my cloak. Severus, I mean." Harry vanished his bottle, and debated opening another. He wasn't hungry, really, but he probably ought to eat something if he was going to keep drinking. "Said he needed it to catch his 'thief'. Like we don't all know exactly who it was that stole the ingredients for Polyjuice potion!"
"Probably for the best anyway," Ginny replied, opening another for them both, "Millicent said Peeves has been haunting the Slytherin section for weeks now. He caught Zabini and Parvati in one of the storerooms, and he's still singing the song about it whenever the Bloody Baron isn't around. Merlin knows what he'd do if he caught wind of you sneaking off to snog Hogwarts' Hidden Hero. And wouldn't that set of questions make things just special for everyone?"
Harry shuddered, and took another drink. "You do know you're going to have to tell your mum about you and Luna sooner or later, right?" He asked, gently as he could.
She cut him a hard look. "Not till we leave school. Then we all come out together, just like you promised."
He nodded, and gave her shoulder the companionable bump that had come to do service for hugs between them. "Anyway, it'll be over this weekend," he said to her, to himself, to the uncaring skies above, and to the distant lover he really wished he could get next to just now, "And then we can all get back to normal again."
And again, Ginny laughed. "Normal. Yeah, right."
"Shut up and drink your butterbeer," Harry answered.
It was a beautiful day for Quidditch – bright sun, with just enough cloud cover to ease the glare, a bit of wind to make the banners at the Manchester Pitch snap and rattle, but not so much as to interfere with the brooms, or to kick up debris. The crowd that had been gathering all morning was a river of excited energy, the trickles of which filled up the locker rooms with bouncing, grinning players who couldn't wait for the scrimmage whistle to sound.
And Harry was there too, of course; considerably less enthusiastic, but present.
He was watching the normal pre-game silliness and chumming about from a corner by the door, trimming his broom twigs, and occluding like mad. He hoped to keep his own toxic mood from damning his team – which was a bloody good team, for having come together on a month's time, if he did say so himself, -- to a loss on the basis of morale. At least that's why he told himself he was occluding, adding that it had nothing to do with Severus' calmly nonchalant mood when he'd left that morning for his pre-ceremony brunch. Harry hadn't asked whose table he'd be seated at, but they both knew he didn't have to – especially when Malfoy turned up like a bad penny, not three steps from the door.
*"I'll take it from here, Potter. You have fun at your game now…"* And with a quelling look at Harry, Severus had gone along with him. Harry managed not to snarl at the memory, but the quizzical look Bulstrode gave him over her boot laces was a fair hint that he hadn't quite managed to keep his emotions off his face.
"I've a laxative potion in my bag if you need."
"Well," she said, strolling over to pluck something white and fluttering from his shoulder, "This note has been trying to get your attention for nearly a minute now, and all you've done is scowl at your broom. I figure it's either you're constipated, or you're freaked out over the game," Harry reached for the note, and she tried to pull it away, but distracted or not, he was team Seeker for a reason. She laughed when he snatched it from her fingers. "Whichever problem it is, Captain you need to fix it before we go on, cause I don't want to have to catch the snitch myself!"
In the press office, the note read in Severus' unmistakable script, at once. That last bit had been underlined three times.
Heart in his mouth, Harry set his broom aside and slipped out the door.
The press office was lit when Harry pushed open the door and peeked in, but there was no one to be seen. Had Severus, never quite patient to begin with, left when Harry didn't come promptly? He bit his lip and eased into the room, but before he could decide whether to use a revealing spell or a tracking spell on his lover, the man in question appeared from beneath the silvery flutter of Harry's own cloak.
Awash in relief, delight, and alarm, Harry laughed aloud and dropped to his knees beside the chair. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the Ministry, getting your medal?"
"I am," Severus replied, smug in just the way that would have driven Harry mad with suspicion two years before. The expression still made him suspicious, but now he knew the man, it made him horny as well – Severus only looked that feline when he was up to something. Harry worked it out during the first snog, when his palm rubbed across a conspicuous lump under the breast of Severus' robes, and investigating, discovered a time turner buttoned between waistcoat and shirt.
"Sneaky," Harry purred, kissing the man again. "Who owed you this big a favor?"
"Someone who would blush to have it known," Severus answered, his hand slithering through the layers of Harry's flying uniform to cup his bum, "and who was all too pleased at the chance to neutralize the debt."
"And why are you wasting- OW!" Harry couldn't jerk far away, as the pinching fingers were inside his trousers with him, but he tried.
"Collecting debts is in no way wasteful, I'll have you know," Severus said, grabbing a handful of Harry's arse to drag him close again. "Or had you forgot your promise to make today's game up to me?"
A finger brushed Harry's entrance, and he caught his breath. "I – oh God, Severus, the game – we're about to go on, there isn't –"
"Time?" Severus purred, using his grip to drag Harry across his knees and tip his face down nearly to the carpet. "I think you'll find there is plenty for what I have in mind. He punctuated that last by banishing Harry's trousers altogether, and nudging his legs open wide. A moment later, something cool and slick drizzled across his entrance.
Catching on, or so he thought, to his devious lover's intention, Harry shivered, and tried not to rut against Severus' leg. "A plug? Christ, how am I supposed to concentrate on the game with a-" He bit off a gasp as Severus' long fingers brandished the plug in question before his nose. It was yellow, lumpish, carved out of something that looked a bit like… "Oh god, is that ginger?" Harry's arse clenched around the fingers inside him, though he couldn't tell whether from alarm, or eagerness.
"Five points to Gryffindor for correct identification," Severus answered, then as Harry tensed to scramble away, he curled his fingers just so and hooked him back into place. "Tsk. A little faith please, Mr. Potter," he chided as the stars cleared from Harry's eyes. "Take note of the lubricant on said piece of ginger, if you will. Note how it lessens the smell?"
"Hah… smell," Harry panted, nodding and clutching Severus' boot with both hands while his cock felt like it was trying to burrow through the scratchy wool over Severus' thigh, "Oh God yeah…"
"Tsk. Pay attention, sybarite. Now. What you do not smell ought to give you a hint as to the lubricant's protective qualities." He paused, but Harry was too busy fighting off his orgasm to guess what Severus wanted him to say. After a moment, he apparently got tired of waiting. Harry tried not to whimper as Severus withdrew his fingers with a sigh. "In the interest of being fair to the ticket holders who have paid good money to watch you fly, the lubricant will give you approximately fifty minutes before the ginger begins to make itself felt."
Then the plug, gritty and cold, pressed inside Harry, and he gasped, arched upward and would have toppled over had Severus not caught his waist and steadied him. "B- begins?" he panted, writhing just a little as Severus rotated the carved, peeled root so that a precisely fashioned lump nestled firmly against Harry's prostate. "Then what happens?"
Severus conjured Harry's trousers back into place with a tap of his wand, and tipped him upright again. "Then you'll begin to feel like there might be a chunk of peeled, raw ginger shoved up your arse."
"At which point," Severus chuckled, breath warm against Harry's ear as he helped him to his feet and led him back to the door, "I expect you to fly like a demon, catch the Snitch as fast as you are able, and bring it to me, to collect your..." and here, Severus curled a possessive hand over Harry's straining, trouser-bound erection, "… due reward."
Then there was a kiss, tongue-deep and dizzying, a shove, and the snick-lock of the door behind him, all before Harry had caught his breath from that first grope.
Fifty minutes with that carved bastard nudging his prostate every time he breathed… fifty minutes of flying hard, of not coming while he tried to play the game like his mind was in it, and not in his pants. Fifty minutes of torture… and then there would be an escalation, and damn it, Harry knew Severus too well to think he would get away with catching the Snitch early! He was going to feel that ginger for all it was worth by the time this was all over, of that he was certain.
Harry clung to the wall until the clatter of boots in the hallway heralded the approach of his team. Ginny led the pack, her broom in one hand and his Firebolt in the other.
She tossed it to him with a smirk as she passed, and Harry just barely managed to catch it before it whacked him in the nose. "Chin up, Captain," she called from down the hall, "Everybody's watching!"
Harry pushed off the wall and followed, trying to run normally while he mentally promised himself that he would bounce at least one Bludger off Ginny Weasley's arse before the day was over. Just out of spite.
Fifty minutes. Harry Potter counted each and every one of them.
Fifty minutes of arousal so constant, so intense it was very nearly painful all on its own; fifty minutes of exquisite torment with every dive, switchback, and barrel roll he put himself though in pursuit of the Snitch. And by some miracle of perversity, despite, or perhaps because of his heightened arousal, Harry also played the best game of Quidditch of his life.
He was younger and lighter than Daedalus Diggle, Seeker for the Ministry team, but the Auror was sneaky in ways that made Harry glad he hadn't been on the other side during the war. He faked Harry out with sudden dives and breakneck turns, misled him to blue heights and gravel skimming depths, and misdirected him at every chance, which was a good deal more often than Harry felt proper. Meanwhile Harry hunted the Snitch harder than he'd ever done before – painfully aroused, and soaring on broom-wood, adrenaline, and pure lust. His occlumency combined with his hormone-soaked high to render Harry into a kind of supercharged, high-speed subspace, all sinuous motion, light, colour, instinct and throbbing noise, with the Snitch like a single thread of gold in the whole rushing, howling tapestry of perfect chaos.
Then it began. A coolness, a tingling, a tickling deep inside him, where he had almost managed to forget Severus' gift lay. Harry gripped his broom in a sudden, wrenching recollection of his predicament. Just by him, the stands convulsed in a roar of opinion, spurring him back into motion, but not anywhere near his previous, beatific state.
The ginger plug's escalation was quick and savage – tingling became a burning, but not quite a pain, but so fierce, so bright and not overwhelming, not agonizing, but oh dear God, how could it feel so good while burning like that, and making him want more even though even just the tiniest amount of more would absolutely, definitely and without question be Pain, and oh God, he was so close, if he didn't come in his trousers it would be a miracle, but he didn't dare because Severus-
Harry blinked, pulled up hard, nearly toppling off his broom. In the stands, one blazing black eye glowered at him before a thin-fingered hand caught a fluttering edge of silver and pulled it securely down. Harry sped off, and powered around at his top speed, buzzing dangerously close to the flailing stands – close enough to send hats, flags, and the trailing edges of invisibility cloaks flailing into the air. He barrel rolled as he passed the spot, and caught again a glimpse of betrayal.
Black hair, tufted and wild, and threaded through his lover's white fingers. A flicker of green eyes, of reddened lips stretched wide around straining flesh, but mostly of shaggy, black hair gleaming over Severus' lap, the head beneath the hair moving in a slow, deliberate way that made Harry's throat tighten with memory, and his fundament spasm in protest. The invisibility cloak twitched back into place. Severus and his naked, Polyjuiced Harry disappeared from view, and, true to prediction, Harry did find himself flying like a demon.
A very angry one.
There was a coldly vicious place in Harry's mind, wherein he imagined just banishing the ginger plug, and ignoring Severus' command to return to their rooms after the game. In that hard, brittle place, he would hang about the pitch after the game wound down, accepting the congratulations of the losing team, and charming the reporters until someone (and it would be inevitable, really,) suggested they all head off for a drink or two, by way of celebration. And drinks like that tended to last until the bar closed, didn't they? It would serve the cheating bastard right to have Harry never show up to his rooms again, wouldn't it? To have Harry just edit Snape, their secret love affair – which was looking suddenly like a secret sex scandal to Harry's furious brain, -- right out of his life, would be a poetically perfect justice, wouldn't it? Let him have Draco, and wish them joy of each other while taking his aching heart and bruised dignity elsewhere...
Only he could feel Snape battering at his occlumency shields even as he could feel the snitch's wings snapping under his fierce grip as he held it aloft on his victory lap. And he could feel the plug burning inside his arse, setting up a counterpoint throb with the blood that had been thundering in his prick since Severus had snogged him silly in the press office. And he could feel the rage and pain wrestling inside him, mounting into a bloody haze of need -- to fight, to fuck, to conquer, or possibly to destroy something beautiful. And he knew it was a set-up, bloody well knew Severus hadn't let the cloak slip by accident, that what he'd let Harry glimpse beneath the cloak was entirely intentional, and he knew that Severus was counting on him to be half blind with fury, but not even that knowing could shake the haze of red out of his vision. Harry was being played, he knew it, and he was just too angry to care.
He found himself at Severus' door without ever having thought about getting there, hard, aching, burning, and as ready to blow the damned thing off its hinges as to raise his fist and knock. If there had been a painting blocking the way, he might have melted it down the canvas, but luckily it was only three inches of iron-studded, curse-warded rock oak in his path – the ancient wood already beginning to smoke as he drew near.
It swung open before it exploded, and before Harry had decided whether this was a disappointment or not, Severus had reached out, caught his Quidditch robes in two fists, and bodily hauled him into the room. He grunted as his shoulders smacked into the wood as it slammed, and for a moment he weathered a vicious press of Severus' mind against his, and put every ounce of his stubborn, furious will into his occlumency shields. Glaring eye to eye, gathering words like stones to throw, Harry wasn't ready for it when Severus lunged for his mouth, and damn it! He didn't want to be kissing that cheating bastard – he wanted to be swinging fists, snarling, biting, shouting, breaking glass and silent truces, not battling tongue to tongue, clashing teeth and mashing noses and gulping half-voiced moans in the back of his throat; not winding his fists into creaking-tight wool and pressing his straining prick into a matching hardness that had no business being there unless Malfoy was a bloody worthless blow-
Severus pulled back with a grunt, blood high in his pale face, eyes flashing, and fingers laced tight into Harry's hair to hold him back. "Merlin, but you're breathtaking like this," he murmured, and the hand in his hair gentled to a caress. "Angry," a thumb stroked over Harry's cheekbone, "horny," his kiss-bitten, swollen lower lip, "beautiful…" and he leaned close to press the word into the tender flesh beneath Harry's left ear.
Harry panted, nearly came in his pants as Severus' lower hand cupped firmly over his aching prick. "Hah… ohgod you bastar-"
Severus bit the word off and mashed it insensible in another savage kiss. Somehow, Harry was naked by the time it had ended -- naked, breathless, iron bosses cold against his heated skin, still angry, but so dizzy with lust he could barely stand.
"If you must insult me," Severus smirked as he pinched one of Harry's nipples, "do try and exert a little imagination." A twist, wringing a yelp and a frantic rut of Harry's hips before he could check himself. The smirk turned from smug to hungry just like that, and just like that, Severus dropped to his knees, and sucked his sweat slick, straining cock down to the root in a single, swift movement. Harry clawed the wood and wailed at the onslaught of sensation. Severus was nudging the ginger plug back and forth inside him as he sucked Harry's cock, and the pain braided tightly into the pleasure with every push, every twist, every squeeze, every stroke, every suckle and lick. He might have actually screamed aloud when Severus stopped just short of bringing him off -- his ears were ringing too loud for him to tell.
He certainly begged; half-formed pleas crushed between curses, sobs, insults, and empty threats as Severus bodily hauled him away from the door, walked him across the room without so much as touching his fucking cock, damn it, and finally tipped him over the back of the sofa. Harry yelped and rutted as his cock head rubbed up the silky fabric, but a moment later he found himself thrusting back away from it, seeking the slippery, slithery warmth of Severus' tongue as the ginger inside him vanished, and a finer torment replaced it.
Then there was no holding back anymore. Harry had no resistance to this particular skill of Severus' amazing tongue, and they both knew it. His occlumency shields shredded under the onslaught, allowing his lover's mind to press inward against his own, just as warm, just as strong, just as soothingly maddening after the angry burn that had been there before; just as desperately welcome as Harry's long-delayed orgasm ripped through him at last, cock pulsing untouched while his body spasmed eagerly around his lover's agile tongue.
If it weren't for the sofa back under his ribs, and Severus' strong hands on his hips, Harry thought he might just have poured right over onto the floor once his orgasm subsided -- just drip down the fabric in thick, clumpy dribbles, and collect in a puddle there on the floor behind the sofa...
Where Draco Fucking Malfoy lay staring up at him, face wet and gleaming with tears or come, naked, gagged, and bound up like a roasting goose at Christmas. His cock was hard, bulging against the crimp of Harry's favorite cock ring, and weeping long threads of precome against his sweaty belly, which was welted where the rope knots had rubbed him raw. He was breathing through his nose, but if his lips hadn't been stretched wide around black rubber and leather, he would clearly have been panting like a racehorse. Or begging for release.
Again, it was only Severus' weight that held Harry down over the sofa when the rage burst up through the post orgasmic buzz with a volcanic roar. Severus caught his flailing arm and pulled it back, knocking aside the wand Harry had summoned from across the room. It clattered to the floor, and Harry grunted through his teeth, stilling as Severus' pinched a nerve in his elbow that sent his arm numb from shoulder to fingertips.
"Shh," said the utter bastard, kissing Harry's hard-flexed shoulder without letting go. "Easy now..."
"What is he doing here?" Harry managed through his teeth, willing himself to ignore the line of heat Severus' tongue was mapping along the back of his neck.
"Waiting for you," came the murmured reply, tickling erect the fine hairs at his nape. "Of course."
Harry shivered. "For... for me?" The urge to struggle fizzled out into baffled confusion as he took another look. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and the gag muffled a grunt that had clearly started its life as a very insulting observation. But his cock jumped against his belly, and welled fresh precome from the tip as Harry stared down at it.
Severus' fingers gentled, stroking an apology over Harry's still-tingling elbow as he pulled then both upright a bit. "Well," he allowed, pressing close and wrapping both their arms around Harry's belly, "it wasn't his intention when he first turned up, of course, but," and here, he burrowed through Harry's crackling hair, to press soft, maddening lips to his ear, where the smug rumble of his voice sent buzzing echoes straight to Harry's cock, "circumstances have changed, and at this point Mr. Malfoy is more than ready to answer for himself in whatever way you deem appropriate."
"He... um. What?" Lacing his fingers through Severus' now that he could, Harry pressed back, fidgeting to nestle that thick, wool-shrouded prick into place against his bum. Then he tore his gaze away from Malfoy, and peered back over his shoulder to catch his lover's eye. "I mean, could you explain please, because I really don't know what's going on here."
Severus smirked. "Oh, I think you know exactly what's afoot, Harry; Draco owes you a debt of life as well as a debt of blood," he replied, freeing one hand in order to stroke Harry's cheek with a gentle finger, "and now a debt of honour for trying to disrupt what he knew was rightly ours."
"I told you I'd never..." Harry said, craning backward for a kiss.
Severus turned his face again though, pointed it back down to where the interloper lay, writhing a little against the ropes and gritty stone floor. "Pay attention, sybarite. Mr. Malfoy is here because he has agreed that it's time he got exactly what he's been asking for all these months."
Harry caught his breath. "He's... agreed?"
He felt the smirk return, triumphant against the back of his ear. "He has. Though, of course, on our terms rather than his own." He brushed a thumb over Harry's nipple, and hummed in satisfaction.
Harry had to quell a shiver as his cock, not yet satisfied after an hour of torment, stirred once more between his thighs. "Our terms?" He tried to make his voice hard, cynical and angry, but suspected he only sounded bewildered and horny.
Severus' huff of laughter bore that out. "Can you honestly look at him like this, and say you do not want him?" he released Harry's hand and shook his wand out of his sleeve, levitating Draco up into reach while he rocked his prick gently into the cradle of Harry's bum so the wool gathered thick and tickling in the crease, "Look how soft his skin is, how smooth and pink. Watch when I pinch it, so..."
Draco made a ragged sound and arched fiercely in the air. Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself echoing it when Severus gave the pink, outraged flesh a twist before he let go.
"You see how the blood rises to the surface immediately?" he said, stroking those long fingers around the network of knots and lines, just tickling the pale flesh beneath. "Imagine how prettily it will stripe beneath the crop and cane."
Harry couldn't keep that groan in, but hoped it couldn't be heard through Malfoy's keening wail.
"See how hard his cock is?" Severus asked, using his other hand to lift the organ in question up for inspection, so that Harry was bracketed between, "How purple and hungry? How it twitches and weeps just because we're looking at it?" Harry nodded, and felt his own cock lurch against the couch again as Severus thumbed Malfoy's foreskin gently around the head. "And see how his lips have swollen around the gag?" Severus went on, purring smug and triumphant now, surely smelling Harry's surrender in the wind, "Can you pretend you don't wish they were wrapped around your cock instead?"
"He's... um." Harry swallowed, and tried not to notice the thick, hungrily musky scent arising from the man trussed up before him. "He hates me..."
"He wants you," Severus replied, "He's always wanted you. And you've wanted him, even if you've been too thick to realize it."
But Severus vanished his robes, and the sudden press of skin on skin shattered Harry's protests. "And moreover," Severus added, pulling back to tip his cock down between Harry's thighs so the head nudged Harry's bollocks from behind, "I want to see you take him – your reward for a game well flown. I want to see you take him as he yearns to be taken; hard, and without mercy."
And just like that, he was hard again, with such an instant southward rush of blood that Harry had to grab for support lest he swoon. He missed the back of the sofa, and wound up groping Draco, who thrashed a little, and made squealing noise.
Harry jerked back, but Severus caught his hands and replaced them firmly against the flushed, damp skin. "But," Harry gulped, "he's crying. He doesn't want-"
Again, Draco wriggled, his strangled whimper sounding very much like a declaration of eternal loathing, or an observation on Harry's IQ. Or both. Severus chuckled, and restrained the man with a single clench of his fist around Draco's bound prick. Draco shuddered and yowled into his mouthful of rubber, but submitted, which Harry thought was probably wise of him.
"I suspect the reaction has less to do with you, and more to do with this... " Severus thumbed back Draco's foreskin, rolling the flesh down so Harry could see a tiny yellow spiral, something like a tight-rolled scroll smaller than his littlest fingernail just barely peeked from the swollen, scarlet slit of Draco's cock. The smell thickened around Harry, and suddenly he understood it; spunk, sweat, desperation, and raw ginger.
"Oh my god," he breathed, a little horrified at how his cock leapt and throbbed at the very idea of Draco's prick in such burning, straining torment. "And I thought I had it hard..." But just then, Severus pulled back and his cock pressed upward, hot and rough and maddening against Harry's ginger-stung arse, and he moaned aloud.
"Oh, you certainly will have it hard before all this is over," Severus urged scraping his cock over Harry's arse again. "But you have made Mr. Malfoy wait quite some time for you already. Don't you think it's time you gave him some relief?"
"I..." The tears. He couldn't get past those wide, wet grey eyes. He couldn't do it. "I won't rape him."
Severus actually laughed. "He has a safeword, just as you do. And he has not used it yet, to my surprise."
Harry looked around to glare. "He's wearing a gag, Severus."
"Stop being thick," Severus answered, and flicked one finger sharply against the back of Harry's ear. Then he pressed a wand into Harry's hand, and turned his face once more. Draco's eyes were so unfettered, so open, grasping, and desperate, that Harry almost didn't need to cast legilimency to hear what was going on behind them...
Fuck me god damn it you are so thick fucking get it out and fuck me please please please fuck me make it hurt make me feel it waited so damn long you are so fucking first thick hard please hard make it hard beautiful want fuck me hurry hurry Harry can't stand it please I'll go mad want you he promised you would fuck can't wait any longer he promised you cruel bastard stop staring and FUCK ME!
Harry blinked, fighting to pull back from Draco's grasping, hungry, horny mind. When he opened his eyes again, he found he had one hand at the blond's cheek, stroking those tears away while Draco glared as if he could light Harry on fire with his eyes alone. Harry gave him a smirk by way of a promise that there would be far more than comfort coming his way, and that yes, Harry would take great pleasure in being sure Draco felt it for days after they were through.
But first... he half turned again, and caught Severus' smirking lips with his, once, again, and a sharp nip before he demanded, "You planned this all along?"
Severus nipped him back, harder, and gave Harry's nipple a pinch for good measure. "From the moment I saw the headline, of course," he purred. "And now I expect you to make it up to me, as you had promised."
Harry's gasp shivered into a laugh as he grabbed Draco's floating body and hauled him around so his rear just perched on the sofa's back, and his bound legs curled tight around Harry's right hip. He pressed back into Severus' heat so he could bend his face close and nuzzle that purpled, tormented cock, and grinned at the shrill noise Draco made. "You know, I think I remember you saying something about expected a good show..."
"Five points to Gryffindor," Severus replied, slipping away, and levitating the sofa to the center of the room before Harry could protest. "You may begin," he went on, making a show of selecting a bamboo cane from the umbrella tree beside the door, then flexing it in both hands, "by tasting that cock properly."
Harry grinned, flicked his tongue against the tiny little roll of ginger in Draco's slit, and savoured the desperate noise he made. "Yes sir," Harry called, gripping tight to Draco's hips. He didn't need to be told the plan -- he knew his lover's kink by now, and this... this fit into it very snugly indeed. He was ready, then, when the first singing stroke landed, and Draco's squeal-and-lurch drove his cock into the back of Harry's waiting throat. Harry sucked him hard, but pushed him back into position, and let go his mouthful with a pop to say, "One, sir." He was rewarded with a heated glance from furnace-black eyes, and a lurch of the cock against his cheek.
"Just so, Potter," Severus said, and made the cane sing once more.
They made it to ten, then all at once the ropes vanished, and Draco grabbed Harry's head as he wriggled both his legs up around Harry's bent back to thrust and thrust. And Harry took it in, slurping and sucking until Severus came up behind, and pulled Draco's arse back to hang over the sofa's edge.
"Fuck him!" The words burst from Harry without a thought as Draco's cock popped out of his mouth. "God, Severus, fuck him right here, please!"
Draco, still gagged, nodded frantic approval of the plan, but Severus only reached around to push his heels off Harry's back, and spread them wide. "I think not." He drove two fingers in without preamble, the slick, wet sound they made almost inaudible over Draco's clogged squeal. "If you want him fucked, I suggest you fuck him yourself."
Well. How could he refuse that order? Especially with Draco staring at him with those eager, desperate eyes? Harry gave one last glance at the prick he'd been enjoying, its veins standing thick and scarlet against the crimping ring, its ginger slipped a little farther out due to Harry's play, but still snug and tight. He did want to bite it, that little ginger plug -- to bite it, and pull it free, to banish the ring and let the building pressure explode all over him...
But then Severus pushed his fingers deep again, twisted them to make a filthy, sordid noise, and growled, "If you do not get back here at once, I shall be forced to use your broomstick to hold him off from taking my entire hand!"
"Later, Potter!" Severus growled over Draco's response. And remembering that the cane still lay behind the sofa just ready to come back into use, Harry scrambled to obey. He let Severus pull him tight against Draco's red welted back; let him press Harry's cock upward through the hollow of his palm so that his first thrust displaced the stretching fingers. That first was nearly the last -- blood hammered in his ears, and his bollocks drew up so tight Harry could barely remember to count, or to list potions ingredients, or to imagine anybody awkwardly naked.
He was going to come, he realized with a groan, he was going to come and ruin it all! But then Severus kicked his heels apart, cast a hasty charm that unspooled Harry's core with a sudden damp rush of sensation, and then grounded him on a thick, ready prick of his own. The pain of that sudden entry braided tightly into Harry's looming pleasure, balanced it, tempered it, and promised a wilder flight, and a steeper fall at the end, if Harry could but hang on.
"Now," came Severus' voice, hot and trembling behind his ear, "now we fuck."
"Turns out he's a masochist," Harry said to Ginny over tea and silencing charms at Madam Puddifoot's the next weekend.
Ginny snickered into her teacup. "Pot... kettle..."
Harry kicked her chair leg -- she'd moved her foot out of range already. "That's different." She rolled her eyes, but he persisted. "That was because of Severus, and you know it! I never once went around goading people who hated me in the hope they'd snap and give me a good thrashing and a sound fucking!" Again, that snicker. Harry slammed his cup down, sloshing tea everywhere. "That was different!!"
And at last, Ginny let him up with a pat on the hand, and a quick drying charm for the lacy tablecloth. "Well, maybe it was. But you surely can't be surprised that he wanted you, Harry."
"Well, I thought he was after Severus."
"Uh huh." She gave him a doubting glance. And you thought he'd somehow got through six years of Snape's classes without realizing that Snape generallyignores people who really nark him off, and only picks on people when he rather likes them?"
And at that, Harry had to blush. Luckily, a flashbulb from one of the reporters lurking in the bushes outside distracted him from any revealing display. "Yeah, well I didn't know that until recently myself," he allowed.
"You didn't know Malfoy fancied you until yesterday either," Ginny smirked, but pushed the plate of biscuits toward him all the same. "So what are you two going to do now? You and Snape, I mean," she added when Harry glanced up quizzically. "You adopting a pet ferret, or just bringing him home to romp when he gets stroppy?"
And again, Harry couldn't hold off the blush. "Dunno. I mean it was... bloody fantastic, and I'm gonna be sore for a week in the good way, but. Well, I mean... it's bad enough dealing with Severus' temper and moods. And then there's Draco's family, and I'd have to punch him in the head the first time he talked rubbish about Ron and your family, and --"
"And Snape's a possessive beast and hung like a bear and usually doesn't let you top, and Draco's such a greedy little bottom you're just not sure if you could take all the fantastic sex without-"
"There do realize there's more to life than sex, don't you?" Harry tried to sound severe, but honestly, he was laughing too hard.
"I do," Ginny grinned, stealing the last of the Jaffa cakes, "But that other stuff generally works itself out. And you're a guy, and so are they, so it's all going to boil down to sex in the end. So long as that's good, I'm pretty sure you'll all find your way along."
Harry peered at her. "You're beginning to sound like Luna."
"Thank you." She tipped him a wink, and took his hand for the benefit of the photographers. "Speaking of the most wonderful woman in the world, would it be a safe guess that this development might delay our Big Revelation a bit while the three of you work out pissing contests and bedding rights?"
Harry laughed, and brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "Still scared about telling your mum?"
She smirked, and snubbed her knuckle on the tip of his nose. "Unless you want to tell her for me, oh Hero of the Wizarding World..."
To which Harry had to shudder, and shake his head. "Sorry, Gin," he told her, pushing back his chair and summoning his robe, "You know I love you, but I'm not going to be the one to tell Molly Weasley that her only little girl is not going to marry Harry Potter and get working on the next generation. Frankly I'd rather face all of Slytherin house with no wand, and no pants on."
She put out her chocolate-smeared tongue at him as he headed for the door. "Men! I told you it was all about the sex!"