in which i have a lot to flail about
Whoa, all the awesomeness of the past few days. The super-sekrit project went live, yay, and is shaping up to be even more fabulous than I dreamed, which I will attribute to power mod phoenixacid and just the general awesomeness of HD fandom. What have I been up to? This.
Originally posted by hdcockbookmods at The Cock Book Project Goes Live!
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Also, I wrote fic for hp_3forfun 's challenge last week and evidently, I won. Which is super-awesome because that means I'm not the only one who sees the pervy potential in George/Pansy/James, which means I can feel less awkward about my id. Thanks to everyone who voted. If you're an HP fan and you haven't yet, please do check out the comm. There's always such a cool mix of stories and pairings. Plus, threesomes, yay. :)
Title: in the hall of the joke shop king
Rating: r for kinks
Characters: James Jr./Pansy/George
Warnings: incest, cuckolding, schoolboy wanking
Summary: He's always liked Aunt Pansy best.
Original Prompt: She/He knows he/she belongs to his/her sister/relative...but one taste can't hurt.
♥♥♥
Also, I've got a bunch of shiny pretty icons to use and I'm working my way through thank-you fics to properly express my love. Still working on Nic's and Adele's, which I hope to have up tomorrow, but talekayler made me that deliciously smirky bastard up there and gave me a prompt that just clicked, so here's hers.
Al throws over his long-time girlfriend and his well-earned place with the Aurors in the same week, trades them in for a position in the Ministry’s forensics potions labs and a work schedule that’s positively inhumane. Harry’s legitimately worried about his son, particularly since all Harry’s questions are met with what Harry’s come to call the Slytherin smirk, the one that says Al knows things Harry never will and Al’s amused by how utterly wrong Harry is.
There’s a rough six months or so where Harry hardly sees Al at all, just sometimes passes him in the Ministry canteen, nose buried in a book and dark smudges of exhaustion around his eyes, neither of those things particularly conducive to the bright, sharp grin that seems plastered permanently on Al’s face.
Thing is, Harry’s right to be worried: Malfoy runs the forensics labs and he’s still a complete and total arse every time he crosses Harry’s path; Harry can’t help but think this is Malfoy taking out their lifelong antipathy on Harry’s son.
Harry tries to make Malfoy see reason a few times, but that ends in hexing or mockery or both, and finally, Harry just gives up, resolves this is Al’s mistake to make. If he wants to spend the best years of his life running himself down for Malfoy’s approval, there’s nothing Harry can do but wait for Al’s good sense to kick in.
So when Harry finds out via inter-office memo that Al’s transferred to the Department of Mysteries, he can’t quite hide his relief. It’s been ages longer than he’s expected, quite nearly a year watching Al wear himself out from afar on his dream job, but from what Harry gathers after a bit of investigation, it’s for the best he’s switched. The head of the Department of Mysteries has all sorts of glowing things to say about Al’s work ethic and, more importantly, she promises to keep Al’s workload in check, something Malfoy never managed.
Harry gives Al a few weeks to settle into his new position before he stops in to invite Al to lunch. He’d tried a few times while Al had been in the forensics labs but there’d never been time, always been some special project to keep Al occupied to the point of distraction, and frankly, Harry’s looking forward to spending an hour alone with his son, catching up at long bloody last.
Al’s agreeable enough about lunch, so Harry doesn’t comment on the slight Slytherin smirk that accompanies Al’s response. No sense expecting ten months with Malfoy to wear off so soon, he supposes.
Or, well, he hopes.
As Department of Mysteries mishaps go, getting stuck in a lift isn’t so bad. Harry’s read the reports, he knows how much worse it could be. Plus, while it leaves them both hungry for a bit, it does give them a chance to talk.
Harry’s even willing to overlook Al’s insistence Malfoy’s going to get them out; Malfoy can’t be arsed to deal with Harry for anything less than the end of the world, a mindset he seems devoted to instilling into his staff, and while Harry imagines Malfoy would have been compelled to rescue his overworked employee, Harry can’t imagine it has escaped Malfoy’s notice that Al doesn’t technically work for him anymore.
He tries to point that out nicely. Al turns a Slytherin smirk on the lift controls and hums.
Al won’t talk about his new position, which might well mean he’s an Unspeakable or in training to be, and he won’t talk about why he left his last post. That’s annoying but not entirely unexpected, Harry supposes; he has been uncommonly attached to his last boss.
So mostly time passes with Harry’s staff clucking at them through the intercom and fussing over the the complete inability of the lift repairs crew to whisk Harry and Al out. There’s a fair bit of fawning involved, a bit more than normal when they learn Harry’s trapped in here with his son, and for as much as Harry’s not thrilled to be stuck like this, he readily admits it could be worse.
Then Malfoy comes over the line.
“What have you done now, Potter?” he drawls and Harry can just picture that bloody infuriating smirk at Harry stymied by a lift. Prick.
“I didn’t do anything, Malfoy, honestly,” Harry snaps in disgust as Al says, “I think you should guess,” light and wry.
There’s a pause from Malfoy’s end, then, “Is there room in there for both of you and your father’s ego or will you need an Expanding Charm?”
Harry’s mood sours. Al laughs. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You might send food, though, if we’re to be here long. On our way to lunch and all. I’m starved.”
“Right, yeah, you and your meals.” Harry swears he can hear Malfoy rolling his eyes. “I wish I could say you’ll be out shortly but having met the crack team dispatched, I suspect you’d be best-served getting comfortable for a wait.”
“Oh, what, you plan to just leave me here? Nice.” There’s something in Al’s tone that leaves Harry suspicious, something off in how relaxed he seems. Al’s actually grinning a little when he adds, “Prick.”
“Yes, well, I’m told interceding in another department’s affairs is poor form,” Malfoy counters, which makes Al roll his eyes and snort.
Harry’s rather uncomfortable with that, Al bantering with Malfoy, the two of them talking like Harry’s not even there. He’s used to Malfoy ignoring him, tends to consider it a best-case scenario, but it’s just unsettling to see Al at it, as well. “Malfoy, give over. Either make yourself useful or put on someone who will.”
Al flicks his stare in Harry’s direction quickly, a look Harry might call annoyance on anyone else, then turns long-sufferingly back to the lift control panel. “Any idea what’s gone wrong?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say one of your lackwit co-workers has bunged something up, though without knowing any of the details, I’d be hard-pressed to say which or what. Of course, it’s also perfectly plausible it’s just the inevitable result of shoddy lift maintenance. Hard to say, at this point.” Then Harry hears Malfoy take a deep breath. “We are trying.”
“I know,” Al says quietly, “I know you are. Thanks.”
It’s strangely intimate, the way Al lifts a hand like he’s going to touch the lift controls, the way he stops himself when he’s only just started reaching out and, flexing his fingers, deliberately withdraws. Maybe Harry thinks so because Al’s tone’s been so fond, soft and sweet as his crooked little smile, at absolute odds with that quick flare of annoyance at being interrupted.
Harry really doesn’t like where that train of thought leads. He’s been with the Aurors too long to let evidence go unprocessed and while it’s rather disconcerting to imagine his baby with an ill-advised crush on his mentor, it’s also all-too-easy to believe. Malfoy’s queer as Nargles in Trafalger Square and it’s easy enough to imagine him leading Albus on, getting perverse pleasure out on the break Harry’s son’s heart. If that’s what he’s doing, Harry’s going to hex him to St. Mungos and back.
If.
Harry watches Albus, plays through the past year in his head, and decides there’s no if about it. It’s clear as Tempus Al’s attached to Malfoy beyond the supervisor-employee standard and while Harry’s suspected there’d been more to Al throwing over his girlfriend than he’d said, Harry’s not sure how he feels about Al keeping something like this secret this long. Though maybe, if there’s been Malfoy…
It’s a lot to think about, really, and a whole new way to worry, which is how Harry’s lost in his own head when Al clears his throat.
Al’s watching him like Al’s picked up Legimensy at some point, like Al knows everything running through Harry’s mind and he’s waiting to see what Harry does next. It’s disconcerting, that look on his little boy’s face, an implied challenge that’s just so mature.
“Told you he’d come,” Al says quietly, just so, so solemn. “You don’t know him, Dad.”
“And you do?” Harry slips off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He hasn’t felt this old, this helpless in a long while. “Merlin, Al, he’s my age. He was in my year. I know you think you know him now but trust me, all you’ve seen is whatever he wants you to see.”
Just, Malfoy’s been up to something his whole life and Harry’s made a career of seeing he doesn’t get out of hand and the last thing he wants is to see Al wind up with a broken heart out of this, one more unlucky bystander in the rivalry that should have stayed at Hogwarts.
“You think so?” Al’s mouth quirks, more brittle than amused. “Because I worked with him for a year, Dad, and you haven’t really had two words to say to each other in years. Assuming you ever did, and given what I’ve heard about your year at school…well.”
Al looks smug. It’s Harry’s turn to be annoyed. “Heard much, did you? Well, I’m sure the gossip’s served you well. Haven’t asked anything, though, have you?”
“What’s there to ask? You got off on the wrong foot and stayed there, yeah?” Al shrugs, looks like he couldn’t care less about the details. “Look, I’m sure it’s a big deal to you, if you’re still harping on about it with Uncle Ron all the time, but he’s not like that with me, all right? He’s, I don’t know, different, I suppose? So no, you really don’t know him the way I do.”
Part of Harry wants to start spilling out the whole of it, so Al can at least have his side of it before he makes up his mind. Part of Harry wants to flat-out forbid his son from having anything more to do with the git in the faint hope that’ll keep Al from getting hurt whenever Malfoy decides to shove him aside. Mostly, though, Harry’s aware how foolish both those reactions would be; if he’s learned anything about fatherhood since his kids left for Hogwarts, it’s that they’re all bound and determined to make their own mistakes, to be their own people without being bogged down by his past. James couldn’t wait to start Quidditch and flat refused to play anything but Beater; Lily Luna couldn’t wait to turn Divination into a weekly tea party with her friends and still can’t understand why Harry makes that face when she talks about how much she learned from Professor Trelawney. And Al…Well, just now, Harry’s not even sure where to start with Al, who’s always looked so much like him and who’s always been so determined to be just himself.
And if that means standing back and letting Al make his mistakes with Malfoy, then that’s what it means.
This fatherhood shit is a horrible deal, really, years of worrying that never really end and an infinite string of chances to sound like an arse.
“All right,” Harry says and nods, takes Al’s argument on the face of it. For a long moment, they just stare. Harry waits for Al to push at him, prod for proof because Merlin knows Harry’s never been one for letting go of things easily and he knows from experience that’s something he’s passed on to his kids. Only Al doesn’t, Al just looks him over like there’s some sort of answer hiding in Harry’s face, then Al’s nodding, too.
Al doesn’t actually say so, but his quirking smile looks an awful lot like thanks.
Harry clears his throat to break the silence. “Erm, anything else I should know?”
“Well, I’m pregnant,” Al deadpans, a wicked gleam in his eyes when he shrugs. “That’s why I transfered. Not good for the baby, all those fumes.”
Harry chokes on his own spit; he’s not gullible enough to think for a minute even Malfoy could brew up something to manage male pregnancy but Christ Merlin, it’s good to have Al back, the wicked sense of humour Harry swore had been worth more gray hair than his brother and sister combined.
“Right, no, it wouldn’t be,” Harry manages with a mostly straight face before he gives in and laughs. “Brilliant,” Harry gets out between wild snickers. “Grandkids. Your Mum will be so pleased.” Al’s turned serious again, just that fast, and Harry has to think for a second to work out why. Then he sobers up himself, so Al knows he means it, and says, “She really will. Long as you’re happy, that’s what counts.” Then, because it’s Malfoy, Harry can’t help but add, “You are happy, yeah?”
And there it is again, that private little smile he’d had while Malfoy had been on the intercom. “Yeah, we really are.” Al looks entirely too pleased with himself when he adds, “Worth the transfer, more than, and I really did love that job.”
“Right. Well. Good on you, then.” Harry’s rather dying to ruffle Al’s hair just now, tug his son in for a manly hug or something, because it’s been absolute ages since he’s seen Al look like this and really, the shit deal of fatherhood’s worthwhile for moments just like this one. Harry can’t say he wants details as such but just now, there’s not much he wouldn’t do to keep that look on Al’s face, so Harry takes a deep breath and resigns himself to hearing good things about Malfoy for a while. “So, what’s he like now? Tell me about him.”
Al’s only just scratching the surface, Harry can tell, when the lift jostles ominously and the doors fling wide, a pair of rather contrite looking maintenance workers blocking Harry’s view into the corridor.
Malfoy’s waiting to one side when Harry steps out. He’s leaning back against the wall like he’s planned to stay there for hours and he’s got his arms folded across his chest, that complete arsehole look on his face that says there’s a good chance he’s been terrorizing the lift repair crew.
Ordinarily, Harry thinks he’d take that as cause to start up, remind Malfoy he can’t be running about giving orders to people who don’t technically work for him.
This time, though, Harry finds himself wondering why, because standing in a hallway bullying maintenance staff hardly seems like an effective use of his time. Harry thinks maybe that’s Malfoy trying to convince Al he’s not as horrible as all that.
Honestly, Harry’s having trouble seeing Malfoy, of all people, as the one to put that look on Al’s face. Whatever game Malfoy’s playing, Harry intends to see that Albus wins.
Only while Harry’s been watching Malfoy and pretending to listen to the yes, extremely contrite lift maintenance crew apologizing for the inconvenience of Harry Potter and his son trapped in a lockdown of the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy and Al have spotted each other. So Harry knows he should be listening to what’s being said to him because really, anything less is rude, only he hears Al say cheerfully, “Were you horrible? What am I saying, of course you were. Did you make anyone cry?”
Incredibly, Malfoy grins. Not big or broad or anything, it’s small and quick and it looks so strange on Malfoy’s sharp face, but it’s there and it’s most definitely meant for Al. “It’s not a proper day at the Ministry unless someone’s cried, Potter, you know that.”
Al keeps moving and Malfoy shifts a bit and then, well, they look a half-heartbeat off a hug or something, like it’s only a matter of time before they touch. “Arsehole,” Al says fondly, and “And it’s Albus, you know that” and then he’s stepping in closer, touching Malfoy’s neck.
Malfoy slides Harry an uncertain look and Harry expects the mockery to start up any time because probably Harry’s staring at them gawp-eyed only Al murmurs something that drags Malfoy’s attention back to him. It’s all muffled so Harry can’t hear the words but he thinks he can guess.
“Yeah?” Malfoy says, rather lighting up in response, and the way his hands settle to cup Al’s face looks like nothing so much as instinct, just Malfoy’s natural response to having Al that close. Which, well, Harry thinks there might not need to be hexing just yet. “And you’ve both made it out unscathed?”
Harry’s not sure who does the leaning and who does the tugging in but the head of the Department of Mysteries is flustering over to apologize, as well, and when Harry looks back, Malfoy’s forehead’s resting against Al’s and honestly, the way it looks says there might not need to be hexing at all.
Because that look Malfoy’s wearing, that looks terribly like Ron around Hermione, like Harry feels around his wife.
Which makes it easy, really, to offer a few quick words to pacify the bunch around him to free himself up. Al turns a little when Harry approaches, keeps himself firmly between Harry and Malfoy and leans back against Malfoy’s chest like he’s done it a hundred times.
Might be he has.
Malfoy still looks uncertain, though it’s firming up to that inscrutable avoidance Harry usually can’t stand but Al links their fingers and lets their joined hands settle on his chest, watches his father like he means to stay right there between them for hours if needs be.
Malfoy pulls reluctantly away. “Well, now that’s sorted, I’ll leave you to it.” Malfoy’s gaze shifts between them, Harry to Al and back. “Albus, Potter, enjoy your lunch.”
Everything Harry actually needs to know about how serious Malfoy is about his son is right there in how Malfoy says Al’s name, though the sharp, protective stare doesn’t hurt, either, Malfoy silently promising there’ll be words if Harry puts a word wrong.
It occurs to Harry all over again that yeah, Malfoy probably was bullying the lift repair team. Harry’s going to hear about it later, he’s sure, and no doubt he’ll be all sorts of irritated with Malfoy by the time the whole affair’s set to rest but just now, it means something, he thinks.
Which is probably why Harry’s not all that surprised to hear himself say, “Come to lunch?”
::
Al throws over his high school girlfriend and his expected position with the Aurors for some unfathomable post with the Department of Mysteries he’ll only ever describe as “an intellectual challenge worth my time” and a civil union with the git who’s been a pain in Harry’s arse since they met. Harry’s legitimately worried about Al sometimes, because it’s not the easiest life and people are still arseholes sometimes over the fact that Al’s all-but married to a man, but it’s clear Al’s happy and that’s really all Harry can ask.
And it’s getting loads easier to tolerate Malfoy now that Harry knows he’s the one responsible for Al’s sweetly Slytherin smirk.
Originally posted by hdcockbookmods at The Cock Book Project Goes Live!
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Also, I wrote fic for hp_3forfun 's challenge last week and evidently, I won. Which is super-awesome because that means I'm not the only one who sees the pervy potential in George/Pansy/James, which means I can feel less awkward about my id. Thanks to everyone who voted. If you're an HP fan and you haven't yet, please do check out the comm. There's always such a cool mix of stories and pairings. Plus, threesomes, yay. :)
Title: in the hall of the joke shop king
Rating: r for kinks
Characters: James Jr./Pansy/George
Warnings: incest, cuckolding, schoolboy wanking
Summary: He's always liked Aunt Pansy best.
Original Prompt: She/He knows he/she belongs to his/her sister/relative...but one taste can't hurt.
♥♥♥
Also, I've got a bunch of shiny pretty icons to use and I'm working my way through thank-you fics to properly express my love. Still working on Nic's and Adele's, which I hope to have up tomorrow, but talekayler made me that deliciously smirky bastard up there and gave me a prompt that just clicked, so here's hers.
Al throws over his long-time girlfriend and his well-earned place with the Aurors in the same week, trades them in for a position in the Ministry’s forensics potions labs and a work schedule that’s positively inhumane. Harry’s legitimately worried about his son, particularly since all Harry’s questions are met with what Harry’s come to call the Slytherin smirk, the one that says Al knows things Harry never will and Al’s amused by how utterly wrong Harry is.
There’s a rough six months or so where Harry hardly sees Al at all, just sometimes passes him in the Ministry canteen, nose buried in a book and dark smudges of exhaustion around his eyes, neither of those things particularly conducive to the bright, sharp grin that seems plastered permanently on Al’s face.
Thing is, Harry’s right to be worried: Malfoy runs the forensics labs and he’s still a complete and total arse every time he crosses Harry’s path; Harry can’t help but think this is Malfoy taking out their lifelong antipathy on Harry’s son.
Harry tries to make Malfoy see reason a few times, but that ends in hexing or mockery or both, and finally, Harry just gives up, resolves this is Al’s mistake to make. If he wants to spend the best years of his life running himself down for Malfoy’s approval, there’s nothing Harry can do but wait for Al’s good sense to kick in.
So when Harry finds out via inter-office memo that Al’s transferred to the Department of Mysteries, he can’t quite hide his relief. It’s been ages longer than he’s expected, quite nearly a year watching Al wear himself out from afar on his dream job, but from what Harry gathers after a bit of investigation, it’s for the best he’s switched. The head of the Department of Mysteries has all sorts of glowing things to say about Al’s work ethic and, more importantly, she promises to keep Al’s workload in check, something Malfoy never managed.
Harry gives Al a few weeks to settle into his new position before he stops in to invite Al to lunch. He’d tried a few times while Al had been in the forensics labs but there’d never been time, always been some special project to keep Al occupied to the point of distraction, and frankly, Harry’s looking forward to spending an hour alone with his son, catching up at long bloody last.
Al’s agreeable enough about lunch, so Harry doesn’t comment on the slight Slytherin smirk that accompanies Al’s response. No sense expecting ten months with Malfoy to wear off so soon, he supposes.
Or, well, he hopes.
As Department of Mysteries mishaps go, getting stuck in a lift isn’t so bad. Harry’s read the reports, he knows how much worse it could be. Plus, while it leaves them both hungry for a bit, it does give them a chance to talk.
Harry’s even willing to overlook Al’s insistence Malfoy’s going to get them out; Malfoy can’t be arsed to deal with Harry for anything less than the end of the world, a mindset he seems devoted to instilling into his staff, and while Harry imagines Malfoy would have been compelled to rescue his overworked employee, Harry can’t imagine it has escaped Malfoy’s notice that Al doesn’t technically work for him anymore.
He tries to point that out nicely. Al turns a Slytherin smirk on the lift controls and hums.
Al won’t talk about his new position, which might well mean he’s an Unspeakable or in training to be, and he won’t talk about why he left his last post. That’s annoying but not entirely unexpected, Harry supposes; he has been uncommonly attached to his last boss.
So mostly time passes with Harry’s staff clucking at them through the intercom and fussing over the the complete inability of the lift repairs crew to whisk Harry and Al out. There’s a fair bit of fawning involved, a bit more than normal when they learn Harry’s trapped in here with his son, and for as much as Harry’s not thrilled to be stuck like this, he readily admits it could be worse.
Then Malfoy comes over the line.
“What have you done now, Potter?” he drawls and Harry can just picture that bloody infuriating smirk at Harry stymied by a lift. Prick.
“I didn’t do anything, Malfoy, honestly,” Harry snaps in disgust as Al says, “I think you should guess,” light and wry.
There’s a pause from Malfoy’s end, then, “Is there room in there for both of you and your father’s ego or will you need an Expanding Charm?”
Harry’s mood sours. Al laughs. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You might send food, though, if we’re to be here long. On our way to lunch and all. I’m starved.”
“Right, yeah, you and your meals.” Harry swears he can hear Malfoy rolling his eyes. “I wish I could say you’ll be out shortly but having met the crack team dispatched, I suspect you’d be best-served getting comfortable for a wait.”
“Oh, what, you plan to just leave me here? Nice.” There’s something in Al’s tone that leaves Harry suspicious, something off in how relaxed he seems. Al’s actually grinning a little when he adds, “Prick.”
“Yes, well, I’m told interceding in another department’s affairs is poor form,” Malfoy counters, which makes Al roll his eyes and snort.
Harry’s rather uncomfortable with that, Al bantering with Malfoy, the two of them talking like Harry’s not even there. He’s used to Malfoy ignoring him, tends to consider it a best-case scenario, but it’s just unsettling to see Al at it, as well. “Malfoy, give over. Either make yourself useful or put on someone who will.”
Al flicks his stare in Harry’s direction quickly, a look Harry might call annoyance on anyone else, then turns long-sufferingly back to the lift control panel. “Any idea what’s gone wrong?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say one of your lackwit co-workers has bunged something up, though without knowing any of the details, I’d be hard-pressed to say which or what. Of course, it’s also perfectly plausible it’s just the inevitable result of shoddy lift maintenance. Hard to say, at this point.” Then Harry hears Malfoy take a deep breath. “We are trying.”
“I know,” Al says quietly, “I know you are. Thanks.”
It’s strangely intimate, the way Al lifts a hand like he’s going to touch the lift controls, the way he stops himself when he’s only just started reaching out and, flexing his fingers, deliberately withdraws. Maybe Harry thinks so because Al’s tone’s been so fond, soft and sweet as his crooked little smile, at absolute odds with that quick flare of annoyance at being interrupted.
Harry really doesn’t like where that train of thought leads. He’s been with the Aurors too long to let evidence go unprocessed and while it’s rather disconcerting to imagine his baby with an ill-advised crush on his mentor, it’s also all-too-easy to believe. Malfoy’s queer as Nargles in Trafalger Square and it’s easy enough to imagine him leading Albus on, getting perverse pleasure out on the break Harry’s son’s heart. If that’s what he’s doing, Harry’s going to hex him to St. Mungos and back.
If.
Harry watches Albus, plays through the past year in his head, and decides there’s no if about it. It’s clear as Tempus Al’s attached to Malfoy beyond the supervisor-employee standard and while Harry’s suspected there’d been more to Al throwing over his girlfriend than he’d said, Harry’s not sure how he feels about Al keeping something like this secret this long. Though maybe, if there’s been Malfoy…
It’s a lot to think about, really, and a whole new way to worry, which is how Harry’s lost in his own head when Al clears his throat.
Al’s watching him like Al’s picked up Legimensy at some point, like Al knows everything running through Harry’s mind and he’s waiting to see what Harry does next. It’s disconcerting, that look on his little boy’s face, an implied challenge that’s just so mature.
“Told you he’d come,” Al says quietly, just so, so solemn. “You don’t know him, Dad.”
“And you do?” Harry slips off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He hasn’t felt this old, this helpless in a long while. “Merlin, Al, he’s my age. He was in my year. I know you think you know him now but trust me, all you’ve seen is whatever he wants you to see.”
Just, Malfoy’s been up to something his whole life and Harry’s made a career of seeing he doesn’t get out of hand and the last thing he wants is to see Al wind up with a broken heart out of this, one more unlucky bystander in the rivalry that should have stayed at Hogwarts.
“You think so?” Al’s mouth quirks, more brittle than amused. “Because I worked with him for a year, Dad, and you haven’t really had two words to say to each other in years. Assuming you ever did, and given what I’ve heard about your year at school…well.”
Al looks smug. It’s Harry’s turn to be annoyed. “Heard much, did you? Well, I’m sure the gossip’s served you well. Haven’t asked anything, though, have you?”
“What’s there to ask? You got off on the wrong foot and stayed there, yeah?” Al shrugs, looks like he couldn’t care less about the details. “Look, I’m sure it’s a big deal to you, if you’re still harping on about it with Uncle Ron all the time, but he’s not like that with me, all right? He’s, I don’t know, different, I suppose? So no, you really don’t know him the way I do.”
Part of Harry wants to start spilling out the whole of it, so Al can at least have his side of it before he makes up his mind. Part of Harry wants to flat-out forbid his son from having anything more to do with the git in the faint hope that’ll keep Al from getting hurt whenever Malfoy decides to shove him aside. Mostly, though, Harry’s aware how foolish both those reactions would be; if he’s learned anything about fatherhood since his kids left for Hogwarts, it’s that they’re all bound and determined to make their own mistakes, to be their own people without being bogged down by his past. James couldn’t wait to start Quidditch and flat refused to play anything but Beater; Lily Luna couldn’t wait to turn Divination into a weekly tea party with her friends and still can’t understand why Harry makes that face when she talks about how much she learned from Professor Trelawney. And Al…Well, just now, Harry’s not even sure where to start with Al, who’s always looked so much like him and who’s always been so determined to be just himself.
And if that means standing back and letting Al make his mistakes with Malfoy, then that’s what it means.
This fatherhood shit is a horrible deal, really, years of worrying that never really end and an infinite string of chances to sound like an arse.
“All right,” Harry says and nods, takes Al’s argument on the face of it. For a long moment, they just stare. Harry waits for Al to push at him, prod for proof because Merlin knows Harry’s never been one for letting go of things easily and he knows from experience that’s something he’s passed on to his kids. Only Al doesn’t, Al just looks him over like there’s some sort of answer hiding in Harry’s face, then Al’s nodding, too.
Al doesn’t actually say so, but his quirking smile looks an awful lot like thanks.
Harry clears his throat to break the silence. “Erm, anything else I should know?”
“Well, I’m pregnant,” Al deadpans, a wicked gleam in his eyes when he shrugs. “That’s why I transfered. Not good for the baby, all those fumes.”
Harry chokes on his own spit; he’s not gullible enough to think for a minute even Malfoy could brew up something to manage male pregnancy but Christ Merlin, it’s good to have Al back, the wicked sense of humour Harry swore had been worth more gray hair than his brother and sister combined.
“Right, no, it wouldn’t be,” Harry manages with a mostly straight face before he gives in and laughs. “Brilliant,” Harry gets out between wild snickers. “Grandkids. Your Mum will be so pleased.” Al’s turned serious again, just that fast, and Harry has to think for a second to work out why. Then he sobers up himself, so Al knows he means it, and says, “She really will. Long as you’re happy, that’s what counts.” Then, because it’s Malfoy, Harry can’t help but add, “You are happy, yeah?”
And there it is again, that private little smile he’d had while Malfoy had been on the intercom. “Yeah, we really are.” Al looks entirely too pleased with himself when he adds, “Worth the transfer, more than, and I really did love that job.”
“Right. Well. Good on you, then.” Harry’s rather dying to ruffle Al’s hair just now, tug his son in for a manly hug or something, because it’s been absolute ages since he’s seen Al look like this and really, the shit deal of fatherhood’s worthwhile for moments just like this one. Harry can’t say he wants details as such but just now, there’s not much he wouldn’t do to keep that look on Al’s face, so Harry takes a deep breath and resigns himself to hearing good things about Malfoy for a while. “So, what’s he like now? Tell me about him.”
Al’s only just scratching the surface, Harry can tell, when the lift jostles ominously and the doors fling wide, a pair of rather contrite looking maintenance workers blocking Harry’s view into the corridor.
Malfoy’s waiting to one side when Harry steps out. He’s leaning back against the wall like he’s planned to stay there for hours and he’s got his arms folded across his chest, that complete arsehole look on his face that says there’s a good chance he’s been terrorizing the lift repair crew.
Ordinarily, Harry thinks he’d take that as cause to start up, remind Malfoy he can’t be running about giving orders to people who don’t technically work for him.
This time, though, Harry finds himself wondering why, because standing in a hallway bullying maintenance staff hardly seems like an effective use of his time. Harry thinks maybe that’s Malfoy trying to convince Al he’s not as horrible as all that.
Honestly, Harry’s having trouble seeing Malfoy, of all people, as the one to put that look on Al’s face. Whatever game Malfoy’s playing, Harry intends to see that Albus wins.
Only while Harry’s been watching Malfoy and pretending to listen to the yes, extremely contrite lift maintenance crew apologizing for the inconvenience of Harry Potter and his son trapped in a lockdown of the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy and Al have spotted each other. So Harry knows he should be listening to what’s being said to him because really, anything less is rude, only he hears Al say cheerfully, “Were you horrible? What am I saying, of course you were. Did you make anyone cry?”
Incredibly, Malfoy grins. Not big or broad or anything, it’s small and quick and it looks so strange on Malfoy’s sharp face, but it’s there and it’s most definitely meant for Al. “It’s not a proper day at the Ministry unless someone’s cried, Potter, you know that.”
Al keeps moving and Malfoy shifts a bit and then, well, they look a half-heartbeat off a hug or something, like it’s only a matter of time before they touch. “Arsehole,” Al says fondly, and “And it’s Albus, you know that” and then he’s stepping in closer, touching Malfoy’s neck.
Malfoy slides Harry an uncertain look and Harry expects the mockery to start up any time because probably Harry’s staring at them gawp-eyed only Al murmurs something that drags Malfoy’s attention back to him. It’s all muffled so Harry can’t hear the words but he thinks he can guess.
“Yeah?” Malfoy says, rather lighting up in response, and the way his hands settle to cup Al’s face looks like nothing so much as instinct, just Malfoy’s natural response to having Al that close. Which, well, Harry thinks there might not need to be hexing just yet. “And you’ve both made it out unscathed?”
Harry’s not sure who does the leaning and who does the tugging in but the head of the Department of Mysteries is flustering over to apologize, as well, and when Harry looks back, Malfoy’s forehead’s resting against Al’s and honestly, the way it looks says there might not need to be hexing at all.
Because that look Malfoy’s wearing, that looks terribly like Ron around Hermione, like Harry feels around his wife.
Which makes it easy, really, to offer a few quick words to pacify the bunch around him to free himself up. Al turns a little when Harry approaches, keeps himself firmly between Harry and Malfoy and leans back against Malfoy’s chest like he’s done it a hundred times.
Might be he has.
Malfoy still looks uncertain, though it’s firming up to that inscrutable avoidance Harry usually can’t stand but Al links their fingers and lets their joined hands settle on his chest, watches his father like he means to stay right there between them for hours if needs be.
Malfoy pulls reluctantly away. “Well, now that’s sorted, I’ll leave you to it.” Malfoy’s gaze shifts between them, Harry to Al and back. “Albus, Potter, enjoy your lunch.”
Everything Harry actually needs to know about how serious Malfoy is about his son is right there in how Malfoy says Al’s name, though the sharp, protective stare doesn’t hurt, either, Malfoy silently promising there’ll be words if Harry puts a word wrong.
It occurs to Harry all over again that yeah, Malfoy probably was bullying the lift repair team. Harry’s going to hear about it later, he’s sure, and no doubt he’ll be all sorts of irritated with Malfoy by the time the whole affair’s set to rest but just now, it means something, he thinks.
Which is probably why Harry’s not all that surprised to hear himself say, “Come to lunch?”
::
Al throws over his high school girlfriend and his expected position with the Aurors for some unfathomable post with the Department of Mysteries he’ll only ever describe as “an intellectual challenge worth my time” and a civil union with the git who’s been a pain in Harry’s arse since they met. Harry’s legitimately worried about Al sometimes, because it’s not the easiest life and people are still arseholes sometimes over the fact that Al’s all-but married to a man, but it’s clear Al’s happy and that’s really all Harry can ask.
And it’s getting loads easier to tolerate Malfoy now that Harry knows he’s the one responsible for Al’s sweetly Slytherin smirk.