Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

WONKY CROSS	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 59358 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 24
- 25
- 26
A/N: Thanks for all the reads, rates and reviews! I cherish them all and it keeps me going when the RL World turns crazy and kicks my ass repeatedly (and coaxes my cowering Inspiration out of hiding after retreating during the latest, multiple Winter shit-storms.) Sorry for all the long waits lately— RL has NOT been kind to me lately as far as emotional and physical energy reserves go.

And I think I may have pulled a JKR, in that the epilogue has already been written, while this chapter and the next were formed in my head but take too a long time to type and post….so that might be a bit of good news to a few.

Kimmimaru: Don’t ever apologize for not checking more frequently! Not when you are so prolific yourself and keep me regularly installed with lovely increments of my Marauder fix! (Now is my turn to do shifty eyes and apologize for being an avid yet sucky reader that neglects reviewing.) Thank you for your kind words and encouragement— and for totally getting the whole ‘lets move on, but it’s easier said than done’ thing; ALL of them had so many eye-opening moments that rest on a foundation of all the things that shaped them as kids. Taking the time to review surely makes my day :)

Calixandria_420: You are so sweet to drop a note letting me know you have liked the story so far…. I hope you continue to do so. I have always loved how the HP universe has such a wealth of true human interaction while it is set in a magical setting…. You are a great example of reader-response being fuel for the Muse.

Only a couple more chapters to go now, guys…. Hope you enjoy this one!

~O~

Illumination, Part 2

Neither man noticed the small bit of vapor that solidified around their sudsy feet through the swirling steam of the shower. Green and blue eyes were either squinted shut or a quarter lazily opened as they frotted with abandon. Breathing heavily and grunting like animals, they were only aware of sending the slick, soapy foam at their groins into a bubbling frenzy.

They weren’t prepared to hear a female speak-- acoustically enhanced by the tile-- in such close proximity in their steamy stall.

Harry squealed when the voice of his best friend reverberated on the ceramic walls and hastily tried to cover his throbbing organ (even knowing intellectually that he couldn’t be seen by Patronus charms-- old habits die hard, he supposed). “Harry, we are all assembled in the Common Room to get breakfast as a group. Some are asking if we should wait to find Charlie…. Or him to find US. Or just go without him.”

The brunet covered his eyes with a shaky hand as he turned his back on the little otter. He knew she was pointedly asking him in an anonymous way, warning them; he knew the clever witch was fully aware that they had spent the night together.

She also made it clear that their Blended members had nonverbally decided that they would provide a united front when facing the school at large. It was just a matter of whether or not they would need to include their Head of House (or that it was even feasible at that point, if the secret of their semi-illicit relationship needed to be kept.)

He heaved a heavy sigh. They were back to being subject to these inopportune interruptions again, were they? Well, he was glad for the misty message rather than a knock on the door or, worse yet, a barbaric Alohamora barging in. But…. it was still annoying to be intruded upon during their ‘private time’!

(He hadn’t missed that one whit over the Summer! The Preserve inhabitants had been much more restrained in their usage of the unique communication technique, remaining in awe of it for the most part, and only applying it in the most appropriate of ways.)

Sadly, gone were the days that Harry and his lover could roll out of bed and then show up to meals arm in arm. He lamented that they had to hide the goofy grins that signaled a great night and/or morning without any more than some suggestive congratulations— or the more physical signals of non-verbal ‘high-fives’ from their companions.

But now that they were back at the Castle, something needed to be done. And soon. All his talks with his friends he’d had about using such a tool with restraint had —apparently-- fallen on deaf ears.

(Hermione had always been good about valid messages to send, but they were less than amused at Ron’s follow-up commentary just then of his Jack Russell. It was circling and sniffing the room repeatedly, snuffling in every corner. “Where could Charlie be? Where could Charlie be?” The terrier snorted this as he barked out this irritating mantra in between gauche guffaws while he mimed a game of hide-and-seek.)

Both men wanted to throttle the youngest male Weasley for ruining their time and then disregarding the rules they’d tried to put down regarding superfluous messaging.

Although, a more immediate solution needed to be conjured, before exploding in annoyance! (Exploding in the happy-fun-way was obviously taken off the menu now!)

First off, a reply putting his schoolmates off the trail was of the utmost of importance. Then, he needed to get Charlie out of his room undetected so as not to get them both in trouble. After that, perhaps, working out a system that allowed them to move from room to room when no one else was around or remain unseen was on the agenda.

“Well, shit,” Harry cursed, flicking his middle fingernail with his thumb at the tip of his swollen cock, trying to get his erection to die down without the pleasure or natural conclusion of satisfaction. He made a point of imagining his impending meal in the Great Hall was a plateful of pussy-- mouthfuls of slimy, stinky, wrinkled skin and scruffy muff (just enough to send enough blood to his brain to trouble-shoot their current predicament, mind you, not to go so far as to make him throw up).

“I still have the Invisibility Cloak for now….”

Charlie hissed in sympathy at the pain being inflicted on his lover’s sensitive head caused by his harsh treatment; he was surprised when his beautiful man shot off a missive of his own (through gritted teeth), telling the group-- in a perfectly steady voice-- he would join them shortly and not to wait for their Head of House. Watching Harry torture his bits had the redhead cringing yet remained impressed that Harry could wield such complicated magic so easily while his focus was so scattered and depleted.

(But on the up-side, it made his own erection deflate fully and allowed him to think more clearly and coherent.) “You know, my living quarters are backed up right up against your wall here. Maybe we can make a door between the two.”

He was not prepared for the joyous ‘whoop’ and bounding of his partner from the shower, just barely rinsed of all soap. The sopping brunet’s head shook droplets everywhere and he had a huge grin plastered on his face as he concentrated on the blank expanse of wall in between the toilet and adjoining tub.

Charlie was thrown by the look of consternation that graced those gorgeous features a second later, trying to do nonverbal spells. Harry’s wet hands patted the plaster, first gently and then frantically.

He was confused by the loudly uttered-- almost angry and betrayed sounding-- cutting spells being rejected outright, fizzling with impotence on a surface that should, (by all logic) be as malleable as any under the onslaught of magic. He didn’t like the disappointed moue and slump of shoulders in unsettled defeat a moment later.

Harry had hurriedly-- almost agitatedly-- dressed in his uniform without another word and a clenched jaw.

Charlie silently put on the wrinkled clothing that he’d worn at the Welcoming last night, the only outfit he currently had at his disposal. The articles he gathered from being strewn haphazardly across the floor were re-assembled into a damning tableau. His ensemble was as glaringly apparent as a Howler, a fashion statement that screamed the fact that he’d spent the night in someone else’s bed (a close second to being as obvious as shuffling home on November first in a disheveled Halloween costume).

He got no answers to his unvoiced questions as his young man’s lips were tightened in a grim line.

Charlie made no protest as the liquid-like fabric was tossed at him and Harry slipped out the door to face his friends. He made use of the distraction provided and the fact that he’d left his door ajar to silently make his way to his rooms to change and then make is own, solo entrance into the Great Hall for breakfast as a new professor.

~O~

As the Headmistress was done handing out course schedules to her Heads of Houses to distribute to their charges, Charlie leaned in towards her and growled, “We need to talk!” He made no effort to check his intimidating stance whatsoever and used his looming muscle mass to subtly— yet unmistakably-- make his point.

The only surprise she showed were her grey eye-brows raising a fraction towards the brim of her hat; most of her staff (and let’s face it, pretty much ALL the Wizarding World) would never have the balls to speak to her in such a tone or throw their weight around like that in the wake of her authority.

Charlie was younger than most, yes, but she couldn’t chalk his strong reaction up to merely misplaced adolescent bravado. No, there was something serious they needed to talk about. Her astonishment was stoked by the surreal fact that she had never seen the happy-go-lucky boy— blessed with the sunniest disposition of all the Weasley’s-- to become SO protective and commanding! Some might even define his current demeanor as ‘menacing’.

It definitely piqued her curiosity-- that was for sure!

And it was how she found her new part-time Care of Magical Creatures teacher glaring at her across her desk on the first hour of the first morning of the new school year— nay, era-- ignoring her offers of tea and Ginger Newts from her signature tartan tin.

“Tell me what you know of the housing you gave us!” he exclaimed, slapping his hands on his knees (for unnecessary emphasis).

The second-eldest Weasley child frowned, knuckles whitening in their crunching of his pant-legs, clearly irritated by Minerva’s indulgent smile. He didn’t comprehend that she had waxed nostalgic at the mixture of traits the old, seasoned witch could see weaving together from his ancestors, having had the benefit of knowing his kin for generations.

The young man would never understand how she saw SO much of Molly in him! That fire the former Miss Prewett (known for ALL the Prewett’s for that matter) had always burned, shone through when passions flared.

The sister of Fabian and Gidgeon was always a renegade, like her older trouble-maker twins-- igniting controversial sparks, speaking her mind, consequences be damned. The tabby-Animagus had always admired the younger woman for just cutting to the chase when something offended her sensibilities, having grown up in a houseful of male siblings. The fiery redhead was always vociferous, but sometimes it got her into trouble….

Ah, a feisty lass after her own heart, a kindred spirit! Strict discipline with the kids she helped raise tempered with a fierce, yet tender, mothering instinct.

Minerva had exalted in some semblance of control over Molly at times— but the detentions she assigned started to feel more self-indulgent than was proper. She’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together alone and learned the hard way to let her pass by (as it was all too clear that the girl was entirely enraptured and smitten with Arthur).

But this strapping young man before her now usually showed his amiable, respectful side-- and this was NOTHING like normal!

The dragon-handler inherited his open friendliness with everybody from his dad. He exhibited the excitement for Life that Arthur always had and got that indomitable spirit that wanted to flit to each and every thing that excited him. There was something compelling about someone so eager to learn-- but also so content with simply living with the true embodiment of LOVE being the Earth’s most strongest yet precious resource of all.

But the Headmistress was a little put off by such vehemence (any brief thought of affection aside) from her youthful colleague though. The venerated woman was irked by how informal the child-cum-professor/employee was currently regarding her and how no one had ever dared defy her like this before now.

(But she couldn’t deny it ignited a long dormant ember in her and took so much time off her true number of years. For the first time in decades, she didn’t have someone to answer to…. And she knew her ground was sound and would enjoy a civilized altercation, a charged discussion where SHE was the ultimate authority.)

Minerva met the accusations head on and exclaimed in her usual unflappable tone, “I merely ordered up the perfect house for what I required. Is it not adequate?”

“No…. it’s great,” he started slowly, but remembered the flinching from the night before. “But several of the kids wanted to bolt when they saw the door in the corridor.”

His former Head of House smiled kindly, “I thought they would all like it there. Certainly it was most easily conjured since the room conforms to what is needed at any specific time. Albus’ portrait told me as much.” Gesturing to the frame behind her head, she smiled at Dumbledore’s snoozing form.

“That was where Harry and his group chose to practice Defense when we had a…. less than effective…. teacher in his fifth year. And Longbottom led his most impressive rebellion from there under the rule of the Death Eaters. It was their safe-place…. a trusted strong-hold.”

Her smile faltered at his spectacular glower. Obviously something had happened that she wasn’t privy to.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Half of them barely held it together when I showed it to them!” The youngest professor since Snape got up to pace. His agitation was radiating off him in waves. “It was Neville that stepped forward first, but something happened with the Trio and Draco there. It was obvious. That little blond boy was absolutely terrified! What do you know of that!?”

The Headmistress was on her feet before she realized it. “I don’t know!” she screeched, suddenly scared as the information was hitting her. She never wanted any of her fledglings to be frightened or traumatized! She wrung her hands, “Are you sure he wasn’t just nervous about the night overall?”

The second-eldest Weasley offspring relaxed somewhat, realizing the witch hadn’t done something purposefully malicious-- at least enough to calm down and take a swig of his cooling tea as he murmured, “I don’t think so.” He shot off a Patronus to Harry to meet him in the Headmistress’ office. Then he continued with the piece of information that confused him the most. “A space that conforms?” he questioned.

“I— yes,” she cleared her throat uncomfortably over all the uncertainty swirling thick in the room. “The nature of the room conjures whatever the seeker is in need for. I needed a unique place to house all of you. I added some permanency charms keyed to my signature, of course. It wouldn’t do for it to shift out of use. And I didn’t fancy any uncontrollable, unreasonable or inappropriate additions to the dwelling.”

After a few moments of dawning thought, Charlie growled, “Would it be inappropriate to ask you to install a door in Harry’s bathroom that connects our quarters? I realize now that he had tried and failed that this morning. But after the terror of my housemates— er, students OF my House,” (he covered his slip of the tongue with a half-chuckle half-cough, obviously still trying to mentally make the transition from being a pupil of Hogwarts to professor), he continued, “And our commitment to remaining completely discreet…. As per your request and as decency dictates….”

“Of course,” she demurred, frowning. She was still upset that she may have caused undue bad feelings to the students that had been so brave to fight a war and still come back. Harry arrived moments later and answered their questions.

To their dawning horror, the brunet explained the history of the place as calmly as he might discuss the weather.

He told them about the Fiend Fire and the finding then destroying Tom’s diadem Horcrux. He relayed Draco’s plight during sixth year, using it as a workshop to repair the Vanishing Cabinet (purposefully leaving out the final resting place of The Half Blood Prince’s tome). He assured them that it was just a kneejerk reaction, but once inside, the interior was so different and homey that it was OK.

The elder two just shook their heads, minds whirling with contingent plans to do something— anything— else! “It’s fine! It’s fine! We like it just fine!” Harry insisted, throwing up his hands in surrender.

“Fuck,” Charlie breathed in appalled astonishment (and wasn’t even admonished by his Headmistress), “Fiend Fire!” He held his fingers shakily to his mouth and was already making plans to ask Draco if he was truly all right with the arrangements. His hand raked through his already frazzled hair.

With this new sinister information, it appeared that the young Nick-look-alike didn’t have any positive associations with the place to offset his terrible memories that the others did. And it was his friend that perished in the perilous blaze-- no matter that the dunderhead was the one to cast it in the first place. That still had to be rough.

Not for the first time, the redhead couldn’t even fathom how the students were coping so well after such experiences!

~O~

Charlie was having a hard time of cornering the blond alone following that revelation. He was becoming agitated that he hadn’t settled the matter to his satisfaction sooner yet he also didn’t want to handle it insensitively, singling him out in front of the others. And everything was so busy and hectic with settling into the routine of school-life.

Not a good excuse, but….

So far, Draco was getting along with his peers all right when he had to, at meals and in classes. He was always polite and answered direct questions but kept very quiet otherwise. It was also made difficult for Charlie since Malfoy was never found on his own in the Blended House’s crowd in public (and the new professor was isolated from his charges while they ate since he had to be ostracized up at the Head Table).

The ‘Eighth-Years’ Head of House was glad and proud the group had taken it upon themselves to present a united front (and by proxy, protection of all its members to and from the Great Hall and lessons) but he was also frustrated that his Pure-blooded Slytherclaw student seemed to disappear when there was the free time to do homework and socialize in a comfortable, private setting.

After the first week ended, and yet STILL on a Friday night when most were taking a break and lazing around the Common Room, Draco was nowhere to be found-- Charlie asked where his elusive, reclusive underling was:

“Two guesses.” Ron shrugged indifferently, “Library or his room.”

Charlie went and knocked on the blond’s door. Heartened by the terse, ‘Yes’ from within he called softly, “Can I come in?”

After several clicks and hisses of defensive wards being dismantled, the dragon-handler cautiously opened the door. He closed it behind him and shifted some rolls of parchment so he could sit on the foot of the bed.

He could tell the young man propped up by pillows at the headboard was surprised at the informal closeness of such a gesture, but Charlie felt the sheltered aristocrat should finally get a sense of what having an eclectic family of “siblings” that cared and were close felt like.

“I wanted to check in with you, make sure you are adjusting well,” he started in a soft tone, absently toying with the pages of a book that was close to his thick thigh. At the continued tense silence and wide silver eyes he went on. “I didn’t know what McGonagall had planned would be so steeped in history. That is before we made Harry tell us why you guys flinched at seeing the room.”

Draco looked away. “I’m sorry that you saw that. I shouldn’t have been so…. transparent. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful or cause problems….” the normally eloquent wizard murmured in stilted phasing, his face flushing and looking away in shame.

Charlie chuckled gently, “I’m an expert at non-verbal communication, remember? Especially with dragons.” He gave him a good-natured wink as he fiddled with a couple pieces of parchment. He continued with a redemption-fuelled expression, “I just had no idea what I was leading you to. Are you all right? Do you want us to move? It’s completely understandable and acceptable if you do.”

“NO!” Draco shouted in a noisy outburst that shocked the both of them. “No,” he sighed, quieting his volume to a level that could be construed as disinterested if they didn’t know him, putting up his Neutral Mask. “Please, it’s fine, really. The hallway throws me a bit from time to time, but once inside it is very nice and easy to forget. I don’t want to put anyone out either. I came to terms with that jolt right away, as another penance, another daily reminder of what I did and what I need to overcome to carry on.”

Charlie looked upon his honest face and smiled with affection. “If you’re sure…. Just say the word and I’ll make sure we get different quarters.” At the spluttered head shaking he elaborated, “It’s important to ME that you are comfortable with the lodging. I don’t mind changing venue if it makes better for you.”

Draco looked positively perplexed. With a love, brother or as friend, Charlie would have grabbed one of those socked feet and rubbed, but he could tell this wouldn’t be welcomed at this point from this individual. So he didn’t. He just continued in his original vein:

“I don’t want you to feel unwelcome. I want you to feel at home.” At the confusion in that platinum brow and planted his fists in then mattress, he blurted, “You don’t hang out!”

Silky blond tresses fluttered as his hanging head shook. “I know that no one wants me around….” he whispered, barely audible. Again, Charlie would not touch him, though it seemed like a natural reflex to him— this was a being that was raised to not understand any kind of nice caress.

“Will you do something for me?” Charlie asked as he gently pinched a toe. He could see the eager look that had been almost successfully concealed following his display of kindness to a boy that probably wasn’t used to it. “I need you to go out there.” At the panicked expression, he quickly explained, “You don’t have to talk. All you have to do is your work. There are empty tables next to the hearth.”

Draco still looked skeptical.

Charlie smiled warmly at him and handed him one of the books that littered the bedspread. He stood, silently encouraging the rattled young man to follow suit; it was his friendly charisma that oozed out of him that got him compliance despite the obvious trepidation. “Don’t worry so. Everyone else is doing their own thing. The sooner you are seen among us and minding your own business, the sooner you will become just another part of the landscape and blend into the scenery.”

~O~

It was true.

Within a week, they were all used to Malfoy spreading his things out on the table closest the fire, silently studying, with not even a hint of Machiavellian plotting, no whisper of judgmental attitude. Displaying only a ferocious focus and an obsessive habit of flurries of note-taking on the material before him (that they had never seen anywhere but from Hermione before), it relieved everyone that the former Slytherin portrayed both quiet calm, yet remained withdrawn from forcing his company on anyone at the same time.

But indeed, quicker than anyone thought possible, Charlie’s prediction proved true. Everyone involved became much more at ease with his presence. He was just there, like they all were…. working towards a common goal.

As the days went by, Draco was often found at the end of a busy day with Hermione and Luna studying Advanced Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Since only those three took the upper-level courses, it made the study-buddy and earnest discussions together a natural development in the students’ relationships. (Of course, it was the honey-blonde that initiated the contact at first, but the bushy-haired witch was immediately pulled in by the lure of debating the material with other knowledgeable, like-minded classmates.)

But it remained civil and formal….

After the third week of adjusting to their co-habitation-- a couple hours after dinner and during the later hours when most gave up the texts for relaxing with hobbies or games-- Dean invited Draco to a chess match.

The timid blond immediately looked, questioning with a sharp stare to Charlie as if to accuse that their House leader put him up to it. Happily giving a negating head-shake, the redhead grinned that his socialization-through-desensitization plan was working so well without his direct intervention.

Dean lost spectacularly, but was so jovial about it that Draco couldn’t help but smile-- a real, genuine one that lit up his whole serious countenance that no one had ever seen before. He was starting to feel like he belonged when the dark-skinned artist declared he was thrilled to have played ‘and gotten his arse handed to him’ by somebody else— FINALLY— that wasn’t Ron!

Also, in the days following, there was the Blended House’s occupants hesitantly-- with increasing courage-- asking for games of chess with Draco when they’d had enough revising for one day; the novelty of having an unfamiliar player was great at an ice-breaking interaction that didn’t necessitate too much talking. It motivated them to extend the first feelers of friendship.

After making the rounds through the housemates (with Draco always winning) (although Hermione giving him the closest match to date-- mostly due to her superior intellect rather than an actual passion for the game) the situation came to the head they had all known would be inevitable:

Ron had at first just listened in while pretending not to have noticed people were playing ‘his’ game with his former nemesis. Then, the ginger Gryffinin surreptitiously watched from nearby— but his feigned nonchalance was fooling no one.

And while he still never offered up himself as competition, he had taken to gravitating closer and closer to the battle, eventually pacing behind Draco’s opponent for the evening; his fretful fidgeting was made worse by the huffed ‘humphs’, tongue-clucking and distinct moans of disapproval at their inferior moves. This night, after a particularly pained growled-groan from the redhead, Dean slammed his hand down on the table with such force that it toppled a couple pieces from their squares.

“OH MY GOD!” the usually easy-going artist thundered, turning in his seat to confront the freckled face beside him in utter exasperation. “Your backseat driving is making me go spare!”

Ron recoiled a bit at the unexpected vehemence, and then spluttered, “I-I wasn’t-- I didn’t say anything!”

Dean frowned and hissed back, “You don’t have to. You just hover around and make us crazy with your judgmental noises that we’re doing it all wrong! If you know so much better just play bloody game yourself!”

Gesticulating wildly, Ron motioned to the table. “Not with the hole you’ve dug! Even I can’t come back from that fucking mess!”

Draco looked up at the heated exchange with an arched white-gold eyebrow.

“New match!” the redhead declared hotly as pushed the Gryffinpuff from the chair and began arranging the board for a fresh game (not bothering to inquire if his forced inclusion was welcome or not to the young man seated across from him).

The youngest Weasley male was so focused on his task of righting the pieces with sharp clicks of marble on marble and predicting strategies that he missed the looks filtering around the Common Room. There was apprehension, amusement and anticipation— all in varying combinations and ratios of all of those mixed up together in each individual.

He completely missed the grins of Dean and Neville, giving each other a bro knuckle-bump in victory as he contemplated his first line of attack; his former dorm-mates were silently sniggering, glad that the stubborn Gryffinin had risen to the bait and fallen into their trap. They were eager to finally witness this showdown. And he didn’t notice his girlfriend and best friend exchange worried looks. Hannah’s nervous nail-biting and Luna’s pleased smirk behind her book were lost to him in his zeal.

(Of course, he would never know the glint in Malfoy’s eye was caused by the smirk and wink behind his back that came from his big brother; the blond outsider was fortified by the House’s Head casually leaning up against the bar and raising his glass in his direction in a silent toast of permission and plea to ‘wipe the board with him and take him down’.)

Any thought Draco may have had to allow the former Gryffindor to win to keep the precarious peace between them fled when the gauche Pureblood cracked his knuckles and gave him a calculating look as he moved his first pawn.

Draco would give it his all-- while keeping to the codes and comportment of proper sportsmanship, of course-- and let the rubble fall where it may.

If the hype and rumors were true that this Weasley was really that talented, he would enjoy this. His ex-cohorts in Slytherin had always been too dim to give him any really true competition or else they were affecting sniveling submission to keep in his and his family’s good graces. Either way, none could ever measure up enough to give him an exciting, fun challenge.

The atmosphere grew tense between them, thick with concentration, each envisioning the possibilities and potential patterns several moves ahead. They both took care and time contemplating the black and white figurines— far longer than the novices spent— and their lengthy responses had everyone on the edge of their seats. And in contrast to the others while playing, there was no talking, no tentative teasing banter. Not even a display of trying to distract the other with extraneous chatter.

After what seemed like an eternity, Draco checked and won. He sat back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction; it was not smug and gloating as many feared, but one of joy at having a good time. Ron stared at the remains of his defeat in a daze. The rest of the Common Room was quietly cringing over an impending explosion of ginger temper.

That never came.

“That was….” Ron whispered, “brilliant!” (Everyone let out a collective breath of relief.)

“I haven’t had such an even match like that since I was nine!” He flashed an expression of thanks and admiration to the blond across from him. “When you slid your knight I thought for sure you would go for the rook next— But BAM! Blind-sided out of nowhere! Fucking inspired, that was!”

Blinking rapidly at the gushing redhead, exuberant despite his loss, had Draco a bit flustered but pleased; he didn’t know what would happen but he certainly wasn’t expecting the bloke to be happy about it!

“I learned that from the tournament of Grand Masters in Russia the Summer after fourth year,” he offered in conciliation, figuring that being outsmarted by the complicated sequence of an expert might take some of the sting out of it. “It’s also in a book I have.”

“I never read about it, just relied on instinct I guess….” Ron said distractedly, eyes alight and raking the checkered pattern laid out between them, obviously going over configurations and contingencies, imagining the tattered chunks that lay strewn about as freshly-intact pieces in a new battle.

After Draco agreed to lend the text to him, he thanked him for proving to be such a pleasurable adversary. Ron grinned and they launched into a good-spirited discussion of various merits and drawbacks as if there had never been any bad blood between the two. The Blended House was all smiles when the pair shook hands and decided their re-match would have to wait until tomorrow since it was so late.

“Wonky!” Harry muttered to Hermione. She simply nodded, a little dumbstruck and then shook her head to clear it. The Gryffinclaw made her way to her boyfriend and whispered in his ear. He grabbed her hand and practically sprinted to his room with her in tow. The crowd dispersed after the long drawn-out drama was over and made their way to bed laughing.

Charlie clapped Draco on the back with words of encouragement and pride over his triumph as he left. Then, he whispered in Harry’s ear, “Ron deserves congratulations as well.”

“Yeah,” the brunet sighed in the hug from behind from his boyfriend, relishing in the sweet contact that they held back from in front of company. “He behaved himself very well. Way better than anyone expected.”

Charlie murmured with hot breath in his ear, “Not just for that….” and then sniggered, “Hermione came to me about a week ago and asked me for the prep spells.” The muscled man laughed at the memory of her bright red face yet fierce determination to learn despite the embarrassing nature of this particular lesson. “She was researching butt-sex in the event of needing it for a special occasion.”

Four whole seconds went by in shocked silence as Harry’s brain finally registered what Charlie was implying was going on this very second in the behind the first door on the left. “GAH!” he yelled as he burst out of his lover’s arms and put his hands over his ears. “Noooo! Why do you tell me these things!”

Charlie just chuckled and started to pull Harry to his room.

Grimacing as they made it down the hall, the squicked-out brunet swatted a meaty buttock and threatened, “Congratulations. I think you’ve successfully cock-blocked yourself.” He snorted, “Don’t count on getting lucky any time soon…. And maybe you’ll think twice about giving me such boner-killing information in the future, mister!”

“Ah,” the redhead stood, stroking his goatee in an overly ‘evil-genius’ fashion, appraising his gorgeous man as the tattooed man chucked his clothes off with one hand the second the door was closed and warded. “It appears that I have my own personal challenge for the night, then.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow, still interested at the sight of his lover getting undressed but dubious about attaining any results in the ‘getting hard’ department after such a revolting revelation.

The undulating muscles and the play of light and shadow in the grooves had Harry’s mouth watering with drool (even when he really wanted to withstand those wiles a bit longer). His boyfriend’s inked art glittered and writhed in tantalizing patterns under the flicker of candlelight that weakened his resolve every time….

Charlie let loose a feral growl right before he took a flying leap and pounced on the wiry, luscious body lying on the mattress. Grappling and wrestling with skin on skin, yes, the dragon-handler’s technique proved as effective as always, driving, pushing and pounding any unwanted thoughts from the young wizard’s mind.

They both found ultimate pleasure in each other, as usual….

Twice.

~O~

A/N: Hope you guys liked that one and thanks for hanging in with me. Sorry again for the long wait. RL is a fucking bitch!

I have the outline for the next, and like I said before, the epilogue is already done…. Just needed to jump in and get going again. I had to find a place I could cut the sequence before I got totally overwhelmed and still keep my motivation and sanity (what little I still have of it! ;) Well, we’ll finally get some closure and figure out what Narcissa has to say about the inopportune Patronus messaging conundrum next chapter…. Hope you come back for the next go!
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WONKY CROSS