Blind Leading the Blind -- Team Epilogue

Title: Blind Leading the Blind
Author: NQDonne
Team: Epilogue
Prompt: The Magician
Wordcount: 25,249
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: clubbing, drinking, frottage, toys, desk sex, accidental voyeurism
Summary: Harry catches wise to a series of blind items in the Daily Prophet's gossip pages that sound suspiciously like him. Except no one knows that he's gay, do they?
Author's Note Interpretation used can be found here, see page 42-44. Thanks to my entire team for being wonderfully supportive, especially those of you who were always up for a group chat and editing session.

...|||...

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 10th June, 2020

"Which war hero is trapped in a loveless marriage and finds his eye wandering elsewhere? Not a new story, I realise, until you consider the fact that they are most frequently wandering in the direction of other men..."

The paper dropped from Harry's sweaty hands as if on fire. One corner fell into his coffee cup and he watched, numb, as the newsprint drifted off in a murky swirl of grey, brown and white.

How could he know? How could anyone...

No, Harry stopped himself. It was ridiculous. It was a stupid blind gossip item in the Daily bloody Prophet, and it's not like it was actually about him.

It just sounded an awfully lot like, said a niggling voice at the back of Harry's mind.

Harry spat out an Incendio, incinerating the offending paper in a hot flash that left his desk covered in ashes, and his coffee indelibly ruined.

...|||...

The Nosy Niffler had been writing for the Daily Prophet for a little over a year now, and his column had rapidly become the paper's most popular feature. Every Friday he reported all the sordid going-ons of the wizarding world's more well-known individuals, from Quidditch stars to war heroes. He printed both upfront stories naming names and his now-famous blind items, where he gave just enough detail to allow readers to speculate, but not enough for the subject in question to be able to sue. Harry always knew it was Friday, because when he came into work, the coffee and tea nook would be all aflutter with the latest gossip and speculation.

No one knew the identity of The Nosy Niffler, however, and while he claimed to be a lawyer with connections to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, many speculated he actually worked for some other Ministry department. Harry had never cared enough to give it much thought, until now. Now that he was one of those blind items.

He was itching to get his hands on that paper, to read those lines over and over again, convince himself they weren't about him. But he, of course, had stupidly destroyed his copy, and if he wanted another one, he'd have to duck out into the pen and nick one from one of the Aurors, who would certainly ask questions...

Harry frowned, twiddling his quill between his index and middle finger, staring down at the stack of reports on his desk. He'd only stolen glances at men a few times, really, and how could someone know? Harry groaned. Had one of them reported it? Or was one of them The Nosy Niffler? Harry thought on the possibilities. Davies? Nah, not witty enough to be the Niffler. Cabbot? He was only twenty, and hardly mature enough. There was always... no. No, Harry had barely looked at him, he swore, and Teddy would hardly—

There was a knock at Harry's office door and, startled, he dropped the quill, then watched as a tiny splotch of ink rapidly spread, blotting out the details of the top-most report.

"Fuck!" he grabbed hastily for his wand, spelling away the ink, then let out a gruff, "Come in!"

The door opened slowly, and Harry looked up to find Teddy, smiling sheepishly at him. "Did I, err, interrupt something Harry?"

Harry's annoyance melted away as he addressed his godson, whom he most definitely, never had looked at like that. Admiring a 22-year-old's arse was perfectly normal, Harry reasoned. Even though he hadn't done that. Right.

"Oh, no, Teddy, not at all. I'm just a complete idiot, and spilled some ink. Come in."

Teddy smiled brightly, lumbering forward and plopping down onto the couch arranged perpendicular to Harry's desk. Harry had spent many a night sleeping on that couch, earning over the years a bad back and more than one crick in the neck. Teddy, spry at 22, looked perfectly comfortable, however. Harry tried not to think about his impending 40th, only six weeks away.

"Have you seen this?" Teddy asked, producing the day's copy of the Daily Prophet and waving it about. Harry's heart dropped to his knees.

"Seen what?" he asked, trying his best not to sound panicked.

"Here--" Teddy tossed the paper over to Harry. "This shite about us bunging up on a raid two nights ago. It says a 'young rookie,' blew the whole thing by slipping out of his Glamour." Harry looked at the offending page three article, relieved that they weren't discussing today's blind item.

Teddy huffed in annoyance. "I'm hardly a rookie, and I didn't slip out of my Glamour. They provoked me, and I can't always control my Metamorphagus skills, damn it. Arsehole reporters. All they do it report drivel." Teddy mistook Harry's pained look, and started to backtrack. "Errr, sorry, Harry. You know I don't mean Aunt Ginny. I know she's only a Quidditch reporter, but you'd think they'd stop their muckraking about you and the Auror Squad, seeing as you two are, you know, married."

"Uh, huh. And actually she's been promoted to head reporter, so she's on the road a lot, not in the office. Or at home."

Harry tried to keep the bitterness from edging into his voice. He loved his children, and loved being a dad, but being stuck almost the entire summer running after them and their visiting school friends, on top of running the Auror Department... he was more than a bit peeved—and jealous—that Ginny had spent most of the spring and now would spend her summer travelling around Europe attending Quidditch games. It was worse than when she'd played Quidditch, as then at least she was only away when she had to be with her team. Now that she covered the entire league, she was constantly on the move. Harry thought back on the blind item—how could they know Harry and Ginny had grown apart? None of this information was public, though he supposed all it might take was someone connecting the dots between her frequent trips and his heavy work schedule.

Harry's bitterness must have shown on his face, because Teddy asked him gently, "Everything okay at home, Harry? You know I'm happy to watch the kids anytime, if you want to go visit Ginny. I know it can't be easy being away from her so much."

"No, no, it's fine," Harry brushed him off. "And you're just a kid, Teddy, no need to involve yourself in the boring lives of old people."

"You're not old, Harry! And you two practically raised me, so you know it's no problem. And not boring. You're my family, too, so I care what's going on..."

"You are far too old for a 22-year-old," Harry sighed. "Shouldn't you be out drinking, partying, getting laid?"

"How do you know I'm not?" Teddy grinned wickedly.

"Too much information," Harry groaned, and Teddy laughed.

"Right, right, I know. Is Ginny away this weekend? I really wouldn't mind coming over and hanging out with James, Al and Lily—you know I don't mind. I haven't seen the boys since they got home for the holidays."

"That's okay—they're at Molly's this weekend. Who I'm sure would love to see you, if you wanted to pop by."

"Yeah, I just might." Teddy jumped up from the couch and headed for the door, a spring in his step.

Harry made a very pointed effort not to check out his arse as he left. What was wrong with him? One little article and he had turned into a lecherous old pervert. Though he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been leaning in that direction for some time now. But who had cottoned on? Harry opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out his special bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey. This called for a drink, eleven o'clock in the morning be damned.

...|||...

The Glamour was the usual one Harry used on high-stakes operations—he called it his "chiseled European" look. A more pronounced set of cheekbones, a stronger jaw and giving the bridge of his nose a sharper peak were all it took to transform Harry from a pretty ordinary looking bloke to what Ginny always jokingly referred to as "the man she wished she had married." He used to know she was kidding, but recently, well... but that was neither here nor there, tonight. Tonight he was "Henri," and Henri was gorgeous, confident and very comfortable walking into a gay club. Harry was terrified, but Henri was in his element.

He'd read about this place in the Prophet, actually, in a flashy advert placed adjacent to the Nosy Niffler's vile column. He'd spent his entire week staring at that page, going over and over in his mind how someone could have found him out. Eventually, the ad had caught his eye, and when George volunteered to watch the kids one night this week, it had seemed an ample opportunity to get out and put the 'having it off with blokes' thing to the test. That this might be considered cheating Harry pushed to the back of his mind, reasoning that he wasn't going to do anything more than maybe kiss a guy. Ginny kissed other men all the time. Sure, it was only on the cheek, but...

Quills promised a night full of dancing, twelve Sickle shots and fit men, and Harry could really use someone anonymous to put his sexuality to the test. It was getting too tempting to cop a feel on someone at work, which just was not on, given that the papers seemed to be on to him. He needed to be discreet.

Harry's forehead itched, and he scratched at the spot where his scar should have been. Physically touching the area shouldn't undo the Glamour, but getting stressed might, so Harry paused by the cloakroom and took a deep, steadying breath. He could do this. All he had in mind was a bit of dancing, some minor groping, nothing like... sex. His cock jumped at the thought, however, and Harry cursed under his breath. This was the problem—he couldn't even think about a bloke sucking him off, or fucking one, without his dick reacting. It was causing awkward moments at work, at home—he'd flashed on men too often the last few times he'd had sex with Ginny. Not that that had been recently. Six months, at last count. He was starving for something other than his right hand.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and moved out into the main floor of the club. It was pretty empty, given that it was only half eleven—would that he could stay out until four a.m., but he had work the next morning and George would only stay with the kids so late. He was an ideal babysitter, since he was a self-confessed night owl and always made Ron open the shop in the mornings, but even George would only babysit until one on a Thursday. Still, there was an ample selection of attractive young men, and Harry was suddenly thankful that his chiseled alter-ego appeared to be a good ten years younger than Harry on his best day.

Even looking like a twenty-nine year old, however, Harry felt far out of his league—most of the men around him were twenty-five, at the oldest. Harry's eyes latched onto the half-empty bar, and specifically an attractive thirty-something blond bloke sitting alone along side it, and he headed over. Best to jump right in.

"This seat taken?" he asked, not sure he kept his voice from shaking when he said it, but hoping for the best.

The man looked up at him, somewhat surprised, and narrowed his eyes at Harry. Looking him up and down and seeming to find nothing outwardly wrong, however, and he nodded shortly. Harry sat himself down on the slightly wobbly bar stool, trying to think of what he should say next. The stranger beat him to the punch.

"So is that the best you can do?"

"What?"

"Is that the best chat up line you can come up with. 'Is this seat taken.' It's a little dated." Despite the scathing commentary, the man was smiling.

"Chat up line? I actually was asking if the seat was taken. Really."

"Sure." His tone was skeptical.

Harry rolled his eyes, and barrelled on. "I'm Henri," he said, sticking his hand out. The other man merely peered down at the proffered hand and quirked an eyebrow, and did not offer his in return. Harry felt his face heat.

"Henri? Sounds French," the man said in return, taking a slow drag of his cocktail.

"Yeah, my mum's French," Harry lied smoothly, used to this cover story.

"So...a French name, but an English accent?"

"Well, I grew up here, so..."

"School, too?"

"No, no, I went to Beauxbatons. Mum insisted, since she went there and all. Beautiful school, and very blue uniforms..."

Oh, God, he was babbling. He had to stop, before he asked him any more questions—the cover story was solid, but Harry's French was rubbish, composed mostly of a few basic phrases Fleur had taught him. This bloke looked like just the type to speak eight different languages and be more than happy to start conversing in French. Harry asked himself, not for the first time, what on earth possessed him to choose a suave Frenchman for his first night out at a gay club.

"What about you?" Harry tried to steer the conversation away from his false origins and back to somewhere innocuous.

"I'm all English, I'm afraid. Went to Hogwarts." He took another sip of his drink, seeming to think a moment before he smacked his lips, and said, "I'm Gareth."

Now he offered Harry his hand to shake, and, relieved, Harry took it.

...|||...

Leave it to Harry to find the keenest bloke in the club. Only thirty minutes later, he found himself in the dark hallway leading to the loos, shoved up against a wall, one of Gareth's thighs insinuated between Harry's legs and pressing—oh Jesus—right up against his cock, his hands all over him. Gareth's fingers were somewhat clumsy, and desperate, as he pulled at the fabric of Harry's shirt, trying to get a touch of bare skin. Harry moaned as clammy fingers slid under his shirt, skimming up his sides and just touching him, all over.

Gareth's breath tasted of alcohol and... mint, and Harry wondered how many drinks he'd had before they'd started talking. "Liquid courage," Gareth had mumbled earlier at the bar, raising his glass to Harry's in a toast before downing the whole thing in one go. Indeed—Harry had had three cocktails in quick succession to work himself up to this.

Now, with the way Gareth was rocking desperately against Harry and moaning, trailing sloppy kisses all over Harry's neck, it was only Harry's being older and the alcohol thrumming through his veins that were keeping him from coming, messy in his pants right then and there.

"Fuck, this is good," Gareth panted against Harry's ear as he rutted desperately against him. Harry incoherently hummed his agreement; he was too focused on the pressure steadily building in his prick. He was going to come soon, though, God, he wished Gareth would touch his cock...

As if he could read Harry's mind, the next moment Harry felt Gareth fumble with their flies, pull both their pricks out and Jesusfuckingchrist, take them both in his hand and wank them both. Harry hastened to bring one hand down to join him, encircling their pricks completely, and he tugged as hard and fast as he could. Harry's insides promptly melted. Then Gareth was slumping heavily against his shoulder, and warm come was seeping through his fingers, beginning to cool slowly on his knuckles.

...|||...

Harry stumbled back into dancehall, the glaring blue lights momentarily blinding him. He'd just had it off with a hot, fit bloke, and it had been the most brilliant thing in the world. He was definitely, totally, certifiably gay. Fuck.

"Uncle Harry?" came a incredulous voice to his right, and when Harry turned, he was mortified to find Teddy there, staring at him in disbelief. Rushing to check himself, Harry's fingers flew up to his forehead where, indeed, there was his tell-tale scar. Dammit—the Glamour must have slipped.

Inside, he cursed more than a bit, and he felt the overriding instinct to turn away and pretend he hadn't heard Teddy at all. But after a beat, Teddy took a step towards him, eyebrows raised and one corner of his lips quirked in amusement, and said, "Harry, yes, I can see you. What on earth are you doing here?" and Harry had to give up on any such notions. Harry smiled sheepishly, which usually seemed to work in getting him out of sticky situations and tough questions, and threw out his favourite white lie.

"I was, err, investigating something?"

Teddy didn't look convinced. Then again, Harry usually wasn't trying to use this one on one of his fellow Aurors. And certainly not his godson. Who, come to think of it, was also in a gay club. So he turned it around on him.

"What are you doing here?"

Teddy merely threw Harry a look that told him he thought Harry was rather daft, and answered simply, "I'm on the pull, obviously." Then he shrugged. "Not exactly how I wanted to tell you that I was gay, but, oh well. Though I suppose you can hardly take it badly when, well..." He indicated Harry and their surroundings.

"I'mnotgay!" Harry blurted out, beginning to sweat a bit under the collar. He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

Teddy looked him up and down, lingering particularly on his mid-section, and smirked knowingly. It looked somehow wrong on his godson, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if he'd got it from James, or if James had learned it from Teddy. Or if it ran in the family—it was positively Sirius-like.

"Harry, come on." He finished off the drink he had in hand, and put the empty glass down on the bar. "I think we need to talk." His tone was rather serious, the very one Harry always affected when he was in 'dad mode,' giving James or Albus Severus a talking to. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like his 'sex talk tone,' and the very idea that Teddy, seventeen years his junior and his godson, felt the need to have that chat with Harry verged on the ridiculous. Harry groaned and reluctantly followed Teddy outside.

...|||...

Harry walked-ran down the hallway, sped into the Auror department and shut himself in his office as quickly as possible. Nevermind that he had left his coffee and paper behind in the lift—anything but another chat with Teddy. The look he'd shot Harry as they found themselves on the lift together had said "You naughty old bugger," with a side of "but really, you know you're cheating on your wife, right?", pretty much a retread of their conversation the night before. Being lectured by a 22-year-old on family responsibility was pretty ridiculous to begin with, and not something Harry wanted to deal with first thing in the morning.

He wondered how long he could stay sequestered in his office. If he were lucky, one of the other Senior Aurors would give Teddy an out-of-office assignment and Harry would be free to move about. Otherwise, he would be perfectly happy to stay here, doing a bit of paperwork, and waiting for Teddy to leave.

Harry jumped in his chair as a knock came at the door.

Please don't be Teddy, please don't be Teddy, went the mantra inside his head as he warily called out, "Come in."

It was Teddy, smirk on his face, with Harry's discarded coffee and newspaper in hand.

"I think you forgot these," he said cheekily, closing Harry's office door behind him and striding forward. "You were out late; you need your coffee." Teddy smiled, sickly-sweet as he plopped Harry's Styrofoam cup down in front of him. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I am still your boss, Teddy, so quit goading me. And despite anything that happened last night, I'm also still nearly eighteen years your senior and your godfather."

Teddy laughed. "All right, all right. Just having a bit of fun, Harry. Don't get your knickers in a twist." He threw himself down onto the couch, kicking up his feet and pillowing his hands behind his head. "I just... I can't believe it. I had no idea you were like me. None. And I have excellent gaydar."

Harry blushed. "It's a rather recent development. Kind of crept up on me, really."

"Well, I don't know if I believe that... but, okay." Teddy sighed deeply, then peered up at Harry, expression serious. "What about Ginny, though? You refused to talk about it last night, but I really think—"

"I still don't want to talk about it, Teddy. I just want to drink my coffee, and read my paper, and get some work done."

"You can't avoid it forever, Harry. You cheated on your wife last night. I think it's awesome that you're gay, really, but that doesn't change the fact that you're married..."

Harry groaned. "Teddy, please. Just... go act like a 22-year-old or something. Make some prank Firecalls, skive off work and go to a movie. Just go."

Teddy got up, begrudgedly, mumbling, "I'm 22, not 12," and threw Harry one last stormy look, before going out into the pen and closing Harry's door behind him.

Harry found temporary solace as he gulped down half his cup of coffee, slouching down in his chair and idly massaging his temples. This was going to be a banner Friday. And it was Nosy Niffler day, which probably meant his day was about to get worse. Thumbing through the Prophet until he reached the gossip pages, he felt the blood drain from his face as he read the day's item.

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 17th June, 2020

Our secretly gay war hero with a marriage on the rocks? May or may not have been seen canoodling in a dark corner at one of Cardiff's hottest gay clubs. Wonder what his wife would say, were she in the country, when he came stumbling home, smelling of alcohol and sex, at his age...

...|||...

Harry stepped onto the hearth of his fireplace at home, exhausted both from the night before, and from the strain of dealing with its aftermath today. The offending Daily Prophet was in his briefcase, which he set down on the kitchen table. Before he could let the kids know he was home, James did it for him.

"Harry's home!" he hollered to the house at large, sauntering into the kitchen and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. Biting into it, he addressed Harry as coolly as he could, mouth full of fruit. "Hey, Harry. How's it going?"

This was James, fourteen going on forty, going through what Ginny told him was a phase many teenage boys did. Harry had never exactly been a normal teenage boy, but he was still at a complete loss as to why his son insisted on calling both he and Ginny by their first names, nor why he suddenly was interested in discussing things like the international political landscape. Ginny always shrugged, said something about Percy, and assured Harry he'd get over it when he got a girlfriend. Somehow, the prospect of his son having a girlfriend—and having sex—was almost worse.

Harry placated him. "Things are fine, James. And how was your day?"

James shrugged. "Fine. Molly told me I was 'insufferable' several times, and refused to listen when I told her how potentially harmful it was to my psyche."

Harry didn't know whose child this was, but it certainly wasn't his.

"Dad! I missed you!" Albus Severus barreled into the kitchen, catching Harry round the waist and hugging him tightly. Now this was certainly Harry's son. He made it a point never to play favourites, but at the back of his mind, he knew he saw himself in Albus, and it occasionally played a part in how he treated him. Not favourably, per say, but certainly with an additional degree of understanding. Though Albus ending up a Ravenclaw still left Harry gobsmacked.

"I missed you, too, Albus... though I was only gone for—" he checked the clock on the wall "eight hours?"

"I know, but I didn't see you last night, either."

"True, true. I'll make up for it this weekend—we can do something, just you and me, okay?"

"Yeah, okay Dad." Albus beamed.

"Baby," muttered James from behind them, and Harry turned, punching him lightly on the shoulder and reassuring him.

"You and I can play a pick-up game of Quidditch or something."

"Whatever." James let out an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, I'd rather read, thank you." Tossing his half-eaten apple up in the air and catching it deftly, one-handed, he walked out of the kitchen, off to read, presumably. Harry and Albus exchanged a look, and Albus shrugged.

"Don't ask me, Dad. I have no idea what he's going on about. Never seen him read before in my life, now all of a sudden he's mad about it. I think he's been body snatched."

"Sound guess," Harry hummed in agreement.

No sooner had James left, Lily and Molly came bustling in.

"Harry, dear! So good to see you!" Molly beamed at him, extending her arms out for a hug, which Harry gladly accepted.

"Hello Lils, Molly," Harry greeted them, and Lily wrinkled her nose at him.

"Don't call me Lils, dad! I�m eleven now, and a Hogwarts student. Lils is a baby name."

"You're not at Hogwarts yet, Lils" Harry chided his youngest, whose eyes rolled as he used the nickname again. This one was most certainly Ginny's. Molly saved the day, of course.

"Oh, hush, you two. Had a good day, Harry? We've just been going over Albus' summer homework. Lily's a natural you know, picking up Charms theory like a pro."

Lily beamed at her.

"Oh, yes, today was all right," Harry lied smoothly. "I invited Teddy over for dinner."

A chorus of excited shouts rung out—all the children loved Teddy, especially James, who thought he was the height of cool. Molly frowned.

"Oh, that's a shame. I'm having Bill and Fleur over, otherwise I'd stay."

"That's all right, Molly, I'll give him a poke, make sure he stops by yours this weekend."

Damn right Harry'd give him a poke. More like a jab with his wand, followed by some nasty curses. Harry was convinced Teddy was behind the Daily Prophet article, and he had invited him over for the sole purpose of interrogating him after dinner.

Not that Teddy knew that yet.

...|||...

In the end, Harry had waited until Molly left, and then he'd ordered Indian takeaway. He was pretty good in the kitchen, admittedly, but it had been a long day, and he just didn't have the energy to cook for five. For years, he and Ginny had traded off cooking responsibilities, but now that it was just him and the kids all summer, he found himself less and less inclined to cook every day.

The food arrived at the same time as Teddy, and Harry had to practically climb over the children as they mobbed Teddy to get to the driver to pay him for their meal. It had taken a good ten minutes to get them all settled at the dinner table, but they'd finally managed it, and now they were chatting, Teddy leading the charge in awkward questions.

"So when's Ginny coming home next?"

Harry shrugged. Before he could admit that he had no bloody clue, Lily chimed in.

"Tuesday! I'm sooooo excited! We're going to go out for ice cream, and she's going to play Quidditch with us and we're going to go shopping for my Hogwarts stuff."

"Oh, then you have your letter already?" Teddy popped a pakora into his mouth, and trained his full attention on Lily, who ate it up.

"No, but we all know I'm going, and I'm going to be Gryffindor, so Mum wants to get my robes now."

"How long will Ginny be here, then?" Teddy looked straight at Harry at that. "I'd love to see her."

Again, Harry didn't have the answer, but this time Albus answered for him.

"Only two days. There's a game on Thursday she has to go to."

"But she'll be back on the weekend!" Lily piped up again. "That's when we're going to play our game, with Uncle George and Aunt Angelina—girls against boys! You should come, Teddy! You're a much better Keeper than Uncle Ron, though don't tell him I said that..."

Teddy chuckled, winking at her and saying, "Don't worry, I won't tell. I'll even play Chaser if he's particularly set on Keeper. Better for your team anyway, right?"

"I don't know..." Lily scrunched up her nose. "Mum hates playing Chaser against Uncle Ron... oh, I shouldn't have said that!"

The whole table laughed. Lily was a grade-A chatter box, and ace with questions you didn't want to answer. Plus, she was horrible at keeping her mouth shut. She'd grow up to be a journalist, just like her mum, Harry reckoned.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Lily fired off at Teddy, changing tacks. Her hazel eyes narrowed in focus. James also looked particularly interested in the answer.

"I, um, no. No, I don't." Teddy coughed into his napkin, and Harry saw him flush.

"Victoire is still very upset," Lily informed him, a perfect mimic of her grandmother.

"I don't know, Lils, Vic and I talk all the time, and she seems perfectly fine. It's been two years, after all."

Harry noted with some annoyance that Lily didn't have any objection to Teddy calling her by her nickname.

"Well, I'd still be upset if my boyfriend broke up with me," Lily answered back. "That wasn't very nice of you."

Harry choked on his water. "Lily Luna Potter, you had better not have a boyfriend. And not for many years. Ten. Twenty."

"Dad! I'm nearly twelve," Lily whined dramatically. "Tonnes of girls my age have boyfriends."

"You're eleven. And name one."

Lily made a face, indicating a small triumph on Harry's part. Then she mumbled under her breath, "Am too almost twelve."

Harry chuckled. Always one to round up, Lily wouldn't be turning twelve for another eight months. He looked forward to the day she would start rounding down, as her mother had right around the time she turned thirty.

"But don't you want a girlfriend?" This time it was James asking, eyebrows knitted together in thought. Inside, Harry cringed. It was clearly time for "the talk," something he had been putting off since James turned 15. Ginny had been nagging him about it for six months, and threatening to do it herself this summer if Harry didn't. But how was Harry supposed to go over the mechanics of women when all he could think about lately was other men?

"Of course I'd like to be with someone," Teddy answered smoothly, avoiding the gendered pronoun, Harry noted. "But it doesn't always happen that way. You have to wait until you find someone you click with."

"And then what?" James asked, insistently.

"Then you ask them out. Hope they say yes."

James rolled his eyes. "You make it sound easy. It's not that easy."

James and Lily were focused intently on Teddy, hanging on his every word, as they usually did. Albus, Harry realised, had been watching him the whole time. Especially during the part about Ginny, and when she was coming home. This was Albus' forte - he was the sharp observer, likely the reason he was a Ravenclaw instead of a Gryffindor, like James. James was all action -- and a good amount of lip, lately -- while Albus was a thinker. And right now Harry was worried about what he might be thinking. He looked very concerned, far more worried than a 14-year-old had any right to be about their parents.

Harry made a mental note to have a chat with him this weekend. But tonight was reserved for chatting with Teddy, Harry remembered. He had to get to the bottom of this Niffler business, if he wanted to keep his private life out of the bloody papers. He sighed, digging into his curry and trying to ignore James as he started to go on about cauldron bottom thickness.

...|||...

Teddy gladly accepted the snifter of brandy Harry handed over, and immediately sucked down a hearty sip.

"Okay there, Teddy?" Harry asked, settling down behind his desk as Teddy lowered himself down into an armchair. It was several hours later, and they were in Harry's study. The kids, thankfully, had calmed down enough and were asleep, or at least were pretending to be. As long as they didn't set fire to the house, Harry didn't care.

"Oh, yeah. Just a tough week at the office." Teddy took another sip. "And it's never easy being grilled on your love life by an eleven year old. I'm thinking... well, maybe it's time to come out, to everyone."

"Why haven't you, then?"

"How many gay people do you know in the wizarding community, Harry?" Teddy asked him, tone wry.

"Um, one?"

"Exactly. And I'm not even out. There are plenty of us out there, of course, but no one talks about it. You've read those vile Niffler columns - people get off on just thinking about one of us being gay, but they don't actually want to hear about it."

"That's..."

"Depressing? Yeah, isn't it?"

Teddy was hardened beyond his years. He'd also given Harry an easy in to discuss the Niffler, though now he was reluctant, given Teddy's comments.

"Speaking of the Niffler... have you read today's blind item?"

"What? Uh, I guess. I glanced at it. Why?"

Harry schooled his features in a look of seriousness. "Teddy, did you tell anyone about last night? At the club?"

"No! Why would you think that?"

"Because of this?" Harry brandished the offending paper and tossed it at Teddy, who deftly caught it. Teddy started to ask Harry a question, but he cut him off, merely nodding at the paper in Teddy's lap. Opening it up to the Niffler's page, Teddy's eyes began to skim the page, then they went wide.

"Harry, I—I didn't do this. I wouldn't—I don't know how this happened!"

"Exactly. I have half a mind to think you're the Niffler, but what you just said a minute ago... and you're really not—"

"Not what?" Teddy asked, affronted.

Harry paused, trying to express exactly what he wanted to say, without upsetting him. Finally, he settled on, "I'd like to think I raised you better than that." Teddy seemed to relax at that.

"You did. You and Gran both. I—I'm sorry about this, Harry. It's horrible to be outed that way. Though... are you sure it's about you? It could be about any number of people—"

"There was one last week, too. I'm convinced they're about me, now. I—I don't know who's doing it, and I thought, maybe..."

"Sorry, Harry." Teddy frowned, and tossed back the last of his drink, hissing as it burned down his throat. "You want more?" He was already out of the armchair, reaching for the bottle. Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, why not. It's been a long day."

"Hmmm," Teddy hummed, pouring both of them half a glass, then settling back in the chair with his.

Harry studied him, his godson, Remus' son... it seemed like just yesterday when he was born, when Harry had defeated Voldemort, and Teddy's parents had died. Now he was an adult, sitting in Harry's study drinking brandy and discussing their respective sexualities. Which made him wonder, since he hadn't yet asked...

"How long have you known you were gay, Teddy?"

Teddy shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Suspected it, back in school—one too many looks at other boys to just be curious, you know? Not enjoying sex with Victoire was the real tip-off, though. You'd have to be blind or gay, so I reckoned it was the latter." Teddy broke into a grin.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. "Does she know? Why you broke up, I mean."

"Yeah. She was really great about it, actually. And Gran knows. Now you. I'll tell everyone else, eventually, but you know how it is out there. I kind of want to wait until I'm with someone, so it's two against everyone out there."

"Teddy," Harry chided him softly, "you're not alone. You know we'll all support you."

"Yeah, I know. Just... there's been progress—Wizards and Wands on the Wireless, Quills opening up its second club in London, but there still aren't any highly visible gay wizards." Teddy sent him a pointed look.

"I'm not coming out! I don't even know if I�m gay..."

Another look from Teddy.

"Okay, so I'm probably gay. But I couldn't--"

"I think you're probably the only person who could come out without any consequences. You're their hero, Harry. They love you."

"They love the idea of me," Harry corrected him. "Hero Harry Potter, Head Auror, married to his sweetheart Ginny with their three lovely children." He took a sip of his drink, and smacked his lips wetly. "They don't want to know about my nightmares, that I haven't had sex with my wife in six months, that I... that I�m interested in men. It would shatter the image." A bitter edge had crept into his voice, and he stared darkly at the amber liquid in his glass, which glittered through the etched prism.

"I don't know." Teddy shrugged. "I reckon you'd be okay, in the end."

Harry wanted, no, needed to steer the conversation away from himself.

"So, are you seeing anyone? Or interested..."

"Oh, I... um, no, not really." Teddy blushed.

"You are!"

"It's nothing. I don't even know if he's gay."

"Who?"

"Um, Simon Wood?"

"Simon Wood... wait, Oliver's son?"

"The Puddlemere player? Yeah. Simon works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I see him in the cafeteria sometimes, and we chat about Quidditch. It's nothing, really, just... sometimes I feel like he's flirting, but I just can't tell. The problem with no one being out is that you never know who's like you, who's available."

"You should ask him out."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't just ask someone out."

"Why not? You pretty much told James the same thing at dinner."

"Okay, yes, I did, but he's fifteen. I'm not. He's right—it's not that easy, especially not when you're gay. Would you just ask out some fit bloke at the Ministry?"

"Of course not!"

"Exactly! It's too risky." Teddy seemed to think a minute, smoothing his fingertips over the Daily Prophet still sitting in his lap. "You know, Harry, maybe you shouldn't be going out to clubs, if you think someone is on to you. Maybe you should get some, err, personal aids."

"Personal aids?"

"Yeah, Harry. You know... toys?"

Harry felt his face heat. "Don't be ridiculous, Teddy."

"Why is that ridiculous? Tonnes of people use toys. Most, actually. I can't believe you haven't thought of it."

"I... I can't buy sex toys."

"Why not?"

"Ginny wouldn't—"

Teddy cut him off, scoffing. "I'm sure Ginny has her own. Just like I'm sure you have a hidden porn stash."

"Ginny doesn't—"

Again, Teddy cut him off, this time with a single scathing look. Okay, he'd lost that one.

"I wouldn't even know where to go."

"Easy!" Teddy broke into a grin. "I know just the place."

...|||...

Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he stepped over the threshold of Whips and Giggles. There was a mirror tacked just to the right of the door, presumably so patrons could check their Glamours, and damned if Harry's hadn't worked particularly well. He was another person. He was also ginger. Frowning, he lifted the flaming, curly locks from his forehead. He'd always wondered what he felt like for the Weasleys, and now for his own children. Now he knew. He felt... exposed, far too visible. Turning away, he headed for the door, to see if the Glamour would reset itself.

"That won't work," called out a chipper voice to his left.

He jumped nearly a foot in the air, and turned to face the speaker. It was a young woman, eyes glinting from beneath a dark, choppy fringe streaked with vibrant pink. Her robes matched her hair, inky black fabric with fuscia insets, and Harry noted the clunky set of combat boots on her feet.

"New here?" she asked and he nodded silently. "Figured. Once the Automatic Glamour Spell decides on a look for you, you're stuck with it, I'm afraid. The gingers always complain." She smirked at that. "Well, come on in—no use standing out here." She gestured for Harry to follow her.

Harry barely had both feet inside the inner shop, when she started talking a mile a minute, walking him through the different areas of the store.

"So we've got our IPVs over there," she pointed to their immediate right at a section of bookcases filled with boxes affixed with dirty pictures, "penetrative objects over there, inserts over there, lube by the pens, kink items in the back and a bookshop upstairs. Got it?"

At Harry's blank look, she frowned. "Oh dear, you really are new, aren't you?" She started over, in layman's terms this time. "There—" she pointed straight ahead, "things to stick up your bum—the pens. Penetrative objects?" Harry nodded dumbly. "You want to stick your cock into something, you want to go for the inserts—fake bums, that sort of thing. You'll need lube for both. Those are between the pens and the inserts. If you like the 'whips' part of our title, kink items are in the back. IPVs are pretty self-explanatory."

Harry tried to look like he got it, but must have failed.

"You don't know what IPVs are? Haven't you ever watched porn?"

"I have magazines," Harry mumbled.

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Magazines are so 2000s. IPVs have revolutionized the way witches and wizards enjoy pornography. It's pretty basic." She pulled Harry in between two bookcases, and picked up one of the offending boxes. "This is—" she paused to indicate the myriad of boxes on the shelves and added, "these are—Interactive Pensieve Videos. We've all sorts, though obviously we're same sex only at Whips and Giggles, but you name it, we have it. Schoolboys, dark wizards, Quidditch players, the list goes on." Shoving the box into Harry's hands, she instructed him. "Open it."

"What?"

"Open it. It won't bite, I promise." From the look she was giving him, Harry wasn't so sure.

He examined the cover—two boys, wearing what looked like Beauxbatons robes, lounged on a bed together, their hands moving suggestively under their robes. Harry's eyes flicked up to the title—ah Beaux Batons. He cracked open the box, and was surprised to find a small vial inside. The salesgirl smiled.

"That's your IPV. Simply pour it into your Pensieve—you have a Pensieve, yeah?" Harry nodded. "Good. Pour it, and hop in yourself. Each IPV will give you two hours of video, usually four or five scenes, completely interactive. You can walk around, see all the different angles, even touch—though trying to penetrate the IPV actors is not recommended. They're toy friendly, so you can take care of all your wanking needs, right in your own home Pensieve. Though we do recommend buying a dedicated system, as not everyone likes to mix their real memories with their porn. We had this one bloke, right? Well, he got so mixed up, he swore he was shagging the entire Chudley Cannons team..." She trailed off, then smiled brightly at him. "Got it?"

"Yeah, I think so..."

"Excellent. I'm Charity, and I'll be over there if you need me." She pointed to the register, then bounced off in its direction.

Harry looked at the box in his hand, squinting at the vial until he saw that, indeed, there was a swirling grey mist inside. When had this little innovation happened? It was brilliant, really. Closing the box, he turned to place the video back on the shelf, only to have it practically snatched out of his hand before he could set it down. He looked up to find the culprit, another ginger, smiling thinly at him. Harry noticed the sweat on his brow, sure he probably looked the same.

"Quite sorry," the bloke apologised hastily, before popping off in the direction of the register, and Charity.

Harry shrugged, continuing to wander the aisles. Several videos caught his eye, including Asssss-inine Aurors and Quidditch Hunks Bare All 8, which he decided to give a try. His selections in hand, he warily wandered into the "pens" section, where a shocking array of large, brightly coloured dildos stood. He wasn't even sure if he was interested in being fucked, but a niggling voice at the back of his mind told him he should try it, so after locating the smallest thing he could find—a purple "junior sized" butt plug, he moved on to the lube. That, at least, was a pretty easy decision since he had used lube before, and plenty, so he grabbed the most familiar looking bottle and headed to the register, where Charity was waiting for him, a smirk firmly planted on her lips.

"Excellent selections for a beginner. Especially the junior. Very popular among the experimental set." She began to ring him up, pausing to assess the IPV titles he'd selected. "Asssss-inine Aurors is brills. The bottom in scene one is just fantastic."

"You've watched them?" Harry asked, honestly quite agog. She was a girl.

"Of course. Why do you think I work here? Nothing like some good wizard-on-wizard." Charity winked at him. "Beaux Batons is quite good, as well. You should have got that one."

"Someone else, um, wanted it."

"Ah, yes, the jumpy bloke. A newbie, just like yourself." Charity plopped the last item into a bag. "Your total comes to four Galleons, eleven Sickles and three Knuts."

"Um, I'd like to get a Pensieve, as well," Harry said, thinking back on all the times he'd mistakenly fallen into someone else's. Imagine if Snape or, God forbid, Dumbledore had had IPVs back then. "My kids, they know where I keep mine..."

Charity's eyebrows disappeared into her fringe as she pieced things together. "Ah, I see. Yes, separate Pensieve is a good idea, then. You can set a password lock on these too, you know. So your wife can't get in, either." Charity offered him an understanding smile, and Harry felt his face flush.

"I... thank you, that sounds perfect."

...|||...

Now that was done, and he could take this stuff home. It was just a matter of avoiding the kids, and their prying hands and curious eyes, so they wouldn't go right for the bag. Maybe he could distract them with some take-away for dinner? Ginny would get annoyed, of course, if she knew he was getting take-away in the middle of the week, but Ginny... shit. Ginny was home today.

It was Tuesday.

An adolescent and two teenagers he could distract, but not his keen wife -- one look at his package and she'd have her hands all over it. He'd have to swing back by the office and leave it there. Harry cursed. He'd been looking forward to giving his new toys a test run tonight, but that wasn't going to happen with Ginny home. And it wasn't like he was going to get laid, either. Harry sighed. Looked like another night wanking furiously in the shower, trying not to think of that bloke from the club while he did it.

...|||...

It was a good thing Harry had left his newly purchased toys locked in his office drawer, because as soon as he'd stepped into this kitchen, he'd been accosted from all sides by his wife, his children and his mother-in-law. The kids, thrilled to see their mother for the first time in over a week, were all over the place, and refused to settle down for bed until well past ten. Then Harry had had to do his own socializing with Ginny, which had mostly consisted of her telling him about all the wonderful things she'd been doing, and him pretending to listen.

A big case had hit the next day, which had meant Harry was busy all day Wednesday fielding inquiries, liaising with agents and filling out paperwork. He'd not even had enough time for a proper lunch hour, let alone time to wank. But now the last report had been filed, his team had gone home, and Harry was blissfully alone in his office.

And he intended to break out those toys, finally. He was curious and horny and sure as hell couldn't try out his purchases at home with Ginny and the kids there, so it would have to be here at the office. Harry had owled Ginny that morning about the case from hell, which meant she wasn't expecting him home anytime soon.

Unlocking his desk drawer, Harry pulled out the shiny, purple Whips and Giggles bag, pulling out each item and placing them in a line on his desk. The butt plug seemed to tease him, wobbling slightly from where it stood. Harry had just graduated to two fingers in his arse last week, and given it had produced the most intense orgasm he'd ever had, he was eager to finally try it out. Waiting the last twenty-four hours to try out his purchases had been slow torture.

Realising something was missing, Harry bent back down over his drawer, and pulled out the box with his secondary Pensieve in it. It was half the size of his one at home—Charity had said it could comfortably hold up to one hundred IPVs at a time—and Harry watched it come to life as he poured the contents of the vial from Assssss-inine Aurors into the shallow basin. He reckoned it would be best to take things one at a time, first experience the IPV, get a bit worked up, then foray into the use of toys.

Harry stood up from his desk and walked to his office door, surveying the floor one last time. The Auror Department, and the Ministry at large, was eerily silent, the faint echo of a Cleaning Charm whirring somewhere distant, where Harry guessed a floor was being buffed. But there wasn't a human sound he could make out—not a footstep, voice, or even the dinging lift as it ferried someone about. He was alone.

Still, Harry was paranoid, so he made sure to throw a hefty Locking Charm at his office door. Then he undressed, down to his boxer shorts, took a deep breath and plunged forward into the Pensieve.

He landed in an office not unlike his own, though there was no mistaking that this wasn't a real office in the Minisry. The wallpaper was ghastly, the furniture cheap, and there weren't nearly enough storage cabinets. Harry walked the room's perimeter, and caught sight of a piece of paper tacked to the wall. Closer inspection proved it to be a certificate of promotion. It read: Augustus Hardwood, Head Auror.

As if on cue, the man Harry presumed to be Hardwood stormed in, a harried-looking young man following in his wake.

"This report is unacceptable, Barnes," Hardwood barked, slamming a file folder down on his desk.

"What's wrong with it, sir?" Barnes asked, a little too much cheek in his voice for Harry's liking. He had to remind himself that this wasn't a real Auror situation, merely an excuse for some porn.

The scene jumped suddenly, and Harry was surprised to find Barnes was now bent over Hardwood's desk, and Hardwood was hissing in his ear.

"You're too uptight, Barnes. Time we did something about it."

Then Harry noticed Barnes wasn't wearing any trousers, or pants, and literally stumbled back a foot when Hardwood moved down Barnes' body, pulled apart his arsecheeks and stuck his tongue in between them.

"Jesus!" Harry cried out, and the scene froze. Suddenly he realised what was happening. This was a Pensieve, of course, so the IPVs seemed to work exactly like real memories. Scenes would shift, skip and pause at Harry's will, and apparently he'd wanted to skip past the horrible dialogue and right to the sex. Well, then. He took a deep breath, and the scene before him resumed.

"Oh, fuck, Auror Hardwood!" Barnes groaned, pushing his arse back into Hardwood's face. "Your tongue in my arse feels so amazing. Oh, yes, fuck me with your tongue."

Harry felt his face heat. He couldn't believe they were doing that. That anyone liked that. It was disgusting, just absolutely awful... Harry tried to convince himself of this, but even the Pensieve knew it was bullshit, and it continued playing through the scene.

"Oh, Auror Hardwood, fuck! Oh, God, please fuck me with your hard cock. I need you inside me, now," Barnes whined, folding himself over the desk and rubbing his cock across his offending file.

Harry seemed to concur, because the scene skipped ahead, and next thing Harry knew, a red-faced Barnes was screaming bloody murder as Auror Hardwood pounded into him from behind.

It was both disturbing and thrilling to watch something that bore such striking resemblance to Harry's real life. He could imagine that it was he chastising that young Auror, making him moan so enthusiastically under his cock. His cock jumped at the thought.

Harry approached them cautiously, curious to see how interactive this could be, and nearly came right on the spot as he rounded the desk.

Auror Hardwood's cock glistened with what Harry's presumed was lube and Harry stared, mesmerised as Barnes' arsehole stretched to accommodate Hardwood's considerable girth, absolutely swallowed him up. And Barnes moaned like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Harry wanted to wank now, but he also wanted to see what else was in this IPV, so he reluctantly concentrated on that wish, and braced himself as the scene blurred, then dissolved into another one.

This time he was in a dirty hotel room, and there were two other men with him, perched at a pair of windows, Omnoculars held up to their eyes.

"Fuck, this stakeout is boring," bemoaned one, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. If this stakeout was going to turn into a sex romp, the makers of this IPV were quite mistaken about what it was actually like to be an Auror. Though, Harry reckoned the boss fucking a subordinate over his desk was also rather far-fetched.

"Yeah, it really is. Wish these bastards would do something."

Again, Harry couldn't take the dithering, and things quickly jumped right to the porn. They were on the bed now, one fucking the other missionary style. Harry watched for a few moments, but the one on the bottom was moaning like a cat in heat, and the one fucking him kept groaning, "You like that, yeah? Take my cock, you whore." It didn't do much for Harry, especially compared to the first scene. The Pensieve swirled again, and replaced the scene with a new one.

He was in a jail cell now, and it was pretty easy to figure out what was going on here. A stringy, dirty man was on his knees, mouth and arse full of cock, and the two men fucking him—the Aurors—were dressed in imitation Ministry Auror robes.

"Dark wizards make the best cocksuckers, don't you think, Barnes?"

Harry's head snapped up at that, and he stepped closer. Indeed, Barnes was the one on the receiving end of the blow job, but Harry didn't recognise the other man.

"Fuck yes, they do, Callow." Barnes grinned, then grabbed a hold of the prisoner's hair and pulled, forcing him to deep throat him.

"His arse is nice and loose, too," Callow grunted as he thrust into the wizard. "Did your Death Eater buddies take turns fucking you?"

The wizard—whom Harry now presumed to be a Death Eater—groaned around Barnes' cock, and Callow grinned.

"I think that means he wants more. How about both of us in his arse at the same time?"

Harry's mind boggled. They were going to what? Maybe he'd save this bit for the next time he needed a wank. For now, he just wanted to get through this, file away a few images, and go back up to his office to try out that butt plug. The next scene materialised around him.

The room he was standing in now was practically bare, save for a ratty looking couch in the corner, and a plushy rug beneath his feet. Looked like a warehouse to him, and he was perplexed, until Auror Hardwood marched in, three official-looking men with him, and five fresh-faced young men in tow.

"Now listen here," began Hardwood, stern expression on his face. "You've reached the end of your training, but there is one final test. A real Auror can face any tough situation, maintains grace under pressure and can take a hard cock with a smile on his face. What concerns us most is the last. So, trousers off, cocks out and bend over."

Oh, they weren't really going to... the Pensieve skipped, and oh, yes, they were—Harry's cock throbbed as he watched the orgy unfold before him—the men were sucking, fucking and rimming with abandon. A tiny part of his brain couldn't help noting the disparity in the sexes here—a good third of Auror candidates were women—but this wouldn't be nearly as good if it were true to life, and Harry couldn�t help but wish that this was an actual part of Auror training.

The sounds were really killing him—the squelching sex noises he always thought were ridiculous until he was turned on, aching for a fuck—men, grunting and moaning, muttering curses under their breath. Ginny never made noises like that when they were fucking. Sure, when he asked her to, she would cry out and whine, but what had once turned him on like nothing else only sounded put on and fake now—she probably got it from porn, he mused. But these men sounded like they were really into it, lost in the heat of their fucking, and watching them moan and writhe, Harry knew he had to get out of there and wank, now.

With that, Harry was back in his office, cock hard and red, jutting from the slit in his boxer shorts. Whipping them off with lightening speed, he grabbed the lube and butt plug and bounded over to the couch, crouching on it on all fours. He reached two lubed fingers behind him and teased at his hole, hissing through his teeth as the cool moisture made contact with his hot skin. It warmed quickly, though, and it didn't take long for him to ease one finger, then two, slowly inside his arse. He was horny and impatient, however, so he did only the barest of preparation before covering the tip of the butt plug with shiny gel and positioning it at his entrance. Replaying in his mind the first scene, with Auror Hardwood and Barnes fucking over the desk, Harry grunted as the tip of the plug broke past his ring of muscle, and slowly began to slide inside him. Despite being the junior model, it still surpassed the sum girth of his two fingers, and he had to brace himself against the burning ache of it.

He grunted as the flared base smacked against his arse, and the plug was finally seated inside him. It... wasn't bad, he mused, though it stilled burned a bit. He experimented with leaning forward, putting his weight onto his forearms. Jesus! Something inside him sparked, and he was overcome by heat, which rapidly spread throughout his body. He grabbed hastily for his cock, stroking it as he rocked back on his haunches, savouring the sensation of being full, of pleasure radiating from every nerve point.

Harry heard a murmured Alohomora on the edge of his consciousness, but he was too far gone, he was coming, coming, coming... and the door clicked open, he looked up and saw Teddy standing there, mouth agape.

"Teddy!" Harry cried out, his weary arms and legs giving out beneath him, and he toppled down into a sweaty heap on the floor.

"Oh my God, Harry I'm so sorry!" Teddy's voice was muffled, and Harry realised he was outside his office now.

Harry struggled to right himself, but with the butt plug still in his now extremely sensitive arse, and his limbs weak from his enthusiastic wanking, he found it took two tries at standing before he finally managed it.

"Wait a second, Teddy... just let me get dressed."

"Um, okay?"

Teddy sounded as mortified as Harry felt. Cringing, Harry slowly pulled the plug from his arse, threw it and the rest of his toys into a drawer, and pulled on his pants, trousers and shirt.

"I'm decent now," Harry called out, though he felt anything but.

Teddy came into view, lingering by the doorway, face red with embarrassment.

"Um, hi. I, err, just wanted to grab something. I see you went to Whips and Giggles then?"

"Err, yes. What are you still doing here? I thought everyone had gone home."

"I was down in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, talking to Simon Wood. I took your advice, asked him to a game. I think he likes me." The flush of Teddy's cheeks deepened.

"Oh, that's excellent!" Harry congratulated him, trying to ignore the giant, gay white elephant in the room.

"Yeah... so, you're definitely gay, then?"

"What?"

"Last week, you still didn't seem sure. But you seem to like the toys..."

"Do we have to have this conversation right now?"

Teddy laughed. "No, we don't. I, um, I should be going, then."

"What did you want in my office?"

"Oh! Oh, nothing. Just... I wanted to show Simon your invisibility cloak. He's never seen one, and I thought— sorry I broke in."

"You can just ask next time, you know. Though, err, not when I'm..."

"No, no, absolutely not."

Harry wriggled uncomfortably in his chair. There was lube running down his thighs, sticking to his skin and his trousers, and he rather desperately wanted to get out of his office, go home and shower. Teddy looked just as anxious to end their conversation, and seemed to be trying to think of an exit strategy. Harry decided to help them both out.

"I really must be heading home now, I�m afraid."

"Oh, yes! Me too." Teddy bolted for the door, flashing Harry one last, apologetic smile before he rushed out, and through to the lifts.

Harry sighed, hoisting himself up from his chair, and grimaced. Yep, there was definitely lube running down his thigh, and his muscles ached from the ambitious position he'd got himself into. It would be a long hobble to the Floos downstairs.

...|||...

Harry's head felt as if it were made of candy floss, and he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. He had had a miserable night, spending several hours consoling a distraught Lily, who had, rather uncharacteristically for her, burst into tears as soon as Ginny had left home. No matter how many times he had reminded her that Ginny would be home again in less than a week, she wouldn't listen. On top of that, Harry had had a shitload of work to do, and he hadn't gone to bed until half one. Of course he'd then overslept this morning, so late he hadn't even had time to make coffee, which now put him in the Ministry lift, trying his best not to doze off, and stuck with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Malfoy looked about as exhausted as Harry did, though he was certainly better dressed for it. Despite being only middle-management in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Draco Malfoy always walked around the Ministry dressed impeccably. Harry frowned down at his own hastily-thrown together robes—there was a spot on his lapel, and the hem was fraying. Generally he didn't care about the pomp and circumstance at the Ministry, but today he felt particularly ill-suited to be a department head.

Malfoy huffed loudly as the lift chugged slowly downward, and Harry silently shared his sentiment. He needed to get off this lift and to where the coffee lived now.

As they neared Malfoy's floor and the lift voice informed them in a monotone that they were approaching The Department of Magical Games and Sports, it jogged something in Harry's mind. Teddy's would-be beau worked with Malfoy, and damned if Harry wasn't just a bit concerned for his godson's welfare. Best to see if he could vet Simon Wood on his own. He cleared his throat.

"Malfoy—quick question."

Malfoy turned, clearly a bit perplexed.

"Yes?"

"Simon Wood works in your department, yeah?"

Harry thought he got a flash of panic in Malfoy's eyes, but the moment quickly passed. He merely looked and sounded annoyed as he answered. "Yes..."

"How is he? He a good sort of bloke?"

"I don't know him that well, Potter. He's a junior staff member..."

"Oh, okay."

"Why?"

"No reason. Just wondering."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry briefly, then turned and stalked from the lift as the doors opened on his floor. Well, that hadn't got Harry anywhere. Though he did get the privilege of the view of Malfoy's backside as he walked away... Harry shook his head to clear the thought. This was Malfoy, Harry told himself, and that was just not on.

...|||...

Harry opened his office door, only to find Teddy, sitting on his couch, apparently waiting for him. The first thing Harry noticed was the way Teddy was jiggling his leg nervously. Then he noticed the newspaper clutched tightly in his hand, and Harry felt a knot form in his throat.

"Good morning, Teddy," Harry said warily, eying him as he made his way over to his desk. Depositing his briefcase beside it, Harry noted with interest the steaming cup of coffee sitting on top. Okay, Teddy was definitely trying to butter him up...

"Morning, Harry," Teddy mumbled, staring fixedly down at the carpet.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. Or is it something I have to read for myself?" Harry indicated the paper.

"I-- I don't know if you want to read it." Teddy clutched the paper close to his chest and looked at Harry with worry.

"Give it here."

Reluctantly, Teddy handed it over, and as soon as the paper touched Harry's fingertips, he launched into a disclaimer.

"I didn't tell a soul, I swear. I have no idea how they found out, I, I... I don't know! I'm so sorry, Harry. I thought it would be safe!"

"I'm sure it's fine..." Harry didn't really think so, but Teddy looked as if he was going to have a heart attack.

"I—I'm going to go do work. Probably better if you read it alone. So. Yeah. Bye." Teddy bolted from the room, casting one last concerned glance back at Harry before closing the door behind him.

Now alone with the Prophet, Harry thumbed it open to the gossip section, slowly turning the page to the Niffler's column.

No. No, no, no, Harry thought, starring in shock down at the day's blind item. No way did they get him on this, too. He read it for the eight millionth time in the last minute, feeling more numb with every reading.

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 24th June, 2020

It seems our closeted war hero liked his experience at the club last week, as he's gone out and bought himself some naughty sexual aids. Self-love may be lonely, but it's a great way to get some experience, they say, so don't be surprised if this Wizard is reporting a new couple on these pages soon. Wonder what his wife will say when he brings him home for family dinner?

...|||...

Harry awoke, groggy, to the sound of a great whoop being let loose downstairs. Familiar as he was with waking alone, it took him a moment to realise that Ginny was no longer beside him. He threw on his dressing gown and moved downstairs to see what was going on. The kids usually slept in on Saturdays, as did he and Ginny.

What he found in the living room was one giddy Albus, standing next to an equally bouncy blond -- Scorpius Malfoy, Harry recalled. James was sulking in the corner and Lily was pelting Scorpius with all sorts of questions about Side-Along Apparition. Harry was confused. Why was there a strange child in his house, again? Ginny, as usual, caught his apparent confusion, and after heaving a sigh, reminded him.

"Scorpius is here for two weeks, remember dear?" She had that edge in her voice, the one she always got when Harry mucked something up. And remembering the kids' schedules had always been one of those things better suited to Ginny. Harry plastered a grin on his face.

"Yes, of course! Welcome, Scorpius."

Grey-blue eyes peered up at him, gone wide with awe. Scorpius always did this, looked up at Harry like some formidable figure. It was embarrassing. Harry felt his face heat.

"Right. You two should head upstairs, settle in, yeah?"

The two nodded and grinned, then took off up the stairs, Lily hot on their heels and James sulking behind them. Ginny's rule was one friend at a time, and James was clearly sour that it was Albus' turn. Considering he only seemed to have one friend to bring home when James had half a dozen, Harry thought it was more than fair, but that wasn't something he ever shared. He dreaded to think what would happen when Lily started school and made more friends.

As soon as they had disappeared up the stairs, Ginny rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"Really, Harry - I ask you to remember one thing. It's a good thing this was my weekend to be home, or else poor Scorpius would be left standing on the front porch with Draco bloody Malfoy, thinking we run some kind of hovel."

"That's... but... I have a lot on my mind, okay? I forgot one little thing. And you were here. It's fine. And Malfoy was here?"

"Yeah, he just left. Didn't look like he wanted to let Scorpius come at all, really."

The anger seemed to drain from Ginny, and she merely furrowed her brow, and sighed.

"Harry, you're really hopeless, you know?"

"Always have been," Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Trust me, I know," Ginny replied wearily. "I have to go upstairs and give Scorpius an extra set of towels. Make breakfast for everyone, yeah?"

Harry nodded, keeping his face bright until Ginny was gone, then letting his smile fall. He was turning forty in two weeks, and Ginny still treated him like he was four. Sure, to be fair, he did need looking after sometimes, but she was an incredible nag when she wanted to be.

And, Harry grumbled to himself, what right did she really have to be upset? Sure, she was here to receive their guest, but Harry would be the one stuck looking after him for two weeks. Ginny was leaving in two days for another stretch of games that would keep her away until practically Harry's birthday.

Harry wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, where he thoroughly intended to take out his frustration on a bowl of eggs, whisking them until they were so airy, Ginny could drink his bloody scrambled eggs.

...|||...

It had been a long, tiring week. Scorpius was a dear, well-behaved boy, but the additional child at home was wearing on Harry. Harry was thankful Molly was there to watch them during the day, but it seemed the four of them saved all their energy for him, and every day when he stepped through the Floo, he was accosted on all sides by a chatterbox (Lily), a pseudo-intellectual (James), an awed... fan of sorts (Scorpius) and, well, Albus. Albus was pretty easy, actually. But Harry found himself having to be 'on' from the moment he got home until the moment he went to bed—and with it being school holidays, that often wasn't until ten or eleven at night. He overslept a lot of mornings.

Ginny had only been gone a week this time, but it felt as if Harry had been going it alone for months, and he was fed up. Which did not put him in a particularly good state of mind on Friday morning, especially coupled with the fact that he had overslept again and was operating sans coffee thus far. The Niffler's column, thus, rankled him more than it might have otherwise.

The Nosy Niffler Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 7th July, 2020

As predicted, readers, it could only be too long before the war hero's wife noticed his dalliances with the same sex, but she hasn't reacted as you would expect. Seems she's not surprised at all, and keen to try an open relationship. Apparently her eyes, too, have been wandering elsewhere...

Harry proceeded to spend the entire day in a fog of anger, counting down the seconds until he could leave, hunt down Ginny and confront her. He was wise to the whole thing, now, and the Niffler wouldn't know what hit her.

...|||...

"Ginny, we need to talk," Harry shouted into the fire, hoping she was in her hotel room.

"Harry?" Ginny popped her head out of the bathroom door, hair done up in a towel. "What the hell are you doing here? Get your head out of the fire. Come on through - Floo network is open."

Harry did just that, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and the day's Daily Prophet, stepping into Ginny's hotel room a moment later. The towel was gone now, and Harry watched as she performed a familiar drying charm on her hair, and tucked the loose strands behind her ears. Harry thought she looked pretty ridiculous—and just a bit sexy—standing there in just her knickers, hands on her hips, assessing him. For a brief moment he forgot why he was here.

"I have a game in a half hour, so whatever it is, it better be quick. And if you've done something stupid with the kids, I swear to God, Harry--"

She was clearly annoyed, and any thoughts of 'sexy' flew from Harry's mind. He'd felt like they were twenty again, for a brief moment there, but this was them at forty, and the constant annoyance and bickering was the name of the game. The lingerie was gone now, anyhow, as Ginny began to pull on her clothes. He remembered exactly what he was here for.

"It's not the kids. They're fine," Harry barked.

"Then what?" Ginny asked impatiently, buttoning the last button of her press robes.

"This." Harry threw the paper at her, which she caught, Quidditch reflexes still sharp. She unfolded the paper and looked at the masthead.

"Yeah, I work for them. And?"

"I know you work for them, Gin. I just had no idea you were the Nosy fucking Niffler, using all our tawdry secrets to sell bloody newspapers."

"I... what? Just... what?"

Harry began to mimic the article back at her. "'It could only be too long before the war hero's wife noticed his dalliances with the same sex. And seems she's keen to try an open relationship. Her eyes, too, have been wandering elsewhere," Harry finished bitterly, glaring at her. "I think that's the gist of it. You would know."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but are you alleging that I wrote that? That I'm the Nosy Niffler? You're fucking mad!"

"Am I?" Harry laughed bitterly. "For weeks the Niffler has been printing personal information about me, and I was absolutely clueless as to how he knew, but it's so obvious to me now. It's you! You're already a Prophet employee, so it makes sense."

"No, it doesn't make any sense!" Ginny said, frustration clear in her voice. "I'm a Quidditch reporter. Quidditch. Sport. Not... tawdry gossip! And, wait a second—" she squinted down at the paper, "this item is about a gay war hero, Harry..."

Shit. If she wasn't the Niffler, this was one hell of a way to come out to her, wasn't it? Harry had no response for that, so he merely stood there, scratching his head absentmindedly and trying not to look Ginny in the eyes.

"Is this some kind of mid-life crisis? Mental breakdown?" Ginny's serious facade slipped, and she let out a small snort of laughter.

"This isn't funny!"

"Oh, Harry, yes it is. You're having a... gay mid-life crisis, and you're telling me about it by accusing me of being the gossip columnist who outed you. I guess that's why you wanted to do that thing..."

"You enjoyed that, too!"

"Sure, but it makes far more sense now... and you know, now that you mention it..."

"What?"

"An open relationship is a really good idea."

...|||...

The Daily Prophet office was nearly empty by the time Harry arrived, though Ginny had assured him that the editor-in-chief, Padma Patil, would be there late, waiting on her game report to come in for the late edition.

He'd come directly from Ginny's hotel room in Cardiff. He was still a bit numb, actually. What had started out as a very heated argument had turned into something entirely unexpected. Ginny seemed genuinely relieved that he was gay, and it was like this news had opened up the floodgates. Suddenly she was his easy-going, easy to talk to Ginny again, and she was confessing to him how miserable she'd been for ages, feeling like Harry didn't love her anymore, how trying to talk about it never seemed to work. Harry had had no idea there were so many problems in their marriage, and that he had contributed so much to them. Ginny really had had a game to go to, so she'd made a promise to take a day off the beat this week and come home so they could have a proper chat. With that, she'd kissed him on the cheek softly—the first time in ages - and sent him off to Padma to get the whole Niffler thing sorted. It was all rather uncanny, when he thought about it.

Harry's stomach did tiny flip-flops as he stalked past a line of empty desks towards Padma's office. He was going to finally find out who the Niffler was - the arsehole who had been following his every move for weeks and putting it all in print for all to see. The arsehole who had now got it into Ginny's head that they should see other people. Though, really, Harry agreed - it didn't count as cheating if Ginny knew about it, and did it, too, right? Harry had been feeling dreadfully guilty about the bloke in the club, but now it seemed like Ginny might actually be okay with it.

He found the office adorned with a plaque that read Padma Patil, Editor-in-Chief, and marched right in, not bothering with pleasantries.

"All right, Padma," he practically shouted, "I'm sick and tired of this. Tell me who the Niffler is."

"Um, hello Harry. Nice to see you, too." Padma looked up at him, hand pausing over a sheet of paper she was proofreading. She smirked as she continued, "And no."

"Padma."

"Harry." Padma raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know what inspired your sudden interest in our gossip columnist, but my answer is the same, for everyone—old friend or no. Everyone wants to know the identity of the Niffler, and I simply can't tell. It's in the best interest of the paper, plus it's in his contract--"

"Aha! So it's a man!"

"'He' is a gender neutral pronoun, actually." Padma smirked.

God, she sounded liked Albus - did Ravenclaws hold meetings at the weekends at Hogwarts, discussing which grammatical nitpicks they should use to torture the general populace, for all time?

"Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"He has been writing about me." Realising he probably shouldn't come out to Padma, too, he back-tracked. "Lies, complete lies. And I want it to stop."

"How could the Niffler have been writing about you, Harry? They're blind items." Padma's tone was light, but chiding. He knew she was friends with Ginny, but this was ridiculous—she sounded just like her.

"I just know they are. He's printed... personal information, and I won't stand for it!"

Padma assessed him, long and hard. The silence continued on a good thirty seconds, until Harry began to feel more than a bit uncomfortable. He shifted on the balls of his feet, until, finally, Padma spoke.

"How badly do you want to know?"

Harry didn't like the tone in her voice, but he answered earnestly, nonetheless.

"Badly."

Padma seemed to think for a moment. "I'll tell you if you agree to work for me."

"Work for you?!"

"Yes. A weekly column. You've been turning us down for years, and I want the exclusive rights to 'everything according to Harry Potter'. It's that, or nothing."

Shit. As much as he wanted to know who the Niffler was—was desperate to know—selling his soul, as it were, to the Prophet was a high price to pay. Padma was right—he'd been dodging their offers for years, long before his old school friend took over as editor, and not even Ginny assuring him that the new Prophet was a whole shade different from the one of his childhood could convince him. To give in now would make him seem weak, would compromise all his ethics!

It would also get him the information he needed. Fuck.

Harry grumbled low, under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Fine." ...|||...

Padma had told Harry exactly where he could find... him, and there he was, sitting smugly amongst a small crowd, martini glass held aloft by perfectly manicured fingers as he regaled his friends with a salacious story, no doubt. Harry seethed, marched up to him, and knocked the glass right out of his hand, to all-around gasps.

"Malfoy, you fucking rat, I'm going to hex you until your balls fall off."

"Potter -- what the fuck!" Malfoy jumped up, brushing frantically at his trousers and waist coat as the blue alcoholic concoction dripped down his front.

"Come with me, now," Harry ground out, narrowing his eyes at Malfoy's posse as they snickered. It was bad enough Malfoy had advertised his sexual problems to the world; he wasn't going to confirm it to a group of onlookers. Grabbing loose hold of Malfoy's coat, Harry dragged him towards the back of the bar. When they were in a well-secluded area near the loos, Harry pushed Malfoy back against the wall and jabbed him in the chest.

"You're the fucking Nosy Niffler. And you, you-- wrote about my private life, for all to see!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy sneered, but the panic in his eyes belied his aggressive tone.

"Padma told me, so don't try and lie about it. I know you're him, writing blind items about me. Bet you thought you were so clever, huh?"

"What? I don't know what you're going about."

"Oh, don't you?" He began to parrot the original blind item from memory. "'Which war hero is trapped in a loveless marriage and finds his eye wandering elsewhere? Not a new story, I realise, until you consider the fact that they are most frequently wandering in the direction of other men....'" Harry finished sourly, glaring at Malfoy.

God help him, but the prat started to laugh.

"Stop it! It's not funny!" Malfoy didn't stop laughing, and his chuckles began to grate. "You're ruining my life!" Harry practically shrieked.

"Potter, oh god, you're such a moron!"

"What?"

Malfoy looked him straight in the eyes and said, dead-pan.

"Those were about me."

"I can't beli-- what?"

"The blind items. Were about me. So I don't know what the hell you're going on about."

"Oh."

"Oh," Malfoy mimicked, rolling his eyes. "You've ruined my trousers, you know, and-- wait. Wait. You-- you thought those items were about you? Are you gay Potter?"

Malfoy looked like he'd won the gossip lottery, and Harry felt a surge of panic. Oh, shit.

"No, no, of course not."

"You are! The only way you could have mistaken those for you is if you were doing the same things... oh, this is too good."

"Now listen here," Harry said, lunging at Malfoy until he had him pinned against the wall. "You can't breathe a word of this to anyone, or else, or else..." Harry suddenly realised that he was leaning against Malfoy, in a darkened corner of a bar, with both hands tangled in his shirt and breathing heavily. This could not look good. He jumped back, then attempted to steady himself. "I'll out you, so help me. I will tell everyone that you're the Niffler. I don't care if those items are about you. People might think they're about me."

"Of course they might, since you're apparently as gay as I am. That's the point of blind items. Specific enough to titillate and get people talking, but vague enough to keep them talking and avoid a lawsuit. I just... Harry Potter, gay. Brilliant."

"What about you!"

"What about me?" Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm gay, my wife is indifferent, end of story. Though I do plan on getting a few more blind items out of it -- they're the talk of the town, you know, among certain circles. I'm getting a raise because of it."

"That's just... unethical."

"Writing about my personal life? How is that unethical?"

"It's not just your life--"

"Isn't it?" Malfoy said coolly, then leaned casually against the wall and assessed Harry. "So, if you thought they were about you, that means... gay clubs and sex toys, Potter?"

Harry flushed.

"Wait a second—have you been to Quills before?"

"What? No!"

"You're lying; I can tell. Oh, God, you have..." A light bulb seemed to go off, and Malfoy gasped. "It was you."

"Who was me?"

"Henri."

Harry's heart promptly dropped to his feet. He stammered lamely. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Malfoy ignored his denial, seeming to think things over. "No wonder you thought..." He laughed again.

"You think this is funny?"

"I think it's hilarious. How can you not? We got off together at a club, I put it in the paper and you thought it was about you! Though, technically speaking, it was..."

"I can't believe this."

"I know! Now, that doesn't explain the toys—where did you go?"

"Err, Whips and Giggles." Harry flushed.

"When?"

"Tuesday, a couple weeks back," Harry answered warily.

"Beaux Batons."

"Excuse me?"

"Beaux Batons. You were the bloke the wacky salesgirl gave the tour to. And you picked up Beaux Batons."

"You were the one who bought it?!"

"Yes. See, I thought I'd just got off with this hot French bloke. Apparently it was just you."

"I think I should be insulted."

"Are you? You shouldn't be." Malfoy shrugged. "I think I like this better, anyhow."

"I... uh, sorry?"

Malfoy leaned forward, tangling his hands in Harry's shirt, and pulling him close.

"Harry Potter. Boy hero. Gay, and willing..." he husked against Harry's cheek. Harry tensed at the words, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy dragged his lips forward to meet Harry's. Attempting to protest only gave Malfoy the opportunity to slip his tongue in.

In one fluid movement, Malfoy turned them around, slamming Harry against the wall and moving his hands down to grab Harry's arse and squeeze. The movement brought their lower bodies together, and Harry could feel the distinct outline of Malfoy's hard cock against his thigh. Malfoy ground against him and moaned into Harry's mouth. Harry fought a losing battle to not do the same—the pressure against his cock felt amazing, and Malfoy was a good kisser. It was a rehash of their encounter in Quills, except this time Harry was himself, and Malfoy was Malfoy. Malfoy!

Harry had to stop, no matter how good it felt. This was wrong. It wasn't an anonymous partner in the back of some club, it was an old schoolmate—enemy, even—in the back of a public bar, during the day. This was Scorpius' father. Simon Wood's boss. Someone Ginny occasionally worked with. And Wizarding Britain's top gossip columnist. He couldn't forget that one.

Breaking from the kiss, Harry pushed Malfoy off him. Malfoy swayed unsteadily on his feet, and Harry realised the martini he'd knocked out of his hand hadn't been his first of the evening. He licked his lips, and realised that, indeed, he could taste the residue of alcohol on his tongue. Malfoy was drunk.

"You're drunk," Harry panted, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Tipsy. Not drunk. I was drunk the last time we did it. This time, though, I want to remember..."

"There's nothing to remember. I'm leaving." Harry took off down the hallway.

"Potter, wait!" Malfoy called out after him, but Harry ignored him.

...|||...

Harry woke the next morning dreading the day before him. It was Saturday, the weekend, and he'd promised to spend it with Albus and Scorpius, taking them on a picnic and doing some shopping in Muggle London. It had been Albus' idea, of course -- he and Scorpius had signed up to take Muggle Studies in the fall, and they had both jumped up and down (literally) at the thought of getting in some research over the summer hols. Malfoy must have pissed himself when he found out his son was doing Muggle Studies, Harry thought, then cringed - there was Malfoy, popping into his head, the last thing he wanted at this point. The mere thought of looking at a mini-version of Draco Malfoy made his stomach twist into knots, and seeing him run around with his own spitting-image child? It verged on the ridiculous. Harry groaned as he sat up -- his head pounded, a result of the copious amounts of alcohol he'd drunk upon arriving home last night. His sexual crisis seemed to be turning him into an alcoholic.

The clock on the night stand told him it was 10 a.m. -- well past time to get up. He listened warily for the tell-tale signs of children milling about downstairs, and a distant whoop told him at least one of them was outside. His temple throbbed as he swung both legs over the side of the bed, and heaved himself to standing. The one saving grace of the day, at least, was that Ginny wasn't there to pelt Harry with questions about what happened yesterday, and whether he had found out about the Niffler. Or to explain the whole gay mid-life crisis. He was dreading that one, given he could barely explain it himself.

He longed to wash the last day from his skin -- the smell, the feel of Malfoy, clinging to him like cigarette smoke, in his clothes, his hair. But checking on the children was paramount, given he'd no idea how long they'd had the run of the house, so Harry merely threw on his dressing gown and ignored his overwhelming urge to shower. The smell of English breakfast accosted his nose as he made his way down the stairs, and he found himself torn between desperate hunger - he'd not eaten the night before - and the urge to vomit. Making his way into the kitchen, he found Albus and Scorpius sat at the kitchen table, an impressive array of bacon, sausage, toast, beans and eggs spread out before them.

"Morning Dad!" -- "Morning Mister Potter." Twin voices greeted him, and Harry grimaced as their tinny voices made his head pound.

"Morning, you two. Did you make all this?"

"Yep!" Albus chirped. "I used one of mum's cookbooks. And Scorpius helped, of course."

Harry's eyes flitted down to mini-Draco, err, Scorpius, who beamed up at him.

"I made the toast."

"That's excellent, you two," Harry said, affecting a falsely bright grin. "Don't stuff yourselves too full; we have our picnic this afternoon. We'll leave in a few hours."

"How are we travelling, Mister Potter?" Scorpius asked.

"You can call him Harry," Albus whispered rather loudly in Scorpius' ear, whose face flushed red.

"Yes, please do, Scorpius. It's a bit of a journey to London via Apparition -- and don't tell, but I actually don't like Apparition at all -- so I thought we'd Floo to the Ministry and take the Tube from there."

"Tube...?"

"It's giant Muggle cars that travel underground," Albus filled him in, and Scorpius' eyes went wide.

"Travelling... underground, in giant cars?"

"It's perfectly safe," Harry assured him. "And no odder than it is to a Muggleborn the first time they travel by Portkey."

"Oh, but Portkeys are no big deal!"

"Tell that to me when I was your age." Harry chuckled, then winced as he set his head pounding again. "Oh, boy, I need coffee..."

"Let me get it!" Albus hopped up, heading straight for the counter where the coffee pot was half-full.

"You made a pot just for me?"

"No, James wanted some." Albus and Scorpius exchanged a knowing look, and started to giggle.

"Since when does James drink coffee?"

"Since he's been trying to impress a girl."

"He... what?"

"That's why he's been reading so much, trying to act smart," Albus said with a smirk. "He likes a Ravenclaw."

"Because we're clearly superior," chimed in Scorpius. Now Harry saw a resemblance to his father.

"Yes," agreed Albus. They shared another look, and Harry mused that that's probably what he, Ron and Hermione used to look like -- communicating psychically, whilst adults were none the wiser.

Albus finished with Harry's coffee, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar, as he liked it, and handed it to him, pride besetting his features.

"Thank you, Albus. I think I'll go into my study for a bit, properly wake up. Where are James and Lily?"

"Lily's degnoming the garden and James is telling her the history of wizard-gnome relations. Scorpius and I told him that Annabel is a magical creatures activist. She's not, but watching him research house-elf and gnome rights has been really funny."

"I'm sure Aunt Hermione will approve," Harry said dryly, sending both boys a look that said he disapproved, as a father. Otherwise? He had to admit it was pretty funny, now that he knew the reason for James' posturing of late.

"He got the books from her. And an hour-long lecture, too." Albus grinned.

"Well, does this girl like James back?"

Albus shrugged. "Dunno. She's the year above us. She might do."

"Well, go easy on your brother. I know what it's like to have a hopeless crush, on a Ravenclaw, no less."

"It's James. He doesn't go easy on me," Albus whined. "When I got my glasses, he called me a speccy git. Still calls me four-eyes when we're in public." Albus bristled, receiving a sympathetic pat on the back from Scorpius. Unlike Harry, who had grown up with his glasses, Albus had only found out he'd needed them last year, when one of his professors noticed he had trouble reading the blackboard. While his glasses were a far more fashionable -- and sturdy -- pair than Harry had ever owned, kids, it seemed, never changed, and he'd been teased. Including by James, Harry realised. He'd have to give the boy a good talking to about that.

"Even so. You have to be the bigger person. You're more sensible than your brother; you know that."

"That's not fair," Scorpius said matter-of-factly.

"It never is." Harry sighed. "I'm going to go enjoy this--" he held up his coffee, "thank you for making it, both of you. I'll grab a spot of breakfast when I'm more awake."

Albus, the only one of his children who knew not to talk back, nodded resignedly, and Harry moved off to his study, hearing a bit of grumbling behind him, but nothing more. They were all good kids, but Albus was the most mature. Harry and Ginny had been too indulgent of James, as the first born, and too lenient with Lily, the baby, but Albus Severus got the benefit -- or detriment, depending on how you looked at it -- of being the middle child. Okay, Harry admitted it. Albus was his favourite.

There was an owl tapping at the window when Harry reached his study. Puzzled, he went over to the window by way of his desk, dropping off his coffee on the way, and pushed open the latch. The owl settled itself on the window ledge and haughtily offered up his foot, to which a note was attached. All it took was one look at the elaborately furled "M" on the seal to tell Harry who it was from.

Malfoy.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, reluctantly taking the scroll and turning it over in his hands. It was surely about last night, something he did not want to think about right now. Malfoy, with his hands all over Harry and his tongue in Harry's mouth, flashed in Harry's mind, and he dropped the scroll in a panic as blood swelled in his prick. Fuck.

The owl gave an impatient hoot, and after a rummage in his desk drawer, Harry found a treat and threw it to him. Harry looked down, where the scroll lay, wax-seal side up. The seal had cracked slightly, teasing him to read the missive, but with every inch of his being, Harry did not want to. He didn't want to read the excuses, or the apologies, or - God forbid - the declarations of affection (as if that were possible), because he had no answer to any of them. His gut reaction was revulsion, that Malfoy was the Niffler, and Malfoy was gay, and Malfoy had been his would-be sex partner in the club. But his gut was also telling him that this was a welcome development, an opportunity. Here was someone his age, who was attractive, who was gay and knew Harry was gay, and was both interested in Harry and had the incentive not to tell anyone about it. Malfoy's items were blind for a reason, and when the man who controlled the town gossip was part of the scandal, it was extra insurance that no one would find out about it. Malfoy had practically handed Harry a free pass to experiment, and he was absolutely terrified.

Well, he wasn't going to read it. Picking up the scroll, Harry tossed it into the still-open desk drawer and slammed it shut, sending it shuttering wildly back onto its hinges. The force of it dislodged his bottom drawer a crack, and there Harry was confronted with another obstacle: his IPV twinkled up at him, and the faint rattle of an object rolling forward made Harry think back on the butt plug, and the most intense orgasm he'd ever had. And now he had even more powerful fantasy material than an IPV, he had the memory of Malfoy, hard against him, and--

No. He wouldn't think about it. Harry kicked shut the bottom drawer, plopped down in his chair and immediately chugged down half his coffee, concentrating on the warm liquid as it rushed down his throat. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. It was simple. He was married to Ginny, open-relationship or no, and he had his children to consider. Running around with someone like Malfoy was off the menu, and besides, they hated each other. Always had.

That that hadn't been true for at least fifteen years was something Harry tried to push out of his mind.

He groaned, and threw back the rest of the coffee. He had a long day ahead of him with the boys, and would have an even longer week, with Ginny's promise to come home and discuss their situation.

...|||...

Over the next week, Harry ignored two more owls from Malfoy, throwing each scroll into his desk drawer until it barely wanted to close with the bulkiness of them. He also found himself steadfastly ignoring the bottom drawer and the sex toys that lay within, seeing as he couldn't use them or even think about using them without Malfoy popping into his mind.

Even wanking had become a minefield. The mere act of touching his prick made him think about Malfoy touching his prick, and he found unless he pulled himself off with cruel efficiency during his morning shower, reciting the Goblin revolution chronology as a mental distraction, he was lost to his fantasies involving the git.

By Thursday, he'd ceased to go into his study at all, and had been on a two-day wanking strike—turned out he didn't know the Goblin chronology well enough to get him to orgasm after the first few times, and Malfoy crept in there right around the time he was coming, every time now.

It had only been a week since the whole thing had come undone, and Harry was exhausted. Friday had turned into his least favourite day of the week, because of the blasted Prophet and Malfoy the bloody Nosy Niffler. This week's edition sat on his desk, untouched, teasing Harry, taunting him to check and see what Malfoy had to reveal this week. Instead of reading it with his morning coffee, Harry grabbed a fat stack of files and plopped them down on top of the paper. They would take hours to get through, keeping Harry from temptation.

He made it until lunch, when he finally gave in, practically ripping the paper open to the gossip section.

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 14th July, 2020

Even heroes can have their hearts broken, it seems. Freshly out to his family, our closet case had his hopes raised when he discovered an old school friend was also same-sex inclined, only have them dashed when his fellow war veteran gave him the cold shoulder. He hasn't responded to our wizard's numerous extensions of an olive branch. Will our hero be doomed to fly solo?

Well, fuck.

...|||...

Scorpius was waiting for Harry in the kitchen when he got home, blue-grey eyes peering at him with worry.

"Hello, Scorpius," Harry said as he deposited his briefcase on the table. He listened for the pitter-pat of the other children coming to greet him, but heard nothing.

"Hi Mister Pott—Harry," he corrected himself.

"Why are you sitting by yourself? Where's Albus?"

"He's upstairs, helping me pack."

"Pack...?"

"Yeah. My dad is coming to get me. Did you get his owls? He said you hadn't responded. He wanted to know what day was best..."

"Oh, shoot, I—yes, I did get them, but I forgot," Harry lied smoothly. Shit—Malfoy was coming? "He's coming... tonight?"

"Yeah. We're going on holiday to Spain to visit my grandmother."

"That's... nice." Harry smiled stiffly. Shit. That's what Malfoy's owls were about. He was such a fucking idiot, thinking they were some kind of declaration of love. Although... today's blind item seemed to indicate that Malfoy, well, that he cared. That he liked Harry, and had experienced some kind of hope last week at the club, which Harry had then stamped on and kicked a little.

Now he was coming here, tonight. And after that piece in the paper...

Harry's stomach did a somersault, and his heart raced. What was he going to say to him? "Hi, here's your son, sorry I hurt your feelings. I've been having dirty dreams about you, actually, and would love to fu--" He cut off the train of thought. No, that wouldn't work. He couldn't say that in front of Scorpius. But he had to say something, after that blind item. Like flipping a switch, knowing that Malfoy actually was hurt by Harry's actions, that he wasn't just in it for a lark... Well, half of attraction is knowing the other person likes you back.

"When will your father be here?" Harry swallowed nervously as he said it, wiping his now-sweaty palms against his trouser leg.

"Any minute now. We're taking a trans-continental Portkey to my grandmother's tonight."

Then, as if on cue, a stiff knock sounded at the front door, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Dad!" Scorpius jumped up from his seat, and raced from the kitchen. Harry followed along at a much slower, less enthusiastic pace.

When he reached the front hall, Scorpius, the polite little berk, was just standing there, waiting for Harry to open the door. Harry stared at it, willing the person on the other side to be anyone but Malfoy, to prolong the inevitable meeting between the two of them. Another sharp rap came, and Harry realised he couldn't put it off any longer.

The door handle was cool beneath Harry's sweaty palm, and his hand slipped slightly as he pushed it down, and swung the door open. Before him stood a woman -- Scorpius's mother, Harry presumed -- and not Draco Malfoy. Harry's heart sunk.

"Mum!" came a cry from behind him, and with a flash of white-blond hair, Scorpius zipped past him and into his mother's arms. She embraced him, if stiffly, but her tone was warm.

"Hello, dear."

"I thought you were in France. Dad was supposed to pick me up."

"I was, but--" she paused, and Harry thought he caught an edge of trepidation in her voice as she continued, "I missed you. And your father had some business to attend to."

Or Malfoy had asked her to come, so he wouldn't have to see Harry. Her eyes flicked up to Harry, briefly, and as she knit her eyebrows together and judgment flashed across her face, Harry knew that she knew. He braced himself for the worst.

"I'm Astoria Malfoy," she introduced herself matter-of-factly, pulling away from Scorpius and extending a perfectly-manicured hand to Harry. He took it, shaking it firmly and locking eyes with hers.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Albus' father."

Astoria sniggered. "Yes, I rather figured that. Has Scorpius behaved well, then?"

"Oh, yes, he's perfect. Better than my own children, most of the time."

"Thank you. I like to think I raised him well." She smiled thinly at him, and Harry couldn't help but feel like he was undergoing a full assessment. He ran a hand through his hair, nervously, and gave a sheepish smile.

"Would you like to come in and have some tea?"

"Oh, no, Scorpius and I must be getting home to the manor. His father is quite anxious to see him."

"I can imagine," Harry contributed uselessly. Astoria raised an eyebrow. Harry back-peddled, stammering, "I mean, I know I would miss Albus if he'd been away so long. And Scorpius is an only-child, so..."

"Quite."

It was clear she was not interested in chatting with Harry, in any capacity or on any subject. Giving up, Harry turned around and picked up one of Scorpius's bags. Scorpius gladly took it in one hand, holding out the other to Harry.

"Thank you for a lovely stay, Mister Potter." He peeked up at his mother, whose expression was neutral, then took a confident breath. "Harry."

"Thank you, Scorpius. For being a fantastic guest, and for keeping Albus company. I know he loved having you here. Speaking of which... Albus!" Harry called out to the house at large, and within seconds the pounding of feet told Harry he was on his way.

"Sorry!" called out Albus as he rushed down the stairs, Scorpius' chest floating along behind him. "It took me forever to get the charm right." Albus came to a stop beside them, chest heaving. Then he looked up, saw Astoria Malfoy, and promptly blushed.

"Oh! Mrs Malfoy. I'm sorry, I—hello."

"Hello, Albus Severus," Astoria greeted him, just as warmly as she had Scorpius, Harry noted with interest. He also noticed the way she stressed the latter part of his name—ah, yes, it had stuck somewhere in Harry's mind that Malfoy's wife was a fellow Slytherin. Must have been at school with them, though she looked at least four, if not five years younger than they were.

"We really must be going, Scorpius." The look on Astoria's face told Harry it wasn't just because they were running late.

"Yes, mum," Scorpius chirped, then turned to Albus, holding out his hand. Albus regarded Scorpius's attempt at a handshake, perplexed, then shook his head, and surged forward, pulling him into a hug.

"I'll miss you Scorp. Even if it will only be two weeks."

"Yeah, you goof—you'll see me in a fortnight," Scorpius chided him gently, pulling away from the hug somewhat prematurely, his face flaming red. "It's still all right that I come to your birthday party, right Harry?"

"Of course! The more the merrier." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught Astoria shift impatiently. "You're welcome to come as well, Mrs Malfoy."

"No, that's quite all right."Astoria smiled at him stiffly. "I'll likely still be out of the country. Only my husband and Scorpius will be returning to England in August."

That didn't bode well for their marriage, Harry thought to himself, but didn't say anything. The silence grew awkward, and all the goodbyes having been said, Scorpius moved to his mother's side once more.

"Well, bye," said Scorpius with a small wave of his hand, and then suddenly he and his mother popped out of sight, having Apparated off to Malfoy Manor.

Albus, who had been cheerily waving them off, deflated beside him.

"You okay?" Harry asked him.

"Yeah... like he said, I'll see him in a fortnight. Just... it's not the same without him. I'll have to spend all my time with James. He thinks the new way to win over Annabel is to hang out with Ravenclaws. Blech."

Harry laughed. "Not a bad strategy, if I do say so myself."

"Shut it, dad," Albus muttered playfully. "I'm gonna go upstairs, okay?"

"Of course. I'll probably order take-away, yeah? Where are James and Lily, anyway? I can't believe they haven't come rushing down yet."

"Oh, they're with Gran. I think she said she'd bring them back after dinner."

"Then it looks like it's just you and me, then."

"Yeah... no Indian this time, okay? I think I'd like a pizza. But not that crap place in the village. And maybe we could invite Teddy over?"

"Sounds good, Al."

Albus grinned at him, then bounded off and up the stairs.

Harry collapsed back against the landing, head spinning. Malfoy had sent his wife. And she knew.

Harry needed to read those letters. Nearly tripping over the runner in the hallway, Harry rushed to his study, heading straight for the desk drawer in which Malfoy's scrolls were tucked away. He started with the oldest one first—the one with the half-broken seal. Unrolling it slowly, he took a deep breath, then he started to read.

Dear Potter,

I apologise for my behaviour yesterday. Your accusation took me by surprise, and I had had more than one drink by the time you arrived and was not in control of all my faculties. I assure you that under normal circumstances I would not be so untoward. In my defense, however, I must say that given your inclinations towards the same sex several weeks ago and your own admission at thinking my own sordid tales to be your own, I was subject to believe my advances would not be entirely unwarranted. It seems your interest in men does not extend to my person, however, and for that, I apologise.

Now that my secret, as it were, is known to you, I can get to the true purpose of my letter. How is Scorpius doing? It pains me to be without my son during this critical time, but unfortunately his plans to spend time with your son preceded my revelation, and I could not find it in my heart to deny him his holiday. Scorpius is an astute, mature young man, and seems to be dealing extraordinarily well with my news, but regardless I worry, as he is just a boy, having to deal with his parent's personal problems.

I am anxious to hear news of him, particularly from an outsider - he tends to put on a calm, brave face in my presence, and I wonder if that is his true reaction. Please also advise me when it would be best to come collect him. We are going on holiday to Spain next week, a family trip planned long before my wife's and my marital problems, and I should need to collect Scorpius sometime July 14th in order to make our Portkey reservation.

Cordially,
Draco Malfoy

Harry put the letter down. How on earth did Malfoy managed to be so composed about this whole thing? It seems your interest in men does not extend to my person? Who talked like that? Harry scratched his head.

And now he felt absolutely awful—Malfoy had reached out to him, asked for Harry's help with Scorpius, and all he'd received was silence in response. No wonder he seemed so wounded in today's blind. Harry had acted like an inconsiderate arsehole.

There were still two letters to read, which Harry reluctantly picked up and opened. Given they were follow-ups to Harry's non-responsiveness, they would merely serve as a reminder of how royally he'd fucked up on this one. The second one was terse, and far less formal, he found.

Potter,

While I can understand your being less than keen to address the parts of my letter that referred to our unfortunate misunderstanding, I do believe I am entitled to some news of my son. I would do the same were it your confused offspring taking up residence in my home.

The matter of when I am to collect him is still without resolve. Please respond immediately.

Draco Malfoy

He may have still been polite, but Harry could tell he was rather pissed off. He dreaded reading the last one, and was surprised at this point that Malfoy hadn't sent him a Howler. Though, upon reading the last letter, Harry reckoned he might as well have. The last letter was unsigned, and consisted simply of four lines:

You're an incompetent, petty wanker, Potter, and you know what? I'm not sorry about what happened at the bar. You wanted it as much as I did, and I think you're a pathetic tosser for running away with your tail between your legs, like a coward.

I'll arrive Friday evening to pick up Scorpius.

Arsehole.

Harry rolled his eyes. What a flair for the dramatic. He sighed. He'd have to write some sort of response, now, especially in light of the Niffler piece and then Malfoy sending Astoria in his stead. Writing it down was preferable to talking in person anyway—at least this way he could edit himself a bit.

Before he got started, Harry Floo-called Teddy to invite him to dinner, and went ahead and ordered a pizza, as Albus had requested. In the interim, between his doing so and their arriving, he sat down to write, and quickly had a letter drafted. It was a bit messy in places where Harry had etched out an ill-thought word or phrase, but he thought it said everything he wanted to say, as well as he was able to say it.

Malfoy,

I feel absolutely rotten. I deserve that last letter, though not for the reasons you think. I wasn't trying to keep information about Scorpius from you - I simply didn't read your letters. I guess I wasn't ready to face what you had to say. I hadn't even thought you might be writing about anything other than what happened between us.

If it's any use now, Scorpius really did seem fine, though Ginny is always scolding me for being an absolute ~~tit~~ ~~moron~~ mess when it comes to reading people. Albus and I are close, though, so I figure if something were really wrong he would have come to me. Or, at least I hope so. He's almost a teenager (or he is already -- I say he isn't, Ginny says he is), and it was around the same time that James stopped talking to me like he used to. I'm kind of terrified about this whole thing, actually, how the children are going to take my new ~~attitude~~ ~~sexual issues~~ ideas about the same sex. What did you do with Scorpius? He really does seem to be taking it well, whatever you did, so I'm glad Albus will, at least, have him to help him through it.

I read your last blind item. I'm not sure what to say, really. I guess I'll start with I'm sorry. I acted like a git at the bar. I guess I was okay with you being the Niffler, but not ready for any of the other stuff. It was a bit of a shock, you know? ~~I did like it.~~ I wasn't upset because of your kissing me, I just wasn't prepared to do it with you. Fuck, that's come out wrong. But you and I have issues, you know? It's not as easy as the two of us being gay and just going at it, right there. ~~Though I would love to.~~

Write back soon, yeah? I really want to know how you handled things with Scorpius. The kids go back to school soon, and I think Ginny and I want to discuss things with them before they go. ~~I'm terrified.~~ And if we could take it slow, I wouldn't mind ~~fucking~~ seeing you again.

- Harry

Harry anxiously watched as his owl flew off into the skyline, until it was merely a speck on the horizon. A commotion from the kitchen told him Teddy had just arrived, the pizza would follow shortly, and with that, Harry put the whole thing out of his mind, and went to enjoy some quality time with two of his favourite people.

...|||...

There were no blind items that week, and though Harry knew it was because Malfoy was on vacation, he couldn't help feeling deflated. Malfoy hadn't yet responded to his owl, and he had hoped a new blind item would shed some light on how he was feeling about the whole thing. Instead, it left Harry feeling even more lost, and incredibly vulnerable.

The week chugged along, and a week before Harry's 40th birthday, Ginny came home. She and Molly bustled around the house, night and day, planning his party, which, they promised him, was going to be a blow-out. He was not looking forward to it, in the least.

Ginny ignored him, as she always did, when he tried to explain that he didn't want a big party, but on every other score, she continued to be almost uncharacteristically understanding. Like a good reporter, she'd asked him all sorts of questions—when he'd started to feel he might be gay, how far he'd gone with another man, and she'd been positively gleeful when he'd mentioned his trip to Whips and Giggles. He'd have to tighten his password security on his Pensieve, and make sure she never met Charity.

Harry had taken several trips down into his IPV, in fact, and paid especial attention to Quidditch Hunks Bare All 8 -- there was a scene featuring a Quidditch official and a Seeker, and Harry came hard every time, imagining it was him as the Seeker and Malfoy as the official...

He was a goner. He wanted Malfoy with every fibre of his being, or at least his cock, but he'd fucked it up, and was now more alone than ever. Forty was beginning to look more and more dire by the day.

...|||...

Then, three days before Harry's birthday, the Niffler was back, and the contents of this week's blind item made Harry's mouth drop open.

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 28th July, 2020

Back from a relaxing—and illuminating—holiday on the continent, our closeted war hero will have one less thing to worry about. His wife, namely. Divorce is such an ugly word, but for this couple, it's a mutual decision reached rather easily. His love life is looking up, too. Seems his old school friend, while abysmal at communication, is just as interested in giving it a go. Keep an eye on these pages for a new couple announcement...

And then it got his cock hard, and with a flick of his wand, he had his dick out, the door locked and wanked until he came, Malfoy's name on his lips.

...|||...

Harry hated parties, especially when they were in his honor. It was always a big to-do, with instance after instance of people he barely knew engaging him in small talk and trying to kiss his arse about his past accomplishments, or, more recently, how lovely his children were. Ginny was always much better are social trivialities, but she could only cover for him at official Ministry events, as it wasn't exactly acceptable to conversation dodge at one's own birthday party. Especially not a big one like your 40th. Ginny seemed to have invited half the wizarding population of Britain - their backyard was swarming with wizards and witches of all ages, plus their children, who ran amuck, playing what looked like Petrificus Totalus Tag.

Narrowly avoiding Lily, and Luna's son as they raced past him, Harry ducked and swerved until he was by the drinks table, where he helped himself to a gin and tonic to ease his nerves. He'd just spent two hours engaging in idle chit-chat and he was exhausted. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was also on the look out for Draco Malfoy, who would be arriving at some point to fetch Scorpius, and Harry wanted to avoid speaking to him more than anything. What the hell was he going to say? "Congratulations on your divorce; let's shag?"

Ginny, of course, was suspicious, as she had become of any interaction Harry had with a man. She'd even taken to pointing out men that she thought were both fit and likely to be inclined, much to Harry's mortification. According to her, she had still yet to take advantage of the open part of their open relationship, but Harry had his doubts. She seemed to be really enjoying the idea that Harry might hook up with another man, and Harry had taken to double and triple checking the lock on his just-for-porn Pensieve. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she got off on the idea. Maybe he should introduce her to Charity, after all...

"Hiding by the liquor, Harry?"

Harry turned to find a smirking Teddy, helping himself to his own glass.

"My first drink of the day, believe it or not," Harry answered him, raising his glass in a silent toast, which Teddy met. No sooner had they clinked glasses did the sound of someone gently clearing their throat draw Harry's attention to the man at Teddy's side.

"Sorry, sorry," Teddy acknowledged hastily, stepping back a foot to open the space to his friend. "Harry, this is Simon Wood. You know, from the Department of Magical Games and Sports?"

"Oh! Yes! Nice to meet you, finally." Harry stuck out his hand, which Simon enthusiastically accepted.

"No, it's nice to meet you. And happy birthday. My dad's always talked about you, back when you two played Quidditch at Hogwarts."

This was said with a thick Scottish brogue, just like his father. He was attractive, sandy hair falling into his eyes a bit, and a bit stocky - also just liked his father. Harry realised he was checking out Teddy's date, and quickly snapped back to attention.

"How is Oliver?"

"Dad's good. Still adjusting to the fact that I have a boyfriend, but otherwise fine. He likes Teddy, anyway." Simon and Teddy bumped shoulders playfully and exchanged a pleased look. Harry felt something twitch inside him. Possibly longing.

Harry overcompensated by slapping on a huge grin. "Well, I would hope so! We're very proud of Teddy. You'd have been crazy not to go out with him."

Teddy flushed, all the way the roots of his hair, which turned purple.

"Thank you, Harry. Though you're embarrassing me."

"It's what any good parent would do."

"What happened to being my boss?" Teddy asked, his voice slightly teasing.

"You're family first," Harry said more softly, giving Teddy's arm a comforting squeeze.

Clearing his throat, Teddy looked over at Simon, who was staring back, lips quirked in a smile. He was obviously completely taken with him, Harry observed happily.

"We should go mingle a bit. Leave you to your brewing birthday stupour, eh, Harry?"

"Yes, you two go, have fun. Dance, eat cake, get shit-faced. Don't let the ancient 40-year-old spoil your fun."

Teddy grinned. "Whatever you say, old man. You try and have fun yourself." He and Simon started to move back into the crowd, but not before Teddy's gaze swept over the garden pointedly, eyes meeting Harry's at the end of it, seeming to say 'find yourself some hot bloke out there, have it off or something.' Harry chortled to himself, and raised his glass in a silent toast to the room. As if.

Noticing Molly heading in his direction, ancient Aunt Muriel nagging in her ear, Harry hurriedly dashed inside the house, simply lacking the energy to submit to a twenty minute inspection about how he and Ginny should try for another baby. Crossing through the living room to the kitchen, Harry heard a great 'whoosh' from the fireplace and looked up to find himself face to face with Draco Malfoy. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest.

"Malfoy!"

"Potter."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Picking up my son."

"Oh, yes, of course. Err, come in."

"Thank you." Malfoy stepped over the hearth, surveying the mess in the kitchen. There were remnants of food platters on every available surface, and the mangled remains of Harry's birthday cake sat between them. Malfoy cleared his throat. "And happy birthday. Forty is... interesting, I assure you."

"Oh? When did you..."

"In June. Right before my... sexual epiphany, as it were."

"Oh. Guess forty's the time for it, then."

"Quite," Malfoy replied stiffly, eyes wandering the kitchen, looking anywhere but at Harry. "How's that going for you? Been back to Quills?"

"What? No!" Harry coughed, regaining his composure, and lying smoothly. "I think I'm over that."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving of him. So, not so smoothly, then.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Over it," he scoffed. "You sound perfectly ridiculous. I bet you've been down watching those IPVs every night. It creeps in, after a while, and you can't go two minutes without thinking about another man, touching you, fuc-"

"Stop it!" Harry's eyes darted frantically to the kitchen entrance. "Not in my house, with my children here. And yours."

"Scorpius is fine." Malfoy waved him off, moving away from the fireplace and into the kitchen proper. "He knows about me—his mother and I have been estranged for a while now, and frankly, he's the one who told me I might be interested in the same sex."

"That's..."

"Perceptive?" Malfoy looked over at Harry, lips quirked in a smile. "Yes, I know. He's more of a Ravenclaw than I know what to do with sometimes. With an annoying Gryffindor-ish tendency to speak brash truths. Gets it from your son, I suspect."

"Albus?" Harry asked, confused. "He's not a Gryffindor."

"No, but you are, and he's exactly like you."

"How would you know?"

"Because Scorpius talks about him, non-stop. He's quite enamoured, you know." Malfoy seemed to be terribly amused by this. "We'd better watch out for those two. Puberty's just around the corner..."

Albus and Scorpius? Like father, like son... Harry shook away the thought. It was not the time for that, and he said as much.

"I do not want to think about that."

Malfoy chuckled. "I know the feeling. Now where can I get one of those?" He pointed to the drink clasped tightly in Harry's hand.

"This? The alcohol is outside."

"Is there some I can access without having to interact with Weasleys?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I may have something in my study. And I married a Weasley, so hush."

"And I can see how well that turned out for you. Though maybe you just married the wrong one."

"Fuck off."

"Lighten up; it was a joke."

Harry shot him a scathing look and turned, heading to his study. The heels of Malfoy's shoes clicked as he followed him.

"So this is where famous Auror Harry Potter works," Malfoy observed, running his fingers idly over the books lining the wall. "I didn't expect you'd have so many books."

"Most of them were gifts from Hermione. There's nowhere else to put them, really." Harry went straight to the glass cupboard beside his desk, and opened it with a quick flick of his wand. "I have brandy and whiskey - any preference?"

"Brandy, please. And I hope it's the good stuff."

Harry ignored that last, and poured Malfoy a measured glass of liquor, then handed it over. The glass had barely touched his fingertips before Malfoy was knocking it back, drinking the entire contents in one go. Then Malfoy wordlessly held his glass out for Harry to refill, smirk on his lips.

Harry obliged, giving him a much larger helping this time. Malfoy smirked triumphantly.

"Speaking of Hermione," Harry began, topping off his own glass. "You've never written about her and Ron. I know—I always read your items looking for anyone I knew, and there was never anything."

"Yeah, with good reason," Malfoy scoffed. "Granger—nay, Granger-Weasley—would have my balls if I wrote about her and the Weasel. Even if I do hear delicious gossip about their blow-out arguments."

"Hey—they love each other, even if they fight a lot. It's just...them. And how could Hermione, err, have your balls, if no one knows who you are?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she's been on to me for months. I purport to work in the MLE, remember? Granger knows damn well that none of her staff are the Niffler. She did extensive background checks when I started publishing, very hush-hush. No way I'd take the risk writing about her and her brood, have her out me."

Harry pouted. "Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"Maybe because she had no cause to. I've never written about you, either." Malfoy raised an eyebrow, pointedly, and Harry blushed.

"Why go into gossip anyway? You've got a good job in Magical Games and Sports."

Malfoy shrugged. "I was bored. It's fun. And the money is good. Astoria's about to take half my assets—through amicable agreement, of course—but the Niffler money is all mine."

"So, you told your wife?" Harry asked, going for nonchalance, but catching an accusatory tone creeping in.

"I don't know if you've ever had to deal with an irate Slytherin woman who's entitled to half your assets, but I think that if you did, you would tell her anything she wanted to know, too."

"Well, I don't know about Slytherin, but I am married to Ginny so, yeah, I guess I do understand. She hasn't asked me for details, though. Just as much as I want to tell her has been enough. Very unlike her, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's been disturbingly okay with it. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"It'll be the children. Or money. Or both. Hope for the money."

"Ginny wouldn't take the kids away."

Malfoy shot him a doubtful look.

"She wouldn't," Harry insisted. "She wouldn't do that to me, and honestly, she couldn't take them with her work schedule. The only way she gets to do what she does is I put up with it."

"I don't know... never underestimate the baby-sitting potential of mothers. And hers is Molly bloody Weasley..."

"Molly would give both of us a right smack if we pulled anything. I'm not worried about the kids. I just can't figure out why she seems so... happy that I'm gay. Like, really pleased. She keeps trying to set me up with people."

"She's probably just happy you're not leaving her for another woman. If you're gay, there's nothing wrong with her. Well, except for a distinct lack of testicles. Although..."

"Shut it."

Malfoy's returning smile was a teasing one. "She's known in sporting circles for being pretty ballsy. You should have heard the Howler I got when the department lost her press accreditation papers."

They both laughed, then their eyes met, and they caught themselves. They both became rather engrossed in their drinks. They'd been chatting for the last five minutes, but suddenly the air seemed to shift, and reality came crashing down. There was a lot to discuss, and, more importantly, being in Malfoy's presence, seeing him lick the brandy off his lips, taking in the smell of him, was getting Harry hard in his pants.

"You never answered my letter," Harry broke the silence.

"You never answered mine," came Malfoy quick, dry retort.

"I—I wasn't ready. I read your piece this week. You seem perfectly fine—"

"I wanted to wait to see you in person."

"Well, here you are..."

"Yes."

Harry locked eyes with Malfoy, saw the fire there, watched him as he licked his lips suggestively, and shifted on his feet. A brief flick of the eyes down showed Harry why—there was a clear jut in the fabric of Malfoy's trousers, and Harry couldn't help thinking of that prick, the way he'd held in his hand, jerked Malfoy to orgasm only a few weeks ago. His own trousers became to feel uncomfortably tight, and Harry's breathing became laboured just thinking about it, until the point where he couldn't think anymore. He had to act.

Harry's glass smashed to the floor as he surged forward, lips crashing against Malfoy's. Malfoy groaned into Harry's mouth, letting his own glass drop from his hand, landing with a soft clunk against the carpet. He wound his hands round Harry's waist and tugged him forward and they fell awkwardly back into the armchair. Malfoy ended up straddling Harry's legs, grinding down onto him as they kissed, breath hitching as their pricks made contact through their trousers.

Malfoy seemed to read Harry's mind, and before he could express his wish for more verbally, Malfoy's nimble fingers were working open Harry's fly, and pulling his prick through the slit in his pants.

It was just like the first time in the club, only this time it wasn't a stranger, and Malfoy's hands were anything but clammy. One jerked Harry's prick, while the other pushed under Harry's shirt, fondling his chest, then tweaking at a nipple. Harry hissed through his teeth at the unexpected flash of pain, and then in an even more unexpected move, Malfoy ducked his head down, pushing up Harry's top and laving at the smarting nipple with his tongue.

"Wanna fuck," Malfoy murmured as he trailed kisses down Harry's torso, moving down his body until he was kneeling on the floor, sofuckingclose to Harry's cock. Harry found himself clenching his hands into fists in order to resist grabbing a hold of Malfoy's head shoving his cock into his mouth.

"Malfoy, we can't—the party," Harry panted as Malfoy's tongue teased at the crease where his thigh met his hip. His eyes flicked nervously to the door.

"You've already done the cake. They won't miss you."

"Anyone could come in—"

Malfoy looked up, through his eyelashes at him, and smirked. "Easy." He flicked his wand at the door, and muttered a strong locking charm and sound muffling charm in succession. Feeling instantly more at ease, Harry worried his lower lip as he contemplated really doing this here, now, in his home, whilst his friends and family were outside. The answer came to him easily. Fuck yes, he would. He grinned, and Malfoy answered him with his own saucy leer.

"Good," Malfoy said, standing up and beginning to strip down. Harry did the same, attention flicking to the windows as he shimmied out of his trousers. Now that wouldn't do.

"Obfuscaro," he murmured, and the shutters banged shut, allowing only slivers of dusky evening light to filter through. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him as he dropped one sock, then two, on the floor beside him.

"The garden wraps round to the sides. Anyone could look in."

"Good thinking."

"Thanks." Harry grinned up at Malfoy as he stepped out of his pants, his last remaining item of clothing, and stood up, letting them dangle loosely from his fingers. Oh. Malfoy, it seemed, had also finished undressing, and his cock jutted proudly in Harry's direction. What little blood was left elsewhere in Harry's body rushed to his cheeks, and he swallowed nervously. Now how were they going to do this?

"I want you to fuck me," Malfoy said, voice hoarse with need.

Harry did a double-take. "What?"

"What I said. I want you to bend me over your desk, and fuck me."

Checking himself and his surroundings to make sure he hadn't accidentally fallen into Asssss-inine Aurors by mistake and finding that, no, indeed this was his office and real, Harry practically tripped over his own feet to get to his desk drawer, where the lube was.

"Right. Good," Harry rambled, nervously tossing the bottle up into the air and catching it. "Lube?"

"Yeah, that would be a good idea." Malfoy's lips quirked in apparent amusement, and he took the proffered bottle. "You done this before?"

"What?" Harry responded dumbly.

"You know, the whole thing. With a guy."

"Have you?"

"The extent of my... experience was with you at the club. Do the maths."

"Oh. Really?"

"What? You haven't done much more than that, have you?" Malfoy looked like he was dreading the answer.

"No," Harry answered honestly, and Malfoy instantly relaxed.

"Then there you go." Malfoy frowned down at the lube container as he tried to snap open the top, only to find it resisting. "Must you use this... Muggle stuff?"

"It�s not Muggle. I got that at Whips and Giggles. Has all sorts of magical properties... just the packaging is Muggle." Harry tried not to laugh at Malfoy as he swore bloody murder at the lube. He was more nervous than he was letting on, clearly.

"Bloody thing..." Malfoy muttered, finally getting it open on his third try. He squirted a dollop onto the index and middle fingers of his right hand, then reached down and behind himself, hissing as the cool lube made contact with his skin.

Harry watched, transfixed, as Malfoy quickly and efficiently prepared himself, leaning with one hand down on the desk to give him some leverage as he worked one, then two fingers inside himself. God, it was making Harry horny, the way Malfoy bit his lower lip in concentration, the small whimpers he made as he breached himself. Wetting the palm of one hand with saliva, Harry reached down to stroke his own cock, then walked around behind Malfoy. Harry boggled at the sight before him; Malfoy had himself up to three fingers, his slick, pink hole greedily sucking them in.

"Malfoy, you're sure you haven�t..." Harry stammered, staring.

"Not with a man, I said," Malfoy grunted. "I'm no stranger to a strap-on, however."

"A—what? You mean, with a woman?!"

"Don't sound so—" Malfoy's breath hitched as he, presumably, sparked against his prostate, "shocked," he finished, letting out a shaky breath and grinning up at Harry. "No doubt that wife of yours would jump at the chance to fuck you for a change. Surprised you haven't tried it."

"I didn't think—"

"That's not a surprise," Malfoy chided him, though there was little bite in it.

"Hey!" Harry, too, found his response lacked any real outrage.

He shifted on the balls of his feet, squeezing his prick idly, and biting his lip. His balls ached; Christ, he wanted to come badly. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold off, what with the way Malfoy was enthusiastically finger-fucking himself. Harry was mere seconds away from giving up on the whole thing and jerking himself until he came, all over Malfoy's back.

Malfoy, as if sensing Harry's desperation, stilled his hand. With a wet pop, he withdrew his fingers, then repositioned himself until he was bent fully over Harry's desk.

"Oi, you ready, Potter? Or are you just going to stand there all day?"

Harry felt his mouth go totally dry.

"Um, I—yes. Yeah. Right." Snatching the lube from the desk, Harry squirted some onto his cock, pumped himself a few times, and hastened to line himself up behind Malfoy. "Should I just...?"

"Yes. Just a bit slowly, at first."

"Okay."

Harry's hand shook slightly as he positioned the tip of his cock at Malfoy's entrance. It was ridiculous to be nervous, he told himself. He'd done this with Ginny more than once, and the general idea of anal is no different between men and women. Drawing air deep into his lungs and letting it out slowly, Harry steadied himself. More confident now, he began to push slowly inside.

Oh, God, the heat of him. Harry bit down on his lower lip, hard, to stop himself from coming on the spot like a randy teenager.

"Be a good Gryffindor and go a bit faster," Malfoy chided him after a long minute, and Harry gave him a playful smack on the arse, before doing as he said.

Malfoy let out a low, guttural moan as Harry withdrew slightly, then slid further inside, a sound that went straight to Harry's cock. His hips surged of their own volition, and soon he was seated full inside Malfoy, every inch of him urging him to move, fuck, NOW. The way Malfoy pushed back against Harry and swiveled his hips told Harry he was more than fine skipping the tentative approach, and Harry wasted no time beginning to fuck him in earnest.

"Oh, Christ Potter, you're better at this than I thought you'd be."

"Hey. I—fuck—resent that."

"Please. My criticism just makes you fuck me—ugh—harder," Malfoy ground out.

He was right—Harry was really pounding into him now, leaning forward over Malfoy's back, hands braced against the edge of the desk to give him the best leverage. Malfoy's arse clenched tight around him, sucking Harry in further with every stroke. And the things Malfoy was saying—it was just as bad as any of the porn Harry had seen, but better, because he could tell Malfoy meant every word. Every demand that Harry fuck him harder, touch his prick, come inside him. Harry had forgotten that sex could make him feel like this—hot and dirty and desirable.

"Gnuhhhh," Malfoy moaned incoherently, arching his back up, and Harry used the opportunity to reach under and fist his cock.

They found an angle that worked, and a rhythm where neither had to think about moving, one where the momentum from one's movement fed naturally into the other's. Harry's hand flew over Malfoy's prick, thumb flicking over the head with each snap of his hips against Malfoy's tailbone.

They stopped talking, until the room echoed with the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, and both of their deep, urgent groans. Heat built in the pit of Harry's stomach, spreading outward, until his skin burned with it, and all feeling boiled down to the heat, and the feeling, and the ache all over. Harry was going to come, going to spill over into Malfoy's arse, which was squeezing him so, so tight. Though he grit his teeth against it, tried to hold it off just a bit longer, Malfoy clenched his arse muscles just so, and before Harry could stop it, he was coming, coming more than he probably had in years, as Malfoy moaned beneath him.

"Oh, fuck, I can, I can feel you, I—ohmygod," Malfoy cried out, and Harry felt his cock jerk in his hand and the warm pulses of come seep in between his fingers.

Taking his hand off Malfoy's cock, Harry slid his arm around until he had Malfoy tucked, flush up against him. They panted in time with each other, Harry laying a soft kiss on Malfoy's sweaty shoulder, feeling his strength slowly give out, resisting the urge to slump heavy on top of him.

Malfoy flopped like a ragdoll as Harry tried to pull him up, and despite his protesting groan, Harry managed to move them to the floor. They curled up against each other, Harry laying his head in the crook of Malfoy's neck, and simply drawing in a deep, calming breath.

Happy birthday, indeed.

...|||...

Twenty minutes later, Harry peered anxiously around the door frame, making sure the coast was clear. He and Malfoy were both flushed, and their clothes dishevelled, but they were passable. Being seen leaving his study in this state, however, was not a good idea -- someone could put two and two together, and Harry would rather his big Four-Zero not double as a coming out party.

They'd not made it twenty feet when Albus and Scorpius rounded the corner, approaching them at full speed.

"Dad! Mister Malfoy! We were looking for you. Mum's calling..." Albus drifted off as he took in the state of them, stopped dead in his tracks, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Beside him, Scorpius gave his father and Harry one quick up-and-down look and started to giggle. He leaned over, whispering something low in Albus's ear, at which Albus blushed, then sputtered a bit. Albus' brows knitted together and his body tensed, and Harry's heart ached at the thought of hurting his son like this, ruining everything... Before he could tear himself up about it, however, Scorpius reached a hand over to Al, gently entwining their fingers, and Albus immediately relaxed. Scorpius whispered something else in his ear, and whatever it is seemed to answer whatever doubts Albus was having, and suddenly he was himself again. Harry could have sworn he looked... almost relieved.

"I think that answers your question, Harry," Malfoy spoke up beside him.

"Huh?" Harry looked over at him. He looked proud, of both his son and of Harry's.

"How Albus Severus is going to take it. I think Scorpius just told him."

Albus's eyes met Harry's, and he gave Harry a small nod, mouthing the words 'Mum. outside. now.' then tugging Scorpius by the hand and returning to the party.

"Oh. Huh. Okay. That was... easier than I expected."

"Well, it's not over, but the hard part is done."

"Yeah, one kid down, two to go..."

"I'm sure they won't mind that you're gay. Or bi-sexual. I mean, I'm not, but you might be, if you want to stay with your wife..." Malfoy trailed off, his eyes darting away, looking anywhere but at Harry.

"No, no. I think... I think I may be done with women. Romantically, that is. Both Ginny and I would probably be happier if we were with other people."

"Oh. Lovely." Malfoy's tone was falsely cheerful, and he still wouldn't look at Harry.

"Malfoy, I—" Harry stopped, trying to find the best way to say things. "I meant what I said in my letter. About seeing you again, taking things slowly."

"Hmmm?"

"Yeah. We could, I don't know... go to a Quidditch game sometime? I know you can get tickets, and I certainly have my connections, as well."

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, of course, but you do realize that almost any game we go to, your wife will be there."

"Oh." Harry hadn't thought of that. "We could just go to dinner sometime, then?"

"Sure. Or we could just fuck," Malfoy said, his voice low.

Harry's throat tightened, and his dick throbbed.

"You know, after dinner." Malfoy smirked. "Don't want you to think I'm only after sex, after all."

"You aren't?" Harry laughed nervously.

"Don't be obtuse." Malfoy bumped their shoulders together playfully. "Now come on—your wife needs you, apparently."

Malfoy started down the hall way, dragging Harry lightly by the arm. Harry only allowed himself to be dragged a few steps, then dug his heels in.

"Wait. I... you can stop calling her that, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I think we both know what's going to happen." Harry swallowed hard. Divorce was an ugly word, but Harry couldn't continue on with things as they were, and he imagined Ginny would eventually want to make a life with someone else, someone who could love her properly. He both looked forward to and dreaded it.

"All right," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, reaching down to take Harry's hand in his. "Rather, your gay relationship guru, soon to be ex-wife wants you out in the garden." He tugged Harry's arm gently and began to lead him outside.

"She probably wants to check for the eighth time today whether or not I've found a guy a like."

"And?" Malfoy questioned airily, though the way his arm tensed told Harry he was keen to hear the answer. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I'll tell her I have."

...|||...

The Nosy Niffler
Sordid tidbits from a Wizard in the know

Blind Items for 8th September, 2020

Reveal!

It was a long summer, dear readers, and also a rather hot one for our closeted war hero. From gay clubs, to sex toys, divorce and now, finally, a boyfriend. Yep—the schoolmate came around, in more ways than one, and now they are figuring it out together. And they're sick of being 'blind.' There are more closet cases than you might think, readers, and though this writer had a specific person in mind for these blinds—see below for the reveal—as I found out, they could apply to so many. Our war hero and his newfound boyfriend aren't the first, and they won't be the last. This is the last blind item you will see about these particular subjects, however. From now on, you'll hear about their undoubtedly salacious tidbits fully attributed, and to—

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her associated businesses. The Harry/Draco World Cup and its participants make no claim upon them.