Title: Let Go Rating: R Pairing: Harry/Draco Disclaimer: Something about this J.K. Rowling person I keep hearing about goes here. Oh right, she's the owner of everything, and I'm only playing in her sandbox. Summary: There was a logical explanation for what happened between Harry and Malfoy: adolescent insanity. Not their own, though—their children's. Author's notes: I can't thank P (the first) enough for the plot bunny that got this story rolling and for her never-failing encouragement. And P (the second) did a good job of hand-holding as I stressed. Both P's served as betas, too, and any leftover mistakes are mine. We all hope this fills Gauriel's stocking with good cheer.
Harry spotted Lily first, or rather, he spotted the moving space alongside her best friend Natalie, who was a good head taller and stuck out like a giant among house-elves. They were moving towards him in a large sea of girls in various stages of woe, acting as if they were parting forever rather than only for summer hols. One of them caught sight of him, and a wave of expected point-and-nudge silliness followed. Lily, with the dignity of her fourteen years, feigned indifference to him. Her eyes skated past him into the crowd.
"Where's Mum?" she asked, after peeling herself reluctantly from her friends with breathless and teary promises to owl every day.
"Just late, I think," he replied and bit down on the rest. "Will your brothers be the last ones off the train, like always?"
"Course not," came a voice behind him—deeper than he remembered—that had to be Al's.
"Welcome back, son." Al looked terrified that Harry might cause him lethal humiliation by giving him a hug or, worse, by acknowledging him in any way whatsoever. Harry managed a small nod and hoped that it wasn't too dreadful to live through.
"That's two of you."
Just then, Ginny rushed up and caught Al in a full-body embrace. Al stiffened, then managed to offer her one feeble pat on the shoulder.
"Al! Just look at you, you're so big! You're finally taller than your dad."
Al squirmed out of her maternal death grip with a mumbled, "Hi, Mum."
Ginny turned her attention on Lily. "And just what have you done to your hair?" she grumbled, but gave Lily the same hug, to better reception.
"It'll wash out," Lily mumbled into her neck.
"It had better!"
"I think it looks all right," Harry said, with a smile for his daughter.
Ginny pulled away and scowled at him. "You would." Still, her tone wasn't as harsh as he remembered it the first year after their divorce. "Where's James?"
Al smirked. "Probably throwing up in the loo. Wait'll you see him…"
"Al!" Lily smacked his arm, not gently.
"What? Is he sick?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah," Lily said, but with obvious reluctance, and Harry cottoned on immediately.
"I think James had a little party last night after the Leaving Feast, is that it?"
"Yeah, he's really hung over," Al crowed. "Someone smuggled in some firewhiskey and—"
"You're such a tattletale," Lily said, with another smack at Al that he dodged. "It's his last year, he's eighteen."
"That's no excuse," Harry said. Noticing Al's self-satisfied grin, he felt obliged to add, "And you shouldn't have squealed on him, Albus. A hangover's its own punishment."
Al lapsed into black sullenness, then predictably turned on Lily. "Hey, look, there's your boyfriend. Don't you want to kiss him goodbye?"
Ginny's head swivelled. "Who, dear?"
"No one. Al's just being a wanker. Don't pay any attention to a word he says." But then, like a thief who can't help returning to the scene of the crime, her gaze fixed on a pale-haired boy who was gazing moony-eyed right back at her.
"Him?" Harry asked.
"No," Lily said, then, "Anyway, there's nothing wrong with him. Just because you hate his dad…"
"Lily Malfoy," Al sing-songed under his breath.
"I like his dad—well, I don't hate him," Harry felt the need to put in.
"There you go, then," Al said. "Lily, go ahead and start planning the wedding."
"Mu-u-u-m!" Lily wailed.
"Al, that's enough," Ginny said, but Harry noticed she was scrutinizing Scorpius Malfoy with new interest. Possibly with the memory of how she'd fallen for Harry when she was fairly young herself.
James's arrival distracted everyone. Al was right—he looked distinctly peaky. Harry, under sudden scrutiny by his offspring, decided that silence was his best course of action.
"You look like something the Kneazle dragged in," Ginny told him, but wrapped her arms round him fondly.
"'Lo Mum. Dad." He shook Harry's hand in an awkward greeting. "Can we just get our stuff and go? If I have to put up with one more sixth-form girl sobbing goodbye into my shirt, I'll puke!"
"Oh, so that's what it is," Al said.
"Did you bring the Land Rover, Dad?" Lily asked.
"Yes, I brought the Land Rover," he replied. "How else could we fit all your luggage in? But first, we're going to dinner with Mum so she can catch up—" James looked a little greener at the word dinner "—then we'll go home."
The mound of luggage looked like it belonged to a Quidditch team and not just three teenaged kids. "Is all this yours? Lily, I don't see yours here."
She kicked at a nondescript trunk and two blue bags. "It's right here."
"I thought you had that My Little Thestral set."
She scowled. "God, Dad. As if! That's for babies."
Ginny added, "We gave that to Ron's youngest last year, don't you remember?"
No. And apparently he'd made another parental faux-pas, because Lily was refusing to look at him again, and both James and Al were whinnying and pawing the air all around her.
"Can we just go?" he asked weakly.
Lily was the first to stride off, although in the wrong direction, and the boys trailed in her wake.
Harry sighed, and Ginny gave him a surprisingly sympathetic look.
"They really do get along, for the most part," she told him. And as if to prove her right, Harry saw Al pull out a handful of chocolate frogs and divide them up amongst his siblings. Each one opened the package and flourished their cards simultaneously.
"Oh, hey, I got Dad again," James exclaimed. "So I get front seat."
"You always get Dad. I think you cheat."
"No, wait!" Lily cried. "I get front seat, 'cause I got Mum!"
Ginny grinned at him. "Well, I may not have killed Voldemort, but at least my chocolate frog card still trumps yours."
Harry's house seemed too small to fit all four of them, but he knew that it was just the suddenness of having all the kids in it after the long school year. He'd picked out this flat after he and Ginny had split, careful to have one identically-sized bedroom for each of them. There was enough space to keep everyone out of each other's hair, but not enough to hold the piles of luggage they'd dumped about three feet inside of the door.
"Take all this stuff into your rooms," he called after their retreating figures. "Now."
"Still living all by yourself, I see," James said on his way back, where he poked half-heartedly at one oversized trunk.
"God, James, do you have to be so crude!" Lily said. "Besides, you know he's not even dating anyone."
"He does?" Harry said. "How does he know that?"
"Because Natalie would have read it in Witch Weekly, and she would have told her brother, and he would have told James, that's how."
All three of his kids were scrupulous in boycotting WW after the weeks of intrusive articles, each more outrageous than the last, when Ginny had suddenly left him for a much younger Quidditch star. It had been a hellish time, made worse by the accusations and speculation of the Wizarding press, and the kids weren't likely to forgive and forget any time soon.
Apparently, getting news third hand was all right, though.
Harry sighed. "If I did happen to have someone in my life, you'd be the first to know. Not Witch Weekly."
"I doubt that," James shot back. "They've got a reporter whose job is to try to work out what you're up to."
"That's because since Mum left he's the world's most eligible bachelor," Lily said.
James grinned. "Not any more! Didn't you hear? Last week they announced a new most eligible bachelor."
"Oh yeah?" Lily asked, looking outraged on his behalf. "Who, then?"
She shoved at him, but it looked playful, so Harry relaxed a bit. "Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen. They'd pick Al over you in a heartbeat."
"You're upset because they didn't pick your sweetheart, Scorpius."
"Shut up. He's not my boyfriend."
"Not for lack of trying, that's for sure."
"Pick me for what?" Al said, winding his way into the chaos of suitcases.
"Never mind," Lily said.
"Tosser of the Year," James said. "And well deserved it is, too."
"Oh, no, I could never take the title away from you," Al told his brother and ran down the hall just out of reach.
"Take your stuff with you," Harry called after them.
Eventually, the pile shrank until there was one lone bag left.
"Whose is this?" Harry asked.
"Not mine," James said, and Al shook his head. "Must be Lil's."
"Don't blame things on me when I'm not there to defend myself," she called from her bedroom.
A little tendril of worry crept into his thoughts. Probably they'd accidentally grabbed some other poor student's bag in the chaos, that was all. Still, because he was who he was, it always paid to be cautious. He'd levitated it this far, so that much magic on it was probably all right. He guided the bag down the stairs to the cellar that doubled as his weekend workshop and brought it to rest on his workbench.
The bag looked like an old-fashioned doctor's case, dull black leather with a simple metal clasp holding it shut. There were no identifying marks or tags on it anywhere. He cast a shielding charm around it and ran a few simple revealing spells. None of them triggered anything. Slowly, he ran through the repertoire of increasingly more invasive spells, even a few he rarely used as an Auror. Still nothing. Just another kid's bag, then, probably full of spell books and cheap potions kits. Or worse, dirty socks and underwear.
Harry dissolved the spells and undid the clasp, only to be startled by the telltale laughter of an Embarrassment Charm. Well, damn it! He hadn't remembered to try any of the silly spells favoured by school kids to protect their possessions. Now he was probably doomed to sporting pink hair or speaking in nursery rhymes the rest of the night.
Inside, Harry didn't find either spell books or dirty socks. Instead, the case opened to display elegant tiers, with little trays and drawers lined up in careful symmetry. It looked like a sample case for a travelling salesman.
But the merchandise itself left Harry speechless.
The top tray held a mind-boggling assortment of what looked like long cylinders, but which when he looked closer proved to be anatomically accurate rubber penises. In shock, he picked one up and dropped it just as suddenly when it began to vibrate in his hand. He swore.
Below that were half a dozen rings in blindingly loud colours. Nestled next to them were tiny jars filled with some kind of liquid, and one larger bottle stopped up with a cork. There were strings of beads that looked like a broken necklace of Madame Maxime's, white and black satin blindfolds, studded leather cuffs, long feather quills, and a whole lot of things that Harry had no name for.
Bloody hell! Harry might have triggered an Embarrassment Charm on himself, but it was clear that one of his kid's classmates was going to be a lot more humiliated when Harry returned this lot. Where did a Hogwarts student even get this sort of thing?
"Dad? What are you doing down there? James and Al said to tell you they've gone over to Nigel Longbottom's for a bit. Oh, have you seen a black leather bag? I thought I left it here in the hall."
"A black leather bag."
Harry looked at the incriminating object and tried to keep the shock out of his voice. "No, I haven't seen it."
"Oh, crap! I can't believe I lost it! Scorpius gave it to me specially."
"Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy! So okay, maybe he is my boyfriend. Just don't say anything to James or Al, okay, Dad? Oh, I know. I bet one of them saw him give it to me just before you found us at the platform, and hid it just now to take the mickey. Just wait'll I—" He heard her footsteps retreating upstairs.
Harry hoped Lily didn't make too much of a scene at her boyfriend's imminent funeral.
Lily loved to gossip, so it didn't take Harry long to pump her for the information he needed. The Malfoys still lived in their family manor in Wiltshire ("and can you believe it, Dad, the Ministry wanted to take it all away because they said they were all a bunch of Death Eaters…"), where Malfoy and that little shit Scorpius—but apparently no one answering to the name Mrs Malfoy—lived ("Jeez, Dad, they've been divorced like, forever! I can't believe you didn't know that…"). He let Lily run on about Scorpius's alleged charm and maturity without saying a single word, until she finally noticed that he was putting on his coat.
"Dad, you're acting really weird, even for you," she told him, but accepted his false reassurance that everything was fine. Luckily, she decided to ransack her brothers' rooms one more time, so that Harry was able to leave with the ill-gotten suitcase without her noticing.
The Floo took longer than he expected, and he Apparated the last leg of it right up to the gates of Malfoy Manor. By the time he'd got that far, he'd gone from irritation to indignation to high dudgeon, but he was careful not to take it out on the poor house-elf who escorted him into a little room just off the main entrance. He bounced the offensive suitcase on his knee and waited.
Malfoy hadn't changed much over the years. Up close, though, Harry saw fine crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and a lingering tiredness that told of the passing of time. His white-blond hair was looking a bit thinner, too. But he still had the sharp, pointed features and grim scowl he had at school.
"Potter," he said, with a reserved nod that Harry had come to expect when they accidentally crossed paths. "I take it this isn't a social call, or you would have sent me an owl, at least. Let me guess why you're here. It's about Scorpius and Lily, isn't it?"
Malfoy slowly sat down into the only other chair in the room. "Look, Potter, I'll get right to the point. You and I grew up in a different age. Still, we're not so old that we can't learn to adapt. I'm frankly surprised that this bothers you so much."
Harry was so shocked that he could only gape in disbelief, and Malfoy continued, coldly composed.
"I always thought you were open-minded, at least. I have to admit it's disturbing to find out I was wrong about you. Especially when it concerns my son."
Harry was on his feet in an instant. "You're damned right it concerns your son! I'm here to make sure he keeps his foul hands off my daughter!"
"How dare you!" Malfoy shot back, jumping up and stalking closer. "And just how do you propose to do that, Potter? Are you going to arrest him and send him to Azkaban?"
"I suppose since you're Head Auror, they'd probably even let you get away with it, but for God's sake, Potter, come back to earth. How would you explain to your adoring public that you ruined a sixteen-year-old boy because he looked twice at your precious daughter?" His voice grew high and shrill. "Oh, no, they held hands! They might have even kissed! Call the Dementors!"
Harry scowled back. "It's not kissing I have a problem with. It's the rest of it!"
"Oh, come off it. He's sixteen. She's, what, fourteen? It's puppy love, that's all. Just because you missed all of that yourself…" here he fumbled his words, clearly remembering just why Harry was otherwise occupied at sixteen. "They're still only kids."
"Right. Tell me then, if you know so much about it, just where does a sixteen-year-old kid like Scorpius find these sorts of things? Was it a gift from his oh-so-open-minded father?"
Roughly, he slammed the suitcase down hard on a delicate—and probably very expensive—table and threw open the lid. He saw the moment that the contents registered by the indignant look on Malfoy's face.
"Good Lord! This is…" He looked up suddenly. "What do you mean, a gift? You don't think this has anything to do with me, do you?"
"Where would I get that idea? Just because you started off this conversation lecturing me about how we grew up in a different age, and being adaptable and—"
"I thought you were upset because your daughter fancied a Malfoy, that's all."
"Why would I care about that?"
Malfoy's glare was cold. "Oh, I can't imagine how I might come up with that notion. No idea whatsoever."
"Lily's free to fancy anyone she likes. Well, within the ordinary limits, that is. But this—" He waved his hand over the obscene paraphernalia, and the bottles of … whatever … rattled ominously. He apprehensively tried to dial back his anger.
"This lot? Are you saying that Scorpius is somehow connected to this?"
"He gave it to Lily. It was some kind of perverted goodbye gift. She doesn't know what's in it yet, thank god."
"Scorpius? My Scorpius gave this rubbish to your daughter?" If Malfoy's voice got any higher, only dogs would be able to hear him. "That's impossible!"
"Look here, are you calling my daughter a liar?"
"You seem to have no problem calling my son a pervert!"
"I'm saying that if Lily said she got it from Scorpius, then that's what happened."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes the way he used to when they were both at Hogwarts, looking dangerous and cruel. "Maybe she confused him with one of her other scores of boyfriends."
Harry felt a furious surge of unstoppable anger, and in that instant saw the cork fly out of the largest bottle in the case. Before either of them could move, a fountain of something thick and wet had geysered out in a sticky cascade, drenching them both.
"You fucking idiot," Malfoy cried, pawing at the goo on his face. "You'd think past the age of forty, you'd have at least learned some control over your magic. Gah! What the hell is this stuff, anyway?"
"How should I know? Why don't you ask your son! It's probably some super-deluxe lube…."
A sudden wave of dizziness engulfed him, and he staggered back into the chair, gripping the arms until the room righted itself a little.
But at the moment Malfoy didn't look any better than Harry felt. He was hanging on to the edge of the table and—from what Harry could see beneath the dripping mess—had flushed bright pink.
"Potter— I have a horrible feeling this shit isn't super-deluxe lube."
"And I have a horrible feeling we aren't going to like finding out what it is, either."
The unknown potion was rapidly evaporating, and Harry didn't want to think about where it was vanishing to. His vertigo was fading, but the sensation left behind was raising all kinds of alarms in his brain. He felt…tingly. Warm. Stimulated, attentive, sensuous, and—what was most unsettling of all— very, very aroused.
Malfoy looked at him with a terrible expression on his suddenly attractive face. "Do you, uh, feel rather, erm, odd all of a sudden?"
"Uh, yeah. I think…" he managed to say, with a mouth that was suddenly very interested in things other than speech, "If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say we were just doused with a pretty strong sex potion…"
Malfoy looked like he'd been hit with a stunning curse, or else a very large tree. "Everyone knows there's no such thing, Potter. Wizards have been trying to come up with one for hundreds of years, but no one's done it yet."
"No, I didn't think so. Except—"
Harry swallowed. "Except when I came here, I didn't have the urge to do unspeakable things to you on the carpet."
"And now you do?" Malfoy asked, rather nonchalantly, considering the topic.
"Well, I don't think I'd be too off the mark to think you might have the same ridiculous urge."
Malfoy shook his head. "No…but only about the carpet. I was thinking against the wall."
"My feelings exactly." He let go of the table and dropped on all fours, crawling towards Harry like a very dangerous panther. "Get out of here now, Potter!"
"Yeah, right," he said, but his body had other ideas. He found himself on his knees as well, inching closer to Malfoy. "I don't think I can."
"Damn it, I thought you could resist Imperius—"
"But this doesn't feel anything like Imperius. There's no voice in my head telling me to…aaaah…"
In that instant they connected, and he knew any chance he'd had of escaping before it was too late was gone. "Oh, god," he whimpered, feeling sparks where Malfoy's hand skated along his skin. If this was what it felt like to be touched on the arm, he wasn't sure he was going to live through the rest. But on the other hand, what a way to go.
"We're doomed," Malfoy whispered, a crazed and hungry look in his eyes. Then he lunged.
Harry would be lying to say he hadn't fantasised about getting off with another bloke. There was that one time, just after his break-up with Ginny, that he'd nearly found out, but he'd got cold feet at the last minute. A little part of him was happy to blame what happened next on the mystery potion—and he didn't want to investigate that too closely and find out that it was really a big part of him. Because right now Malfoy was recklessly grinding against him, and suddenly Malfoy's mouth was on him, too, and the combination was too intense for any thought at all.
Those grabbing, clutching things at the ends of his arms seemed to be his own hands, and they looked to be quite busy stripping Malfoy of his clothes. And Malfoy's hands were helpfully pitching in and doing the same to Harry.
Malfoy's brain, however, seemed to be objecting to the whole getting-out-of-our-clothes business.
"If I'd known you were here to attack me, Potter, I'd never have allowed you in the door," he complained, although his hands never deviated from the task of eagerly unbuttoning Harry's shirt.
"You might want to take a closer look at just who's doing the attacking here," he said, unbuckling Malfoy's belt and tugging it off with no little enthusiasm.
"I—oh, uhhh, yeah—can't help it!"
"Well, neither can I. And if you whinge about it the whole time, it'll just make it worse."
Malfoy's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Moments later, though, it opened to suck in Harry's left earlobe, and his lips and tongue left no part of it untouched. And then his own mouth decided this was apparently a worthwhile thing to do to Malfoy, too, and the sighs and whimpers he got for his efforts made him glad he'd tried it.
He probably should have taken off Malfoy's shoes and socks before going for the trousers, because he managed to work everything into a tangled muddle.
"Shit, Potter, you think you'd never done this before—"
"Well, I haven't. Have you?"
"Every day. No, you perv… My own trousers, I meant!"
"Look, I'm not gay," Malfoy said, right before his hands grabbed a dual handful of Harry's naked arse and hauled him closer.
"Ngggghhhhh… Me either," he said, willing to agree to anything just to get more of Malfoy's skin against his own.
"Okay, just so we're clear. Your cock feels so good, yeah, right there, nnnnnnn…"
Harry chose that moment to roll on top of Malfoy, who took it as an invitation to wrap his legs around Harry's back and shove himself up, hard. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head at the intensity of the sparks in his groin. They were brazenly rutting against each other now, and the way Malfoy moved underneath him was practically indecent.
"Wait… No… Don't…" Malfoy muttered.
"Hngghhh…" was all that he could say under the circumstances, but Malfoy was squirming away from him. "What?"
"Put—put something in me first," he panted.
"What?" Then it hit him what Malfoy wanted. Wow. Just the thought nearly made Harry come.
"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy said, sounding amazingly sarcastic even while gasping for air. "Do you think it's too obvious to mention the dildos and anal beads we're sprawling on?"
"Anal beads?" So that's what those things were—nothing to do with Madame Maxime at all.
"Don't tell me you never—"
"Shut up. Just because Ginny and I didn't—"
Malfoy gave him a sharp nip on the top of his shoulder, and Harry squawked. "Listen, Potter. Things are weird enough already—can we possibly not talk about our ex-wives just now?"
He could see the sense in that. "Yeah." And then—and clearly it was the potion talking—he heard himself ask, "So, uh… What else was in that suitcase?"
Cock rings, it turned out. And Malfoy knew how those worked too.
"It's…alive!" Harry shrieked.
"I mean, it's clamping down on me all on its own…"
Malfoy stopped sucking on his neck long enough to look him straight in the eye. "And you have a problem with that?"
Harry saw it in this new light. "Oh. No, I—" The rest was an unintelligible noise as Malfoy's fingers gripped his cock and twisted.
He returned the favour when Malfoy discovered that the smallest dildo he'd picked out for himself—it's not like I'm used to shoving huge things up my arse, Potter, what do you expect?!—had an engorgement spell on it once it was in place.
"Breathe, Malfoy! It's okay." A few long strokes where it did the most good calmed Malfoy down considerably, only to get him excited in a new and much more interesting way.
Harry refused to believe for a minute that Malfoy was as inexperienced as he kept insisting. How did he know the trick behind the magical handcuffs, for example? Why did he just happen to know the spell to trigger the soft teasing strokes of the feather, although Harry was thrilled he did?
So okay, Harry got lucky when it came time to work out how to get all those silken ropes to untie, and he just happened to know what the ball gag was meant to do because he'd seen it once in a porno at Seamus's.
Harry let out a sigh of relief when Malfoy took one look at the sharp, snapping teeth of the nipple clamps and said, "Fuck, no! You try those on me and I'll kill you!"
"How? By drowning me in saliva?" By this point, Malfoy had practically bathed him all over with his tongue. "Oww! Stop doing that—no, wait, never mind. Do it again."
They'd used up nearly all the little bottles of lube when Malfoy finally ground out, in a raspy and rather sexy bedroom voice, "God, Potter, I'm not going to last much longer— Take off your cock ring."
And that was all it took for Harry to come, long and hard. Malfoy gave an undignified squeal and soon did the same. They lay together in the sudden stillness, guppying like beached fish.
Harry's breath finally calmed, and he gingerly rubbed a bump on his head where he'd slammed it up against the wall at some frenzied moment. He was afraid to investigate himself any further, because he probably looked as ravished as Malfoy, who was still panting beside him. Malfoy's fair skin showed every telltale mark Harry had left on him—the bites, kisses, scratches, and—ooh, that one from the handcuffs had to hurt.
"I think it's finally worn off," he told Malfoy, his voice still rough from that bit of howling.
"Yeah," Malfoy replied. "Can I just point out that given Scorpius's Potions marks, there's no way he could have brewed up anything this successful. Whoever did, though, is sitting on a bloody goldmine."
It was hard for Harry to regain the level of his earlier anger, given that they'd just fucked each other's brains out and all. "So who did?"
"No idea, but I intend to find out. None of this is making sense. Scorpius would never in a million years…well, let's just say he takes after his mother, which I'm sure you're glad to hear. I can't imagine him even knowing what any of this stuff is."
"Especially when we didn't."
Malfoy started to laugh. "Oh, god, Potter, you've still got the—well. Here, roll over—"
Just then, the front door slammed and the most unwelcome voice imaginable rang out. "Dad? I'm back! Mr. Goyle said to remind you that tomorrow—Oh my god! Dad!"
Belatedly, Harry remembered the Embarrassment Charm he'd set off when he opened the suitcase that was the cause of so much…grief. Yeah, grief. Whoever had cast it was a power to be reckoned with, and he hoped that the wizard or witch who did it had no thoughts of Evil Overlord-dom any time soon.
So, all things considered, he supposed Scorpius's piercing shriek was understandable, given that his father was at that moment extracting a dildo adorned with a horse's tail from Harry's arse.
Malfoy, after making it utterly clear to his son that the two of them were under a pernicious, horrific, ghastly, appalling, nasty, and very, very evil spell, convinced his son to give them a few minutes of privacy to make themselves decent. They hastily gathered all the evidence of their debauched evening and, after a thorough cleaning spell on the lot, crammed it all back into the suitcase.
Scorpius refused to look either of them in the eye, which suited Harry just fine. "How…how did Izzy's suitcase get here?" he asked nervously.
"What?" Malfoy said, while Harry's own question was "Who?"
Scorpius answered neither. "You shouldn't have opened it, you know. He put an Embarrassment Charm on it, and you know how good he is at those." The obvious hit him, and he mumbled, "Oh, uh, right."
Scorpius grinned. "Izzy's brilliant, everyone says so! The smartest warlock of his age, McGonagall says. He's always inventing new stuff. He came up with a poltergeist spell and got it smuggled into the Hufflepuff common room and…uh, I probably shouldn't tell you the rest."
Malfoy scowled. "Which begs the question, what were you doing with his suitcase?"
Scorpius glanced at the open lid and the jumbled mess inside. "Oh. Well. He's not going to be too happy when he finds out that it's trashed. He said he worked really hard getting it ready."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Scorpius clearly knew what that meant because he rushed on. "Look. I never saw what was in it. He put the Embarrassment Charm on it and told me under no circumstances was I to open it. And I told Lily that too when I gave it to her."
"Why did you give it to her, that's what we want to know," Harry said.
"Because of George Weasley," he replied, as if that explained everything. Their blank looks prompted him to add, "Well, he's her uncle and all."
Malfoy looked exasperated. "Scorpius, do you think you could gather what few wits you possess and tell us—in English and not Gobbledygook—what this bloody suitcase is doing here?"
"I don't know why it's here," Scorpius said, looking more sullen by the minute. "Izzy gave it to me to give to Lily to give to Mr Weasley. It's full of things he invented, and he thought Mr Weasley would buy them. Maybe even give him a job at his shop now that he's out of Hogwarts."
Harry sat there, gobsmacked. His anger vanished, and he wished his mortification would follow. Knowing that neither Lily or Scorpius had suspected what they'd had in their hands was reassuring, at least, but if one of them—or god forbid, both of them—had let curiosity get the better of them… He shivered and glanced at Malfoy, who looked like he was about to be ill himself.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, punctuated by Scorpius's shuffling as he sidled closer to peer into the suitcase. "What's all this stuff for anyway?"
"Never you mind." Malfoy told him sternly.
Harry cleared his scratchy throat and said, "Just how was George Weasley supposed to open it with an Embarrassment Charm on it?"
Scorpius laughed. "Izzy said he'd notice it right off. Izzy said he's a brilliant wizard, too, and would work it out straightaway. And if he didn't, well, that would prove how smart Izzy is and he'd be sure to hire him. Besides, he's a Weasley, so an Embarrassment Charm wouldn't have much effect on him. Wasn't that clever?"
"It would have been more clever if he'd just taken it to Mr Weasley himself," Harry told him.
Scorpius suddenly frowned. "Lily didn't try to open it, did she?"
"No. If you told her not to, she wouldn't."
"Well, good. I mean, I didn't think so. She's a Gryffindor, and she likes me and all so, uh… Just so she's okay." He stumbled to a halt, bright red, as he seemed to remember just who he was speaking to.
Harry took sudden pity on him. "No, she's fine. You can owl her if you want to make sure. I think she'd like that."
Malfoy heard Harry's roundabout apology and gave a small nod. "I'll make sure this gets back to Isidore, but he needs to deliver his inventions himself from now on," he told his son. "But I don't think this is the kind of merchandise that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is interested in."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Harry said. "They've branched out over the years."
"Really?" Scorpius said. "Izzy'll be excited! He's always talked about getting a job there. Wait'll I tell him—" He shot out of the room with a distant, "Bye, Mr Potter," called back from somewhere down the hall.
"So Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes does trade in sex toys?" Malfoy asked with a sly grin.
"So I've heard, that's all. I bet that potion will be outlawed within the month, though. In fact, I'm going to make sure of it myself."
Thankfully, Lily accepted his highly censored account of the missing suitcase. Once she made sure that Scorpius wasn't angry at her for misplacing it, she forgot about it entirely.
Harry, though, found it much harder to forget the suitcase and its amazing contents. He chalked it up to his boring celibacy since the divorce. Mind-blowing sex like that—even mind-blowing sex with Draco Malfoy, of all people—was just too hard to put behind him. And okay, he didn't have the hang-up about doing it with another man that most people would have had. One of his other most embarrassing moments was the time in sixth year when Ron warily told him, no, Harry, most blokes don't have naughty thoughts about other blokes when they wank. But now he was at the point, at least, when he didn't get instantly hard when he remembered his unorthodox evening with Malfoy.
"Oh, it's Scorpius's owl," Lily exclaimed gleefully one morning. "James, stop that, give it to me. Da-a-ad!"
James dangled the scroll just out of her reach, making kissing noises. "Admit it, Lil, he's your boyfriend. Just say it, and I'll give it to you."
Harry sighed. "Give it to her, James, and stop acting like an idiot."
James finally dropped the letter into her eager hands, but her smile quickly turned to disappointment. "Huh. It's for you, Dad," she said and handed it over. "I think it's from Mr Malfoy."
Given the circumstances of his last encounter with Malfoy, Harry waited until the room was empty before reading the message.
The suitcase has been returned to its rightful owner, and the less said about that horrible conversation the better. I understand from Scorpius that as a result of all this, Isidore Goyle is the newest employee of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. God help us all.
I did learn, however, one rather curious and important fact from Isidore. There is still no such thing as a sex potion. Thanks to him, however, there is now such a thing as a fantasy-fulfilling potion. As you can imagine, that was another conversation that is highly embarrassing to remember.
In light of this new information, I think we need to talk. Would you care to meet me for dinner, say, this Saturday? I suppose we'd better go to a Muggle place if we don't want to attract attention. You choose.
He remembered watching Malfoy madly stuffing sex toys into the suitcase after Scorpius showed up. He hadn't noticed Harry's eyes on him as he'd quietly pocketed the horse-tail dildo.