Beauty – Harry/Fleur
He brushed out her long, silver-blonde hair, sighing quietly as it fell through his fingers.
“No snarls,” she reminded him primly and he met her smooth gaze in the mirror.
Harry nodded once. No snarls. Never—her hair was too beautiful. She was too beautiful. He loved her too much.
The brush, crafted out of unicorn horn, felt heavy in his hands as he continued to stroke her beautiful hair. The last time, he reminded himself mentally. After today she would have someone else—someone older—to brush her hair just the way she liked it.
Her beautiful hands smoothed down the wedding dress she was wearing. Everything was perfect. She was happy. She was beautiful.
If only Fleur still didn’t think of him as a “leetle boy.”
Forbidden – Albus Severus/James II
James hovered outside the door, his fingers tracing the familiar wood that used to hide his first year dormitory. He knew it was wrong. Wizards loved witches, like his dad loved Mum. It should be little Lily, sweet Lily, who called him in the middle of the night—but he could never get the vision of messy black hair and sweet green eyes to leave him.
Hesitantly, he opened the door. Six beds with crimson hangings met his eyes, the last one opened slightly as the sounds of sniffles met his ears.
“Albie,” he whispered desperately as he slid into the bed, holding his little brother close. “What’s wrong?”
Unfocused green eyes looked into his, desperate, pleading, and, unable to resist, James dropped a soft kiss on Albus Severus’s parted lips.
“The hat—it knows.”
James swallowed, forcing his courage to hammer through his heart as he kissed Albus once again—longer, sweeter. “Knows what?”
“About us. It said it was wrong—forbidden—that he would tell the Headmistress.—I had to fight it not to put me in Hufflepuff where it wanted to.”
He could see bright green eyes looking hopefully up at him—wanting—asking—needing to be assured.
He dropped another kiss, this time into the messy black hair, and pulled Albus closer. “The hat knows nothing,” he assured his little brother. How could it know? It was a piece of old cloth after all.
Destiny – Roger/Harry/Terry
When Harry had become close friends with Hermione, he thought he knew everything there was to know about the quintessential Ravenclaw type. They were bossy. Know-it-alls. Spouted facts as if they were Galleons growing on trees. Couldn’t think for themselves, but let others think for them—mainly professors and books. Oh, and they were good at absolutely everything, except perhaps Quidditch.
In a few words: lovable, safe, yet boring.
That was before he found himself here, in the rose bushes, fairies illuminating the skin of the one hovering over him, pressing, pressing, closer. There was no knowledge, no facts, only kisses against the arc of his neck, hands fluttering against the buttons of his robe, freeing him, freeing them.
“Wha—?” he gasped, as Boot stepped out into the moonlight, his robes already undone as Davies turned to him and kissed him gently in greeting. Roger, he reminded himself mentally. It was Roger now, who whispered promises of forever in his ear, as Boot—Terry—hummed against his lips in agreement.
Forever, they promised, amongst the fairies and the rose petals, but Harry knew better. This wasn’t forever. His destiny was death, battle, but now, just for now, he could let himself pretend.
Surprises – Harry/Piers
Harry stood in front of the glass cage, staring in awe at the large boa constrictor before him. It was nestled in a large knot, almost like this design he had once read about when he hid in the library from Dudley and his gang. A Celtic something. That was it.
He looked at the plaque.
Well, maybe Brazilian snakes liked Celtic designs, too, his innocent mind reasoned.
“Over there!” Piers said loudly, pointing out of the reptile hut and Dudley, with his beady little eyes, quickly waddled away—toward the giraffes or the penguins or something else.
No one noticed they had left Harry behind. He found he really couldn’t mind.
He felt someone come up beside him and he shifted to the side, giving the stranger a good view of the cage.
“Hmm,” the stranger said and Harry turned only to see Piers—Dudley’s best friend Piers—looking at him intently.
Startled, Harry stepped back, his eyes darting about a bit, afraid Dudley too was lurking somewhere unseen—although Dudley was a bit too big to really lurk properly.
“I like you,” Piers declared in a stage whisper and, before Harry could think of what to say to that, leaned forward and quickly kissed Harry on the lips.
Nodding once and seeming pleased with himself, Piers walked off toward the exit, a skip in his step.
Harry, stunned, raised his hand to his lips, feeling a strange tingling sensation that oddly made him happy.
“Young lovvvve,” a voice from nowhere seemed to hiss, but Harry, too absorbed in what had just happened, didn’t really notice.
Honor – Harry/Neville
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom,” Harry practiced in front of the mirror, tugging at the new dress robes he bought just for the occasion. Neville had quietly insisted, in that gentle way of his. His grandmother didn’t hold with Muggle clothing—thought it was plebian—gave the rabble ideas, she apparently said.
Frankly, the very thought of meeting her terrified Harry. But this was for Neville, he reminded himself. All for Neville—who he had somehow managed to get injured just last June at the Department of Mysteries.
He swallowed nervously. He could do this; he could do this.
“It is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite look right in the mirror.
No smile then.
He’d probably muck it all up anyway, worse than when he’d first asked Neville to Hogsmeade—on a date.
Honor. Honor sounded right. It was an honor to meet Mrs. Longbottom, an honor to love her grandson.
He nodded to his reflection, trying to fill out the black and crimson robes he was wearing.
Honor—that sounded just about right.
Confrontation – Harry/Scorpius
“I know she’s your daughter,” he was now saying, the words drumming a headache into Harry’s brain. “But—look—we want to get married.”
He wants to get married, Harry thought snidely to himself, not looking at the gorgeous boy before him, all angular lines and large gray eyes. That was just splendid, what every father wants to hear.
Scorpius Malfoy didn’t say he loved his daughter, only that they wanted to get married, in his own words.
“I’m well able to provide for her,” Scorpius continued, unhindered. “She’d never want for anything.”
Of course, she wouldn’t, Harry mentally sniped. You’re the richest bloody wizard in England like your father before you.
A swish of robes broke Harry out of his thoughts, forcing him to look up at the young wizard who was still speaking confidently. His eyes, though, his eyes hinted at the desperation Harry could feel welling in him at this farce of a request.
“I’d give Lily her own allowance—very gener—“
Harry’s lips pressed against Scorpius’s, cutting off his line of thought. They were so smooth, so heavenly, everything Harry had been denying himself for years as they exchanged longing looks whenever they passed each other at the Ministry.
Strong arms found their way around his waist, pulling him closer, begging for more.
“Oh thank Merlin,” Scorpius whispered against his lips before deepening the kiss.
Harry found he couldn’t agree more.
The Black Tradition – Harry/Sirius
“It’s tradition,” was all Sirius would murmur as he stroked Harry’s tears from his face. “An old Black tradition.”
“I-I’m not a Black,” Harry whispered back, straining away.
“Shh,” Sirius would respond, trailing kisses down his neck, pushing closer as a hot hand went straight to Harry’s abdomen. “Relax.”
Harry tried to lean back, tried to close his eyes, to think of anything, anyone else—of Cho smiling at him—but found that all he could do was sob as Sirius took his soft member into his mouth.
The old house—the ancestral home of the Blacks—creaked all around them as Harry closed his eyes in humiliation, willing him to stop, wanting it to end.
Ron was just in the next bed. Why wasn’t he awake? How could he sleep through this?
“Jamie, my James,” Sirius moaned out around him, causing sensations to spread up Harry’s spine, disgusting him.
He felt dirty, used.
Cho would never again want to kiss him under the mistletoe.
Azkaban – Rabastan/Harry
He knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, but as he glided down the old stone halls, Harry found he couldn’t care.
Dementors had once been here. Sirius had been trapped in one of these cells. He could almost hear the memories of his sobs.
So long, so long ago. But then again, it didn’t really matter.
Hollow eyes looked out at him through the prison bars.
At least they were well fed, now that the war was over. Dementors no longer haunted their dreams.
He really shouldn’t be here, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.
His wand glowed in the darkness, leading him on, until he finally came to the cell he wanted. “Rabastan,” he murmured, almost too quietly to hear, a hand pressed to his stomach where he could feel his husband’s child growing within him.
As large brown eyes looked up at him, he remembered hurried kisses between battles, quiet promises that whatever side won they’d be together and they were right, Harry supposed, but he had never quite imagined it like this.
No one knew about the child, of course, only the healer, and even he didn’t know the name of the father. Harry would make sure no one ever would.
Mirrors – James I/James II
He wasn’t certain where it had originally come from, but he’d found it in an old trunk in the attic the summer before his fifth year. It was ornate, beautiful, and despite himself James found himself stashing it away with his things just as Albus Severus was calling him to dinner.
Sometimes, late at night, he’d find himself staring into it, and occasionally a boy would stare back at him, all wild black hair and laughing eyes—so like his dad and Albus and yet not quite.
“I love you,” James found himself saying one day to the other boy, whose name he never quite knew. “I’m in love with you.”
The boy smiled back at him and laughed, asking if perhaps he would rather tell Sirius that. Sirius was, after all, a bit queer.
“Sirius?” James asked, his throat constricting.
Yes, Sirius Black, my best friend.
He didn’t care if Muggles, according to Dad, said it was seven years bad luck. He threw the mirror against the wall, tears rushing down his face as he realized he’d fallen in love with his own grandfather.
Freedom – Harry/Rodolphus
He was doing it only for his freedom, Harry reminded himself, as he found himself once again on a bed, the silk sheets smooth against his sweating palms. Freedom from the prophecy, from Dumbledore, from expectations in his friends’s eyes that he was too afraid to meet.
A world without Voldemort. That’s what they all wanted, craved with their very souls. A world without You-Know-Who—a world where Harry wouldn’t have a place, wouldn’t know how to exist.
Since he was eleven there had always been a dark lord, before that there had been adversity.
He couldn’t survive in a world that held neither for him.
As Rodolphus leaned down and kissed him gently, Harry told himself that he was doing it for freedom, but really in his heart he knew it was for love.
Possessiveness – Harry/Viktor
Harry tried to stifle the gasp of happiness as he was pulled away from the wedding, a strong hand closing around his wrist. “Cousin Barry, yes?” Viktor growled before pushing Harry against the side of the house, away from everyone’s prying eyes.
Warm lips covered his own, sucking, possessive, all encompassing.
If he hadn’t had Viktor pressing him so completely to the wall, Harry was certain he would have been a mess on the ground. His knees could barely support him.
“If you vere Cousin Barry then I think the Veazy girl vould not be staring at you, no?” he demanded again and Harry lost himself in a second breathless kiss. Trust Viktor to recognize him even when he was disguised.
Possessive husbands were just like that sometimes.
Testing – Harry/Weasley Twins
“No,” Harry said soundly, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. He supposed he would have looked casual, except for the fact that he was wearing nothing at all—apart from his wire rim glasses. “Definitely not.”
“Please,” George wheedled, his voice a slightly lower timber than Fred’s, soft, strong. It sent shivers down Harry’s spine whenever he would whisper in his ear in public.
“Pretty please,” Fred echoed, the light in his eyes making Harry’s toes curl in longing. “We wouldn’t ask you—“
“—If we didn’t think you’d absolutely—“
“—enjoy it,” George finished.
Harry couldn’t think any more, the sheer eroticism of the two of them whispering against his skin, making him forget everything else—and so, as two sets of hands began to make love to him, he slowly nodded.
Of course he should have known better. His lovers were notorious and always testing out their products on him, he thought the next morning, when certain unmentionable parts of his body were stained green.
Broken Promises – Harry/Cedric
Cedric should have said he was sorry, Harry thought as he sat alone during the Yule Ball. He’d come alone, just as they had planned to do when whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, Cedric’s large hands bruising his hips as he thrust into him. Yes, now, forever, I love you’s.
It didn’t matter what the Dursleys said—that this was wrong. All that mattered was Cedric’s mouth closing around him, of hard, jagged thrusts behind a tapestry when he should have been in class.
He thought this had been love.
But now it meant nothing. They were supposed to come alone, escorting no one, just being together. A statement.
Harry watched Cedric as he danced with Cho on the dance floor.
Diary – Harry/Regulus
It was rough, beaten. The ink was smeared in several places and sometimes it was hard to read, but still Harry could not seem to let it go. As soon as he had laid eyes on it, he had been drawn to it—a small book made from parchment.
At night, hiding from Death Eaters in a tent in the middle of nowhere, he would read from it and felt somehow that he knew the boy that had once written in its pages.
Harry held the locket and stared at it. This is what Regulus had given his life to take, to steal.
Somehow, holding the diary, Harry had felt that it hadn’t been worth it.
Reflections – Harry/Mirror of Erised
Harry wasn’t certain why he kept going back to the mirror over the years. It had been moved briefly from the abandoned classroom back when he was only eleven, but somehow it had found its way back again.
He no longer saw his parents, his family—they were no longer his greater desire.
Instead he only saw himself, smiling quietly and lovingly, bright green eyes alight in happiness as he tracked Harry’s every movement.
He—the boy in the mirror—was his reflection, and somehow Harry knew that he had fallen in love.
Still, though, he did not know. Did he love himself or the mirror?
Overlooked – Harry/Percy
Bill had only seen Percy as the youngest child, and then he didn’t even have that when the twins were born two years later.
Charlie, well, Charlie liked the outdoors. Sometimes he would try to play with Percy outside, but Percy didn’t like getting his only pair of robes dirty. Charlie soon forgot about him.
The twins, well, they had each other and their jokes, even when they were small. When he was only seven they had stolen his glasses and broken them on purpose. They only noticed him when they wanted to humiliate him a little more than they had before.
Ron, well. He had had hope for Ron. Of course, it was all for nothing. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie could have played for England. Ronnikins would never notice him after them, especially with the twins’ loud laughter and bright smiles.
Little Ginny. She was everyone’s darling. She didn’t need anyone unless they adored her when she was little, and Percy, with his books and his lectures, did not adore her enough. Soon, she stopped coming to him for hugs.
He thought if his own family barely loved him that no one else ever could, until Harry with his bright green eyes and lopsided half-smile walked into his world. “I can’t sleep,” he said one night, his first time in the Burrow. “Ron’s room—it’s too large.”
Percy set down his Transfiguration book, and smiled at the small boy. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”
That night they’d fallen asleep together in the smaller bathroom, tangled limbs in the tub with griffin claws. Percy was never overlooked again.
Timeless Mourning – Harry/Aberforth
It didn’t matter that it had been decades ago, when Aberforth was still in Hogwarts, or just last year for Harry. Time didn’t matter. They had both lost, both suffered—a little sister, gone. It should have been a blessing, some would say. They surely did.
Still, for Aberforth it was not.
Harry had lost a friend, so dear to him, so secret, a love almost plucked before it could even begin to bloom. No one understood, how could they? They all thought he fancied Ginny, or would soon like another girl. The fact that his heart was bleeding meant little, now that Voldemort was gone.
They drank Firewhiskey together every Friday, and every Saturday Harry awoke in a tangle of limbs in Aberforth’s arms, his clothes stripped from him hurriedly in moments of desperation and drunkenness.
It wasn’t love; they both knew it. It was mourning that would never end.
Sirius/Regulus – Clubbing
They hadn’t spoken, not since Sirius had run away. They still didn’t speak as the music pulsed around them. Regulus never said why he ventured into Muggle London, to a place like this of all the destinations he could have chosen. Sirius didn’t ask.
They weren’t brothers, weren’t friends, it was as if they’d never met each other as sweating bodies danced around them.
Heads thrown back as they drank cheep beer, hands pressed against the small of the back, gray eyes so similar looking desperately at one another.
It was all impressions, all a dream, at least that’s what Sirius thought when he finally leaned down and kissed the man who had once been the small boy who had lived far too many years in his shadow.
Indulgent – Harry/Blaise
Blaise didn’t mind when Harry went round to the Muggle pub to watch this strange sport on some contraption that Harry swore wasn’t magic. It was unexciting. Blaise had gone once just to see, but there were no broomsticks and players rarely ever died. Still, Harry loved it and Blaise loved seeing Harry happy.
Harry would leave the socks hanging about, never putting them in the laundry, always mismatched. It would drive Blaise insane as he would watch them migrating across the floor—day after day after day. Still, Harry’s lopsided grin made it worth it, especially when he would crawl onto the bed, kissing Blaise deeply in a small apology.
Blaise found he would indulge Harry in anything for one of those deep kisses, even if he knew that Harry didn’t really love him.
Fake – Harry/Lavender
She called him Won-Won as if she actually cared for him, but Harry saw that her eyes never sparkled.
Sometimes she would hold his hand and drag him away, a toss of her curls across the shoulder as she stared at Hermione, a silent war that Harry thought that neither of them would truly win.
When she kissed Ron it was almost painful to watch as he could see the hesitation in her body, almost as if she wanted to be kissing someone else but thought he’d never let her.
The break-up, though loud, held little emotion—at least for her—at least from what Harry could see, but when he quietly kissed her under the stars, Harry knew that he’d never felt anything more real.
Forgiveness – Harry/Ron
Harry knew that no matter what Ron said he wasn’t angry that Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet. It wasn’t that. Harry had spent the entire day with Ron, staring at him, working up his courage until finally, just before the feast, he had slipped with Ron into a deserted classroom and quietly kissed him, hoping that Ron just might feel the same way.
Ron had left after that and all had been silence until the Goblet had interfered.
He heard Ron’s angry words and only Harry understood the true meaning.
When Ron had finally said he was sorry, Harry could only see the disgust and wariness in his eyes. Ron wanted everything to go back to the way things were before, to forget about the quiet moment when Ron had kissed Harry back, parting his lips and gasping as he pressed closer.
It wasn’t an apology but an ultimatum.
Harry found that he couldn’t give Ron his forgiveness.
Rebirth – Harry/Fawkes
For Inkwell of Stars
Dumbledore had said he could either go back or go on.
He had chosen to go back.
His eyes opened and he saw the ravaged battlefield around him. He wasn’t certain who had won, who had lost—all he knew was that it was over.
A sob tried to escape his throat, but instead all he heard was a sad mournful trill. He moved his arms and feathered wings twitched.
Looking about, he saw a flood of color of the scarred battlefield, a trill answering him. If he could have smiled, he would have.
He had been reborn—and Fawkes was waiting for him.
Truth – Harry/Adrian
Part of him had always known Lily was not his mother. Everyone said he had her eyes, but hers had been a blue-green, darker, not the rarer color that looked back at him in the mirror.
There was also a subtle hint of someone else in his face. Not Lily. Someone else, something masculine. He couldn’t explain it, but when he found the picture of his dad clearly pregnant, he wondered what had happened.
All those years, all of that wondering, but now it didn’t matter.
Adrian loved him, but not as a brother. Never quite as that.
As he looked into his lover’s sleeping face, he saw the truth.
A Happy Ending – James/Severus
When his mother tucked him in to bed at night, she had always said that life had a happy ending. Severus knew it wasn’t quite true. He heard his father scream, knew he was afraid because they were wizards. It’s why he drank, why he beat his mother and looked at Severus as if he were dirt.
Lily hadn’t looked at him like that. She had been his friend and for the first time, Severus let himself believe there might be a happy ending.
Tomorrow was her wedding day, but Lily was the furthest person from his mind. As he lay in James’s arms, he realized that all of the belittling, the names, the cruelty had been his soft way of saying, ‘I love you.’
This, Severus knew, was the closest he could come to a happy ending, but it didn’t matter—he would always have tonight.
Worship – Viktor/Ron
The summer before his fourth year, Ron had purchased a small figurine of Krum, the greatest flyer of the age. He wished to be like him, but thought little else.
The following Yule, he had watched Krum dance with his best friend and had felt jealousy. He didn’t think of Krum much. Ron thought he was angry at Hermione. Boys liked girls, of course, and she was a girl. Surely it made sense.
When Krum came to his brother’s wedding, Ron had stars in his eyes but other things were more important. He was going to search for the Horcruxes. It might be just a small crush, he admitted to himself at night, but it would soon be forgotten. Krum would surely forget him just as easily, if he thought of Ron at all.
On his wedding night, harsh lips claimed his own, and Ron looked into dark Bulgarian eyes and was happy. This man was his, worshipping his body, and Ron realized that he’d wanted this all along.
Fire – Harry/Voldemort
It burned through him, leaving his heart broken and nothing but smoldering embers, but Harry found he could not care.
The entire world destroyed itself around them—Tom did it, he knew it did—but all that mattered was the fire, the heat, the need that pressed him onward.
Tom never said he loved him, Harry knew he never would. Sometimes he wondered if Tom could feel love at all. He was Lord Voldemort after all, and Voldemort could never have such human weaknesses.
As the fires took over England, burning it, Harry felt himself consumed. His friends cried for redemption, the public begged him to set him free, but he turned a deaf ear.
He didn’t have a heart any more after all. Voldemort had crushed it until it was nothing but a burning coal.
It’s a Black Life – Harry/Bellatrix
This, Harry thought, was definitely wrong, as he sat chained to the chair, a lavish feast laid out before him. He wore little at all, stripped down until he was naked and then a swath of black velvet was placed artfully over him. He knew that if he moved even if just a little he would lose over that.
She sat across from him, draped in black silks, a bit of lace, a deep red smile on her lips as she raised her glass of almost black wine to him.
Harry knew what was coming. Ever since he had first come here, it had been the same.
Black nails in his dark hair, gray eyes staring hungrily into his, his hands roving over soft curves draped in black sheets as his ankles were chained to the bedpost.
It was a black life, but it was now his.
Eyes – Harry/Albus Severus
Everyone said he had his father’s eyes, bright green and shining behind glasses, but whenever he looked at them he could see the difference. Albus Severus loved Dad’s eyes, the way they caught the light whenever Mum had gone on another long tour, how they sparkled when they were making love, the dullness of them when he greeted him in public and could only hug him like a dutiful father should.
He hadn’t fallen in love with his own eyes. They were different, a dash of blue in them that betrayed that he wasn’t a clone of the famous Harry Potter, but had a little Weasley in him too.
The divorce papers were going through soon, and then that little bit of Weasley would be gone.
Damage – Harry/Frank Longbottom
For Ania Orome
The damage was done, Harry knew, as he sat on his bed in the Gryffindor dorm room. He thought they were dreams at first, visions of a beautiful man who was supposed to be getting married. They’d met at a Muggle pub, in the not-dream, and soon Harry found a warm tongue in his mouth, making him moan in ways he never knew he could.
He’d forgotten about his crush on Ginny, the trials of Won-Won and Lavender, how Hermione was barely speaking to Ron anymore. All that mattered each night as he went to sleep was Frank, the man who held his heart as he slept.
Harry had been happy when Frank had called off his wedding. It was perfect in his dream life, until one night he woke up vomiting, and his stomach began to swell.
Things began to change, small things. First Neville had gone missing, then no one could remember him, until finally his bed was completely gone. Only Harry held the memory of the clumsy boy who had been his friend, and then late one night when Frank had cried his name, he’d realized who Frank was and just how rare this gift he’d somehow been given.
He’d name the child Neville, he decided, as he watched Seamus and Dean throw candy at each other.
Frank would like that.
Freedom – Harry/Oliver
Harry had thought that nothing was as freeing as riding on a broom, high in the sky, the wind whipping through his hair. Oliver taught him how to adore the skies, how to win a game, how to spot the elusive Golden Snitch.
Now he taught him how to kiss as they leaned up against lockers, everyone else gone, how to hold his erect member and stroke it just so, how to mewl even when he was in pain.
He had thought Quidditch was freedom, believed it was the gift that Oliver had given him and once—once—he had loved him for it.
Now Harry knew it was nothing but a harsh captivity.
Arrogance – Harry/Cygnus Black
For Ania Orome
He hadn’t known who the aristocratic man was, drenched in his own arrogance, except that he was a pureblood. The barman said he was wealthy, a widower, from one of the old families.
Harry had thought the wizard would never look at him. He was nothing but an upstart, trying to find a place now that he had defeated Voldemort. New money. A half-blood. Famous and yet unsophisticated.
He’d been surprised when the pureblood approached him, his face austere, and informed him they would be lovers.
Pure arrogance, Harry thought, and found that he loved it.
It wasn’t until later, as he lay in the man’s arms, that he learned he was Cygnus Black. Sirius’s uncle—Malfoy’s grandfather. Yet still he had that same condescending curl of the lip to his kissable mouth, and Harry gently pressed his lips to Cygnus’s in response.
Champion – Cedric/Harry/Viktor
Fleur didn’t matter, not to any of them anyway. They’d each had something precious taken from them, but with quiet looks the three of them knew that the other person hadn’t really mattered.
As Harry watched Cedric’s lips close over Viktor, he sighed happily. They were all alive. All safe. One step closer to a cup that surely one of them would win. It didn’t matter who, really. The money was going to be hidden away. The account was already set up. After this Cedric could disappear from the adoring girls who saw him as nothing but a pretty face, Viktor from the fans who thought they knew him, Harry from the pressure of possibly defeating Voldemort if he really wasn’t gone.
Viktor leaned down and captured Harry’s lips pulling a moan from his throat, Harry’s hands fisting in Cedric’s hair as his head continued to bob.
Nothing mattered more than this—the three of them—the three real Triwizard Champions.
Mango – Kingsley/Harry
Whenever Kingsley went to Order meetings, he tried not to breathe in too deeply. The scent was divine, the subtle tang of mango wafting through the air, always lingering, never quite present with a small taint of aftershave.
As ridiculous as it sounded, Kingsley thought he was in heaven, and surely he might have finally found a wizard to love, a quiet signal to anyone of like mind. Mango, exotic, quiet breakfasts, waiting.
When he finally found the source of the scent, he’d felt as if led had dropped in his stomach. The youngest Weasley, a girl with long red hair and a shock of freckles, carried the scent as she walked through the kitchen.
“Ginny,” someone called. “I still can’t find my shampoo. Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure, Harry,” she yelled back, and Kingsley found himself smiling.
Of course, Harry with his gorgeous green eyes and messy hair was only fifteen, but in a few short years . . .
Kingsley took a deep breath. Mango.
Clarity – Harry/Unicorn
For Inkwell of Stars
Harry sat in the clearing, watching the unicorns in the moonlight as they frolicked. They were so beautiful, perfect even, each one a creation in magical perfection.
Some said that unicorns were the souls of those who had gone beyond but wanted to look after those who were still left behind. They were as pure as their sacrifice. They wouldn’t exist forever like ghosts, but they were still unable to interact with those they loved, unseen and unthanked.
A beautiful foal, only a few months old, trotted up to him and butted his hand with its smooth nose. Harry smiled down at it, petting it softly, looking into beautiful gray eyes that reminded him so much of the one he had loved desperately and lost.
A father, a friend, the lover that never quite was.
The unicorn looked up at him in understanding and in a single moment of clarity, Harry knew.
Sirius was still with him.
Third Task – Harry/Alastor (or is it?)
Harry knew his name wasn’t Alastor, but he called him that anyway as it was the only name he knew. He was tall, with beautiful long fingers and dark brown eyes that drew him in.
Before the first task, he had led Harry out into the wilderness and quietly made love to him from behind as they watched the handlers containing the dragons.
The second was more difficult. With a kiss and a jar pressed into his hand, Harry ran down to the lake, only to find that Ron was who Dumbledore thought he’d miss the most. He was afraid Alastor would be angry, but instead he had drawn a bath and thrust eagerly into Harry’s body as bubbles swirled about them.
The third task, though, was different. With a deep kiss, Alastor only said ‘goodbye’ before Harry had left.
He was never able to kiss his lover again—a dementor did instead.
Dresses – Harry/Tamaki (Ouran High School Host Club Crossover)
Harry hated yellow. He wasn’t vain about his appearance, really he wasn’t, but when he was wearing a yellow puff dress he just knew he looked ridiculous, especially when the eyes of all the boys followed him wherever he went.
Some of them asked him his name, but Harry hadn’t given it. They knew it anyway. Or at least they would have if they recognized him.
None of that mattered though when he entered the music room and saw him—the Host King. Everyone said that he fawned over beautiful girls, entertaining them, wooing them, and Harry just wanted that for a moment—to wish—to pretend.
Yellow wasn’t that bad if he could get one small smile from the boy he’d fallen in love with.
The Final Battle – Harry/Marcus
For Songbird’s Desk
It was over, done, and everyone around Harry was rejoicing. A simple Expeliarmus, that had been all it had taken to defeat the cruelest Dark Lord in a century.
It was almost ironic in its absolute simplicity.
Harry’s eyes roved across the survivors, many crying, more rejoicing. The bodies of the dead were being laid out at the side of the hall, Ginny’s hand holding the now limp one of her brother Fred.
She’d said she’d wait for him, on his birthday, so long ago that he could hardly remember, but he hadn’t waited for her. He had not wanted to, when he was hiding in the Forest of Dean, sneaking away in the dead of night until he found himself in the arms of his lover.
Marcus was all that mattered, he thought, as his eyes tried to find him, but found nothing.
A small smile graced his lips. Of course. Marcus was neutral, safe, away, and as soon as he had slept, he would find himself in the arms of his lover again.
Licorice – Harry/Narcissa
For Shenmi Meiren
She looked nothing like her son, with hair of spun gold and eyes as dark as licorice. When Harry had first seen her, he told himself that she looked like she had smelled something unpleasant, masking her beauty, though he knew it was all a lie.
When the Veela came onto the pitch, the men around him began to act strangely. Ron looked like he was about to jump out of the box. Mr. Weasley’s hand was going somewhere it shouldn’t and Fudge—well—he didn’t want to think about that.
But all Harry could do was look at haunting licorice eyes that stared evenly back at him.
Rings – Lucius/Narcissa
With this ring I thee wed, she repeated in her mind, the beginning of a vow that they had once made. It had been so simple in her mind. She was in love, he was handsome, he adored her.
When Draco was born it had simply been another blessing, one that was never quite overshadowed.
She looked down at her left hand, the glittering band taunting her. For better, for worse, she’d promised him.
She wondered if it still meant anything when she gave herself to the dark lord to free him from Azkaban. This was the price she must pay.
Gently she slid the ring from her finger.
Children – Phineas Nigellus/Regulus
Regulus sat in front of the portrait, a small smile on his face. “Mother would be displeased. Then again, I could never quite live up to her expectations—not even in this—but—she’s pregnant. She’s having a child.”
Phineas looked sternly down at him. “She’s married to someone else?” he asked harshly.
He nodded. “Yes—Potter. I don’t know why she married him, but she’s carrying my child—a son. I’m going to be a father.”
“To a half-blood.”
Regulus flinched. “He’ll be raised properly, in the old ways,” he assured him. “The next generation will be pure again.” His eyes were alight with hope, pleading for his forefather to understand.
Over a decade later, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus watched as his descendant slept, a mess of black hair and bright green Muggle eyes. Regulus hadn’t kept his promise, hadn’t been able to, and now the next generation of the Noble House of Black knew nothing of their ways.
Goodbye – Harry/Ron
Harry was best man at the wedding, at least he was supposed to be. He watched as Hermione went out and chose the perfect gown, white silk, perfectly Muggle, but Hermione always refused to wear robes now anyway. She’d prattled on about something old, something new, like the old nursery rhyme said. Harry had never really thought she was superstitious.
Soon, though, it became too much.
Hermione was happy. Ron was pretending to be so and Ginny, well, she would look at him with longing in her beautiful eyes and Harry would just glance away.
A month before the day, he found himself staring at Ron’s sleeping form, his head tossed back in the throws of a dream, his limbs sprawled everywhere as he quietly snored. Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to his lips, one Ron would never remember, a final goodbye before he disappeared forever.
Chance – Harry/Theodore
There was a chance that it could all go wrong of course. Theodore might have been lying, there might have been someone watching, he could insult Harry in the end.
They hardly knew each other, had never really spoken, but they both wanted to know, neither wishing to be left wondering.
How it came up Harry never really knew, but as he slipped into the bed where Theodore was waiting, he found he’d rather not think. He needed to know, know if he could live like this, only loving men when the world told him he should love women—so he made love to a boy without a face, someone he would never speak to again.
Belief – Harry/Hannah
She thought the world was slightly more beautiful because the sky was blue, and Harry believed that her dirty blonde hair looked pretty when she wore blue robes. He made love to her in the grass for the first time, a scant three months after the war had ended. Harry knew Neville fancied her, was aware that Ginny was still in love with him, but when Hannah looked at him with her bright green eyes he’d believed that here—with her—was a chance for the future. She might really come to love him one day, not as a hero, a savior, but as just Harry, and that quiet belief was more precious than anything else.
Promise – Harry/Dudley
When they were seven, Dudley swore it would be all over if Harry promised that he would be his.
It was so seductive, two small words Harry had to utter and he would be free, and Harry found that he was saying them.
That night Harry moved out of the cupboard under the stairs, his meagre possessions in his arms, and into Dudley’s first bedroom. The second one, after all, was for his old toys, and Dudley said Harry was too good for all of that now.
They shared the bed by the window, the two barely fitting, and Harry found himself drifting fitfully off to sleep in his cousin’s arms.
Ten years later little had changed. Harry now went off to Hogwarts during the year, but he still slept in Dudley’s first bedroom when he came back again. When Dudley first kissed him he thought it was wet and the first time they had ‘made love’ at fifteen Harry could barely breathe as Dudley lay on top of him, but it didn’t matter.
Ginny Weasley, with her obsessive childish love, could never love him like this.
To Dudley, Harry was ‘Just Harry’ – and that’s all he ever wanted.
Proving a Point – Harry/Fleur
For Fred the Man
She’d once said he was a little boy so the night before his wedding, he came to her and made love to her in the pale moonlight. It didn’t matter that she was married to his future brother-in-law, that her stomach was swollen with a child that was not his.
He wanted to give her pleasure and gift her with his virginity. Fleur was so beautiful to him, so disdainful, and so alone if her ice blue eyes and the absence of Bill from her bed were anything to go by.
“Come away with me,” he whispered as she clenched around him and, exhausted and sated, she nodded her head.
Fleur was always meant to be his, Harry knew—and so they walked away from the Weasleys together.
Rain – Veela!Anyone/Veela!Harry
He hadn’t known what her smile meant until he woke up with shivers as soon as she went away. Harry was ill for weeks and he dreamt only of her. The memory of her scent drove him mad and he thought she had somehow entranced him with her Veela powers although her older sister Fleur had never affected him.
In desperation, the night before the final task, he’d snuck into the library and looked up everything he could on Veela, only to learn that he himself must carry the gene. Now he knew that there would never be anyone else for him.
He waited long years, dreaming of her, and hoped that she was thinking of him.
They finally met again in the rain, and Harry looked at her flowing silver hair, her blue eyes, and her drenched form. Gabrielle was everything he’d ever dreamed about, and it didn’t matter that she was only eleven.
He could wait. He had this memory of the rain.
Grass – Harry/Adrian Pucey
For Leaping Lion
Slytherin’s banner was the color of newly cut grass, Harry thought, when he was sorted into the house. He begged the hat not to, but it hadn’t listened. “He’s waiting for you,” was all it said, leaving Harry to wonder.
He didn’t like Draco Malfoy and he found he couldn’t stand Theodore Nott.
That night when he shuffled off to bed, he drew the grass-green curtains only to see an older boy sitting on his bed, holding an old book in his hands. “There you are,” he greeted, and Harry remembered that his name was Adrian. Someone had said earlier at dinner.
“Here I am,” Harry answered, not quite sure what the conversation.
Sorry – Harry/Padma/Parvati
For Fred the Man
They’d always shared everything, Parvati said, and they would share this together, whether with Harry or someone else. He’d looked at his girlfriend, horror in his eyes, but agreed, thinking this would be the only time, just once and it couldn’t hurt.
Parvati decided on the Room of Requirement and when Harry arrived, they were already undressed, kissing each other by the fire.
Padma asked him to take her virginity first and, never taking his eyes from Parvati, he did so. He couldn’t come, it felt so wrong, especially when half an hour later, Padma kissed Parvati when Harry took his girlfriend from behind.
It was animalistic, wrong, never what Harry had wanted.
Parvati broke up with him just after, a glow on her face, saying they had both gotten what they wanted.
They never said ‘sorry,’ although the twins knew that they had given Harry nothing in return.
Dancing – Harry/Viktor
They danced together first after the Yule Ball. Viktor had escorted Hermione back up to the dorm where Harry was prowling the halls, not really caring that his date had gone off with some French prat yet not wanting to go back too early.
Viktor had taken one look at him and led him back to an almost deserted Great Hall, and Harry found himself clumsily dancing in Viktor’s arms.
Harry mentioned it to no one and didn’t think about the sweet kiss Viktor had given him as he later walked Harry up to Gryffindor Tower.
He hadn’t kissed Hermione, Harry knew.
Comfort – Harry/Andromeda
For Fred the Man
In many ways Teddy was their son. They both raised him, clothed him, fed him, loved him. They were a family, the three of them, and they thought nothing of it when Teddy called Andromeda Mummy and Harry Daddy.
Soon they started believing it themselves and, when Harry mentioned to Andromeda that Grimmauld Place haunted him, it seemed only natural that he accept when she told him to move in.
The first night she led him to her room and Harry found himself sleeping with Dromeda in his arms. It was comforting and, later that week when he gave her his virginity, he could almost pretend that they were a family and that she loved him.
Cloth – Harry/Bloody Baron
For Leaping Lion
No one spoke to him when he was sorted into Slytherin, not really. He lay in his four poster bed with its green hangings and wondered why his life was always like this, staring at the curtains. Sometimes, he could feel cold seeping through it, the outline of a face in the green, but he thought he was imagining it at night.
Sometimes he thought he recognized it.
He was surprised when the Bloody Baron introduced him to Theodore later that year. Still sometimes, over the years, he would sometimes watch his hangings and the face would appear again, but Harry said nothing. Instead he would bury his face in Theo’s soft curls, smiling into his lover’s hair.
Invisiblity – Harry/Blaise
At first he wasn’t certain who the boy was in the Mirror of Erised. Still, it was surprising when he looked into the mirror and saw himself holding hands with a boy, with chocolate skin and deep eyes that seemed to see in his soul. When Dumbledore asked him what he saw, he refused to say—he knew the boy wouldn’t like that.
He found himself over the year looking for the boy, not caring about Fluffy or the mystery of Nicholas Flamel, only those eyes that knew him so well and then, one day in Potions, he saw him sitting alone in a corner.
Later he learned the boy’s name was Blaise and he took to following him under his Invisibility Cloak. He watched Blaise study, saw his first kiss when a girl called Daphne surprised him their fourth year. He didn’t even stay at the Yule Ball long, intent to slip into nothingness and just watch his Blaise.
He never spoke to him, content to be invisible and love the silent boy from afar.
Crush – Harry/Victoire
For Fred the Man
She had been born on the day he had defeated Voldemort, but a year later. Still, she thought glumly as she studied for her N.E.W.T. exams, she had been born nineteen years too late. Her Aunt Ginny had been there first, yet still all she could think of was him—of Harry—of how strong he looked when he was playing Quidditch with James and Lily, or how beautiful he was when he helped Albus study Charms, which he found difficult.
Victoire sighed. She knew she and Harry had been made for each other. She had just been born too late.
Her mother told her that it was just a crush, her flowing blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail, but Victoire knew differently. She would be in love with Harry until the day she died.
Acceptance – Harry/Luna
Ginny never thought of Luna as a threat. She was loony, a little off, with her earrings and bottle cap necklace. Luna would tell people about nargles in mistletoe and never seemed to have enough shoes. No, Ginny never thought that Luna could be a threat, and so when Cho Change offered to take Harry to Ravenclaw Tower, she suggested Luna instead.
Luna had led Harry away and as soon as they were out of sight, their fingers were entwined. Words weren’t needed although they hadn’t seen each other since the previous summer. Luna understood, her eyes told Harry so.
That summer, which seemed so long ago, they had sat briefly at the same table as Harry had begged her for forgiveness in quiet tones. He hadn’t taken her hand, too afraid she would reject it. They had first started seeing each other just before the end of school. Harry hadn’t told anyone. He wanted to keep Luna safe, and didn’t want to deal with Ginny’s jealousy. He hadn’t expected Ginny to kiss him on his birthday, but Luna had taken his hand and squeezed it lightly, showing he was forgiven—and now, now they were together again, if only for a little while.
Ginny had never thought that Loony Lovegood was a threat to her dream of being the future Mrs. Potter. She stood wide eyed, with the rest of the survivors in the Great Hall after Harry defeated Voldemort, and watched when he got on his knees and proposed to Luna Lovegood.
Neither of them looked at her, their eyes instead trapped on each other, as Luna threw her arms around Harry and kissed him gently, her quiet acceptance. There would be time for rings later, but what mattered was that it was all over and they were together.
Innocence – Harry/Veela!Draco
For Sarcastic Memory
Veela stayed innocent until they found their mates. Draco had been told this from a very young age as his mother explained it to him. He belonged to the woman or man fate had chosen for him, and he had nodded in understanding.
Veela stayed true, but it wasn’t necessarily true of their mates. As he looked down at his beautiful soul mate, his heart clenched at the thought that Harry had been taken before, that he had had a lover, and he was not the first, but he pushed the tears away. He would be the last, he reminded himself. No one else mattered.
No one else would ever touch Harry again.
Role Reversal – Harry/Scorpius
Scorpius sat behind the desk, pretending to be grading the first year essays in front of him in robes that were slightly too broad for him in the shoulders. “Are you done yet, Mr. Potter?” he drawled without looking up.
He could hear his lover hesitate before whispering, “Yes, Professor.”
Glancing toward the blackboard, a thin smile crossed his lips. In neat, perfect scrip were one hundred lines of “I must not let other students ogle me with their eyes during lecture.”
Harry was a good five inches taller than he was, broad and muscular from his years as an auror. He looked absolutely delectable in Scorpius’s school uniform.
“Excellent,” he purred as he took in the too small Ravenclaw robes Harry Potter was wearing before stalking over and sealing the promise with a kiss.