Gift Fic for WWMrsweasleydo (Part 4/4)
Title: Career Opportunities for Swots (part 4 of 4)
Author: ????
Recipient: wwmrsweasleydo
Pairing(s): George/Scorpius, with mentions of George/Angelina, various combinations of WWW staff, and acknowledgment that both boys have had boysex before.
Word Count:~31 000; this section ~8110
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Before starting their Seventh Year, Hogwarts students are required to take a month-long "apprenticeship." Everyone is in for a surprise this year.
Warnings: UST, wanking (of a sort), light bondage and discipline, self-denial, consensual voyeurism, ADW: 47/17.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are property of the illustrious J.K. Rowling and her representatives at Bloomsbury, Raincoast Books, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. This is written for fun, not profit, and probably wouldn't earn much money, anyway.
A/N: Thank you to wwmrsweasleydo for your request and your prompts! I used two of the three prompts; I wager that you wouldn't have imagined it would come to this.
To the champion beta/cheerleading team of M&M, each of you is, in your own way, the heroine who made finishing this fic possible. I couldn't have done it without you.
And to the mods, the ever-lovely tania_sings and lauryne78 , thanks for putting up with me and the fact that I just couldn't end it at any reasonable time or length. Your encouragement and patience is greatly appreciated.
CAREER OPPORTUNITIES FOR SWOTS
Part IV: A Denouement (of Sorts)
SURPRISES AWAIT THE OPEN-MINDED:
An Interview with Albus S. Potter
By Rita Skeeter
Three weeks into the summer apprenticeship season, I have the honour of introducing to you my own apprentice, Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter (otherwise known as Saviour of the Wizarding World) and Holyhead Harpy Ginevra Weasley Potter.
Albus was matched to The Daily Prophet and yours truly after submitting a stunning essay describing how he hopes to travel and learn how people and creatures in other parts of the world live. It appears that there were no appropriate travelling apprenticeships, so we have had the pleasure of showing him the ropes, so to speak, at The Daily Prophet.
RS: What is the most interesting thing that you have learned this summer, Albus?
ASP: Probably that your Quick-Quotes Quill isn't a device designed to wreak as much havoc as possible on your interview subjects.
RS: And yet, you still insist that I interview you without the benefit of it.
ASP: Well, just because it isn't malicious doesn't mean it isn't harmful. The Quick-Quotes Quill functions as a fact-checker, but the facts it checks against have been limited to old editions of the Prophet, which means that the Quill does not allow for any new information to be ascertained. In fact, it will change the content of a quote to match what it believes to be 'reality,' if it fails the check. It is also charmed to frame quotes in your own voice, which is very clever and a real labour-saving feature. But I would hope that most reporters would be willing to do that extra bit of labour to ensure accurate reporting. Why are you laughing again, Ms Skeeter?
RS: I continue to be amazed at your optimism, that's all. What, in your opinion, is a superior way of writing up an interview or getting a quote correct?
ASP: As I've said every time we've spoken on the subject, Ms Skeeter, I think that it is much more ethical to take a few notes while interviewing, mostly to reassure the subject that you are paying attention, but really spend most of your energy watching them. Then you can Pensieve the memory and re-create the interview from that. It would require, of course, that the Prophet invest in a number of Pensieves, but such a successful organisation should have no trouble doing so; I believe that The Quibbler, which has a much smaller circulation, already uses Pensieve verification for its interviews, and includes both corroborating and discrediting evidence alongside the quote in the report.
RS: Yes, yes. Moving on, then. What have you learned about the techniques of reporting?
ASP: That it is essential to put your subject at ease, of course, and to seem friendly while retaining your journalistic objectivity. This is very hard, in my recent experience. [Mr Potter will be contributing his own piece on what he and his Hogwarts cohort have learned during their apprenticeships, to be published on 1st August, when his apprenticeship is finished.] Especially when interviewing people I've known for years, or have fondness for, I have to remind myself that this job is not about making them or myself look good, but about telling the truth, and conveying what information the public needs to know...
Scorpius and George had spent the morning brewing, making several different variations, including one based in aloe gel rather than flobberworm because women tended to prefer that for 'personal lubricants.'
Scorpius found that bit of information fascinating, especially since his recent studies had taught him that the flobberworm base, being a mucus, was actually closer to what women produced when they were excited anyway. Women were weird. Thank goodness he didn't have to worry about pleasing them sexually. Well, pleasing them both sexually and directly, he supposed.
George had called the staff together before the two of them had started brewing to explain that he and Scorpius planned to spend the day in the lab. They would be completing and testing a prototype potion, and that nobody was to enter the lab until they said they were done or they smelled smoke drifting downstairs. In the latter case, Verity and Teddy were permitted to engage in rescue activities as needed.
And thus Scorpius had been left alone with George for the day, trying to concentrate on the variations on the potion and keep up the light-hearted banter despite his rather intrusive thoughts of shagging the man beside him. Or being shagged by. It didn't matter to him, really. The knowledge that they would be trying out 'Desire's Demand' for real, and he would be fantasising in front of the object of his fantasies was enough to keep Scorpius well and truly on edge.
George, damn him, didn't seem to be at all apprehensive.
"None of these ingredients, especially when combined, are respiratory or dermatological irritants. This should go off with no ill effects; the big question is whether it will work as planned," he said confidently, and another chill coursed up Scorpius' spine. He'd got a whiff of the potion the night before, and was fairly certain that it would work. Perhaps it would work too well. He hoped that he didn't embarrass himself with his teenaged lack of stamina.
"So, George, how are we going to do this? I assume you're testing first, right?" Scorpius asked when they returned from lunch.
"Of course. Despite the fact that I'm almost positive this is safe, I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you because I was wrong."
Scorpius scowled at that. "Look, George, I appreciate the thought, and I have no problem with you testing it first. But you should know that since I made the potion up, I too would be overwhelmed with guilt should something happen to you as the result of using this."
"Of course," George let out a slow breath. "My apologies for not honouring the responsibility you carry for the safety of 'Desire's Demand.'"
"Plus, I care what happens to you, you prat," Scorpius added, his scowl diminished but still present. He took his own calming breath, exhaling loudly. "Right. Other than your going first, what's the plan, George?"
"Well, the subject will disrobe, apply the potion to the areas he wants affected by the potion, and then lie in the middle of the Testing Area with a sheet over him until the test is done. The observer will take notes about the visible or aural effects, and then we'll take a quick break for the loo and a snack, and switch off."
"Very organised."
"Well, you know how I think organisation is the key to efficiency."
"Indeed." Scorpius turned to George. "So... Is the subject going to get to apply the potion in private? Only, I don't really want you to see all the places I want to put it on." At least, I don't want you to see me preparing my arsehole unless you're planning on fucking it and good.
"Good point. Hm. I've got a blindfold somewhere." He rooted around in his desk until he found one. "Alright. Here we go."
"Are you getting dressed after you put it on?"
"What?" George paused again. "Oh. No, I'll pull the blanket on the settee over myself."
"Right. Shall I cover my eyes now?" Scorpius asked, wishing he could watch George strip.
George nodded, the blindfold went on, and Scorpius took a seat on the settee. He could hear George moving about, hear the thumps of his boots hitting the floor by his desk and the quiet sounds of his hands tapping one another as he folded his clothes. He heard the squelch of fingers digging into the lukewarm gel they had produced and the impact of the gel before it was (he assumed) silently spread on George's skin. He could smell the lotion, and said, "Hey, George, can you bring me a scarf or something to keep the fragrance from taking over my mind as well?"
The soft padding of George's footsteps approached, and something a bit heavier than Scorpius was expecting fell into his lap. He felt it; it was knitted, and he suspected that it was George's - or somebody's - old Gryffindor scarf. He brought it up to his nose and mouth and inhaled the scent of George. Yes, this is George's - smells of his shampoo and a little bit manly. Then Scorpius finally heard the soft thud of George's arse hitting the specially outfitted, cushioned floor, and the susurration of the sheet flowing onto him.
"Can I take off the blindfold now?" Scorpius asked.
"Huh? Oh, er, yes..." said George, obviously under the influence of the potion already. Scorpius tied the scarf around the back of his head so that he had his hands free, and reached for his notebook to scribble that the potion seemed to have an immediate effect on the brain, or at least on one's ability to register one's surroundings.
Having written that first observation, Scorpius looked over at George. The ginger-and-white head was all that remained uncovered at the moment, though when George shifted, the sheet moved to expose his left foot. Apparently, he had not applied any of the lotion to his feet or legs, as the sheet stuck to his skin where he had: his hands, shoulders, nipples, hips and cock. There was also potion on George's lips, which fell open as he moaned, and then licked, spreading the potion onto his tongue.
Shite, we didn't check to make sure it was ingestible, Scorpius thought, and looked over his ingredients list again. Well, everything in it is used in other ingestible potions, so we can only hope that they aren't going to be dangerous in combination. He breathed a sigh of relief as he ran through the list yet another time and realised that any dangers should have become apparent during the brewing stage. He turned his attention back to George.
Who was continuing to moan, arms working their way out from under the sheet to reach for his imagined lover. His head tilted up a bit, and his lips and tongue worked as if he were kissing, deepening a kiss, trying to devour his lover's soul. His arms twisted, one reaching up as if to tangle his hands in someone's hair, the other reaching down to grab an arse cheek as he pressed his own hips forward.
At the sight of George pressing forward, the tip of his cock making the sheet slightly more damp, Scorpius realised he might be in Big Trouble. He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he started to run through all the least arousing scenarios he could. The Headmistress in a milk bath. Extracting mucus from flobberworms. Gathering manure from the Hippogriff paddock to use as fertiliser. Mushy peas.
George groaned, snatching Scorpius' attention from the task of keeping his arousal at bay. He was now on his knees, the sheet barely covering his hips and cock. His mouth opened wide, and he puckered his lips, his tongue stabbing in and out, occasionally rotating. His hands were holding onto the fantasy lover's hips.
Oh, Merlin, Scorpius thought. What is he doing, and when can I have him doing it to me? It was torture, that's what it was. Scorpius distracted himself by noting that the subject was not only capable of moving while under the influence, but of doing so with gusto, so it ought not be done at a high elevation or on a particularly narrow bed. Once again his attention was brought back to George, who had growled and fallen forward.
Clearly, he'd moved on to shagging. He looked almost like he was doing push-ups, except for the fact that it was his hips leading the action, and rotating slowly before tilting up and withdrawing. His arse and cock were both on display now, the sheet having fallen away when he leaned over. Scorpius was stunned, and craned his neck down to get a look at George's red, swollen cock. "Come, on," George groaned again. "Let go. You know you want to."
Fuck. I'm going to shoot my own load if I don't calm down, think of something other than him, Scorpius thought. He pinched his arm and recited arithmancy tables and took care to smell his own breath in the scarf. He thought of Professor Sinistra naked atop the Astronomy Tower at school, standing right in front of the plaque that commemorated the fall of Albus Dumbledore, speaking of the Saturn regression. He imagined her nips all wrinkled and pointy in the cold air, and that his own bollocks were that cold and in need of a retreat as well. He felt himself calming, in a disgusted sort of way.
Until George cried, "Yes! There you go! Fuck! Come for me, Score!" and started snapping his hips faster and faster. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, want to be in you, live in your sweet tight hole, oh, Scorpius!" George finally stiffened and short, thick ropes of semen spurted from his cock.
Scorpius' own cock twitched, seeming to complain about how unfair it was that a fantasy version of it got to have all the fun. Scorpius' mind happened to be in agreement, but knew that, even at seventeen, his recovery time would be too long to allow him to come during his own testing phase if he gave in now.
He cast Tempus: the potion had 21 minutes left to go in George's system. Good. That should give him time to get his libido more fully under control before George snapped out of it, and get him back to "base level" before having his own go at 'Desire's Demand.'
Scorpius saw that George was cuddling the sheet and whispering to it, though he couldn't make out the statements themselves. Eventually he seemed to slip out of consciousness, falling asleep for the last ten minutes of the potion's effect, allowing Scorpius the time to practice breathing deeply through his nose, make some final notes about his observations, and willing away his erection so that the two of them could discuss the potion like mature, objective adults.
George woke up feeling languid. Then he realised that his arse was cold. Which was because he was arse-naked on the Testing Area floor, cuddling the sheet that was supposed to be covering him. In front of the young man he'd just spent an hour fantasising about to the best orgasm he'd ever had without another person.
Fuck, he thought, as he sprang to cover himself with the sheet, hoping that he hadn't made a great fool of himself. He remembered rimming the Dream-Scorpius, and fucking him like the younger man had been built for his own pleasure. He remembered that Dream-Scorpius had demanded more, had begged him to claim him, to own him, to tie him down and keep him forever. George remembered snuggling Dream-Scorpius close to him after the shagging was done, telling him that he was perfect, that he loved him, and hearing him say, 'I love you, too, Georgie.'
Fuck! This was not what was supposed to happen, though George couldn't imagine how he thought anything else would happen.
Now he had to watch as Scorpius subjected himself to the same sort of deep, amazing fantasy that he'd just had. And then they would have to compare notes, and probably talk about what they had witnessed, but in the most vague terms possible! Restore their relationship to sanity. Restore himself to respectability; he certainly counted as a Dirty Old Man now that he'd climaxed in front of the young man he lusted after.
He really, really ought to have skived off on this, assigned Scorpius and Angela to work together and have himself work with Verity, who knew all his secrets anyway.
"Er, hallo," he said. "You about done with your notes, then?" He felt the heat spreading across his face and his chest. Damn pale, freckly skin.
"Been done for a bit, mate. It seems that if your fantasy runs out before the potion does, the subject falls asleep," Scorpius replied, avoiding George's eyes. Which George didn't see because he was avoiding eye contact, too.
"Er, alright. Would you mind putting the blindfold back on, even though I expect you've already seen my goods? It would be more comfortable for me," George said.
"Right. Here I go," said Scorpius as he re-covered his eyes.
George looked at him for a bit, taking in the vision of the young man relaxing on the settee, wearing a blindfold and a Gryffindor scarf along with his Wheezes robes. The colours were dead blinding together, yet George couldn't help but find the effect adorable. He was unable to read Scorpius' mood from the line of his lips, which seemed slightly turned down, but probably more out of boredom than anything else. Right! I'm supposed to be changing! George remembered, and cast a quick Lavare over himself before tugging on his denims and shirt, robes unnecessary for the time being. He decided to leave his socks and boots off, too, even though he knew it was against his own protocol; he'd already had this potion all over his skin; the only reason he'd need his boots would be in case of an emergency. He'd take his chances about that, since Scorpius probably wouldn't be wearing shoes, either. It was only fair.
"All dressed, Score," he said, and winced, remembering how he'd addressed the boy in his fantasy. He soldiered on. "Ready to get your potion on?"
"Trust you to make that sound even pervier than it is," Scorpius muttered, just loud enough to make George chuckle uncomfortably. He held out the blindfold and scarf.
"Yeah, well, go on, then," George said, and slid the two accessories onto his face.
When Scorpius came to at the end of his fantasy, George was wanking his way through his second climax of the afternoon.
I'm going to a special hell for this. Probably the one filled with the most boring of Death Eaters, he thought.
Scorpius, on the other hand, had other concerns. "You let yourself come again? When I had to keep my entire sex drive in check while you wanked off, shouting my name? How on earth is this fair?"
"Score, I - "
"Oh, come off it, George. You can't hide the fact that your willy is hanging out of your trousers and you've got a sticky palm. Not to mention a very wee puddle on the floor. And we both know who you were fantasising about when you used the potion before."
"We do?"
"You, er, talk in your sleep, George."
Fuck again. "So do you, Scorpius. It seems we've something to talk about, eh?"
Scorpius rolled his eyes. "No ratshit, Rowena." He closed his eyes, sighed, gathered the sheet, and all of a sudden George had a lapful of very naked Malfoy. His arms circled the young man before he'd registered what he was doing.
"Oi!" George exclaimed as he realised that they were in rather a compromising position. "What are you doing here?"
Scorpius looked him in the eye, took George's head in his hands, and laid a soft kiss on his lips. "Just this, for now," he said. "I know the rule about no fraternisation."
"You realised you've crossed that line, don't you?" George groaned.
"Yes," said Scorpius, sitting up and climbing off George's lap to wrap himself in the sheet and sit beside him on the settee. "But it can be between us, can't it?"
George gave him a pained look. "It'll have to be."
"Thank goodness we've only got another eight days until this apprenticeship is finished."
"Er, Scorpius, not that you aren't incredible..."
Scorpius could hear where that statement was headed. "But what?" he demanded. "There's absolutely no reason why we shouldn't get together as soon as my apprenticeship to you is done. And why wouldn't we, when we both want it?"
George sighed. "It still has the appearance of being inappropriate - "
"Fuck inappropriate!"
"- and I totally feel like a dirty old man, since you're around the age of my own kids."
"What if Fred and Roxy gave their approval?"
"Scorpius!" George was scandalised. "We are not going to my children for permission to date!"
"Well, what do you want, George? Here's how I see it: I think you're the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on. You're also smart, stable, funny as hell, and successful. You make me feel warm and cosy inside, much to my surprise. I have witnessed you concoct me as your dream-bloke, and confess some tender feelings during the running of Desire's Demand. Yeah, our ages are pretty far apart, but what does that matter in another twenty or so years? The only thing that I can think of to keep us apart is this silly contractual obligation not to fraternise with one another, which somehow means we're not allowed to fuck."
George closed his eyes and counted to ten.
"Alright," he finally said. "You deserve a full and honest answer. The truth is, I wasn't going to act on this at all this summer. I was going to pine from afar, and let you go off after your apprenticeship to have the last wild summer of your youth. And while I want more than what we've got now, I'm afraid that you'll blow me off for some sweet young thing or some amazing opportunity."
"I won't -" Scorpius started to interject, but George held up his hand.
"You may not think you would, but Score, you deserve to have and take advantage of those kinds of opportunities. You do. I missed having them, and made some stupid mistakes in my life, like rushing into a het marriage, because of it. You don't need to be so eager to grow up.
"That said, I haven't felt like this about somebody in ages. Possibly ever. I could definitely fall in love with you. I'm fairly certain that if you decide to come back to me after finishing at Hogwarts and going on whatever fabulous trip your parents plan to give you, I'll be more than ready to date you. And we'll be on more equal footing, since you'll be starting your own business, and I'll still be running mine. I want you to grow up, Scorpius. I want to have a serious, solid relationship with you, and I want you to be sure of your own long-term desires and have some sense of your identity as an adult before we take that on."
Scorpius gazed silently and thoughtfully at George for several minutes. Merlin, I wish I knew what he was thinking, fretted George. I hope he doesn't hate me, or think I'm too old-fashioned for him now.
Finally, Scorpius spoke. "George, I care a lot for you. Maybe I'm a young romantic who doesn't really know any better, but I think I already love you. And... I can see why you're nervous about starting a relationship with me just now. I am young, and you're right, when the internship is done, you probably won't see much of me until a year from now." He paused. "My maman is planning on bringing me to Papa's family chateau in France until about a week before the Hogwarts Express leaves, and the point of the trip is to give me exposure to French Wizarding society - making contacts and the like. Sounds bloody boring, but it is what it is; I'm a Malfoy and a Greengrass and need introduction to all the 'right sort of people,' as my parents would say. Even though they know that I plan on working for my living and that this will make me less attractive in the eyes of many of the pureblood families. And then they'll be sending me to the tropics of my choice after I finish my NEWTS. So yes, you're absolutely right about a relationship being inconvenient, and if I were you, I'd certainly be worried that my young paramour would become...distracted over the course of a year.
"So, I accept. No defined relationship until a year from now, when I return from abroad."
"You do?" George asked, surprised and a bit disappointed by Scorpius' quick change of mind.
"Not happily, mind, but I do. It's only fair to both of us." He smiled ironically. "Some of your Gryffindor must have rubbed off on me while I was wearing your scarf, making me consider fairness, of all things."
George reached his right arm behind Scorpius, squeezing his shoulder before relaxing into a friendly embrace. "Well, the clothes do make the man," he said.
"I shudder to think what that made me two hours ago," retorted Scorpius. "But George?"
"Yeah?"
Scorpius' voice softened. "Can we still keep in touch, owl each other and the like? Because I'm going to miss you."
George swallowed. "Of course, Score. I'm going to miss you, too."
"Well, that's alright then," Scorpius said, and sat up, suddenly businesslike. "I reckon we should just quickly compare our observations about the potion and then head home, yeah?"
"You do realise you've picked up my verbal tics in addition to Al's, right?"
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?"
"The most obvious, maybe." George straightened his back, ready for a return to the magical scientific method. "Alright. So we both noticed that the psychotropic effects started almost right away. How long did it take for you to feel the physical effects?"
Scorpius stood from the settee, the items he had accrued during his month at Wheezes shoved haphazardly into a rucksack, with a large pot of the newly-patented 'Desire's Demand' on top. The patent papers were shoved somewhere in his rucksack; George had insisted that he take them, since it was his name on the patent.
He looked at George. "Are you sure you don't want to have my Wheezes robes back? Maybe you could resize them for your next employee."
"No, Score," George smiled. "Those colours are all yours, mate."
"Hmpf," Scorpius grunted, though he strove to keep even his grunts and snorts as dignified as possible. He was, however, uncomfortable; unsure how he was supposed to say goodbye, unsure how to bring this part of his summer to an end.
"Er, thanks for the party, George. It was loads of fun."
George laughed outright. "Oh, Score, the look on your face when you realised that we'd culled only male dancing fairies for your fairy lights! And the pudding-eating contest you let Teddy goad you into...."
Scorpius sniffed. "He just took advantage of the competitive streak endemic to Slytherin House." This statement did nothing to subdue George's laughter; in fact, he was coming close to his world-famous cackle.
"Oh my, Score," George gasped. "I'm going to miss having you here more than you can know."
"I'm not sure about that," Scorpius gave him a sad smile. "I'll miss you an awful lot."
"Ah, yes..." George said as he caught his breath. "Listen, I have a little gift for you."
Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. "A little gift that you need to give to me in private?" He felt his face break into a grin as George's face flushed. "Ooh! A naughty gift, is it, George? I can't wait!"
"Well, you'll rather have to wait to use it, I'm afraid." He handed Scorpius a small box. Scorpius pulled the bow out of the ribbon around it, and opened the box carefully. Nestled inside shredded parchment was a phial filled with swirling silver.
"A Pensieve memory?" Scorpius asked, awed.
George nodded. "Of that first time I tried 'Desire's Demand,'" he said, looking down.
Scorpius stepped over to him, took his chin in hand and lifted it so that George had to meet his eyes. "Thank you, George," he said. "This is incredibly special, and I shall treasure it." His eyes sparkled. "And wank to it, of course!" He kissed George on the mouth, light and chaste.
This is sweet, this kiss, thought Scorpius. As he pulled away, he said, "And I have parting gifts for you, as well."
"Gifts? You didn't need to give me anything," George protested.
Scorpius gave him a sceptical look. "Oh, really? After all you've done for me this summer? Leaving someone's home without sharing a gift with them just isn't done, George. I have actually learned something from all the years of comportment lessons Maman has forced on me." Scorpius pulled away from George and walked back to his rucksack, pulling out a box slightly larger than the one that had contained the phial, as well as a scroll tied with a green ribbon.
"Here. These are for you," he said, handing the items to George.
George made to untie the ribbon on the scroll, but Scorpius stopped him. "No, wait until you are alone to open these. If you need to respond, you can owl me."
"O-kay, Score. May I thank you in advance, even though I don't know what they are?"
"But of course!" Scorpius said impishly, and cocked his head. "It's about time for me to get home for dinner. One more hug before I go?"
"But of course," murmured George, stretching his arms out. Scorpius relaxed into his embrace for long seconds, finally bestowing a final light kiss to George's pink lips.
"Until next summer?" Scorpius asked.
"Until next summer," George confirmed, and Scorpius felt his gaze, heavy on him as he strode to the Floo, gathered the green grains into his fingertips, and threw it in, shouting, "Malfoy Manor!"
31st July, 2025
Dear George,
I imagine we've just had quite the awkward good-bye - I've been dreading that moment for weeks. And it's crushing to think that you won't be a fixture in my life for another year, though yes, I do accept that.
So I'm leaving you with some parting gifts. The one you should look at first is inside the box. Go ahead, open it.
Do you like it? I made it myself, moulded it from some of that leftover Tiberian clay, and cast a plasticity charm on it so it wouldn't get all hardened and brittle. I was remembering that day when you spoke of how St Mungo's wasn't able to give you a suitable prosthesis. I thought that was just plain silly; how hard could it be to replace the cartilage with some sort of moulded ear? Even if it were from Muggle rubber or something.
This isn't Muggle rubber, though. The fact that it's the same batch of Tiberian clay as that which we used for the Incense of Canens means that it will be particularly effective in helping you re-learn how to interpret volume and tone as the ear funnels the sound towards your eardrum. You can charm it to be whatever colour you want, and whatever shape you want - I made it blue to start since it clashes so badly with your hair. Can't have George Weasley of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes looking anything short of ridiculous, can we? But a word to the wise: making yourself look like an elf or a goblin is one thing; making yourself look like a cat is another. I doubt that a cat ear would work very well for you - stick to humanoid ears, George!
As for keeping it on, just use a standard sticking charm. Stay away from those permanent ones; you don't want to be stuck with my twee attempt at making a new ear if a better version comes along.
On to the second part of my gift, which, as you might have guessed, is contained in the rest of this scroll. I have written for you an account of the first fantasy I had of you with the assistance of Desire's Demand - the fantasy you watched me having. Please, don't laugh; I actually went through several drafts over the past few days. It's quite racy, so you might want to wait until you get home. Or not. Just make sure that Teddy isn't about to come into the office if you choose to read it there.
In preparation for the fantasy, I was very careful of where I spread the gel. I'd just watched you get off with my name on your lips, and was about ready to come already, even though I'd several times visualised my way out of the erection. So my question was, what sort of fantasy do I want to have? What kind of lover do I want to be, do I want George to be, especially since I know he will be watching and I very well might be moving in such a way that there can be no question what sort of activities I'm dreaming about.
I slicked my hands and wrists, almost halfway up the forearms. I spread the gel around my neck, rubbing just a little onto my earlobes, which are always sensitive. My nipples, too, just in case. I reached behind myself and prepared my hole, using the potion as a lubricant, sticking one, two, three fingers inside of me. This, even though I knew that the fantasy you would be stretching me as well.
By then, the fumes were starting to enter my mind. But I persevered. I shoved a little extra gel into my arsehole, hoping it was going deep enough to hit my prostate, because, damn, I wanted you to hit my prostate while your dream-self was fucking me. Then I spread some onto my arse cheeks and the backs of my thighs - remember how I told you I was a kinky bastard? I then move the gel ever-so-lightly over my cock, around my bollocks and onto the perineum before finally spreading some on my hips - the hips I know you want to grab when you're fucking me because I watched you fantasise about doing just that.
Finally, my mouth. Did I tell you I'd watched you lick your lips and then use your newly-potioned tongue to do marvellous things? It had looked like you were rimming me; is that something you fantasise about doing? When I wank now, I think of that image, the image of you on your knees, the sheet hanging from your cock, your mouth open and sucking, your tongue jabbing in and out of your mouth and sometimes taking a moment to reach further out and wiggle or rotate. It gets me so hard, so hot. It's unbearable.
Right now I've got one hand on my quill, the other cupping my cock through my trousers. I expect that by the time this letter is finished, I'll have pulled it out and be stroking it long and hard. You'll forgive me if I'm a few minutes late to work on my last day, won't you?
Right. So I've slicked my lips, making sure to get the corners of my mouth and the skin around the lips in case my fantasy self decides to suck you off. And I've used my fingers to purposefully anoint my tongue, so that it will both receive and give - shush, it's my fantasy! - pleasure.
Finally, looking over at you, seated on the settee in your blindfold and Gryffindor scarf, I made my way over to the Testing Area and lied down, pulling the sheet over me so that I could at least pretend a semblance of propriety. And I give up my conscious thought.
We are in your office; you're working on some sort of, well, something, I don't really care what, but it's paperwork. I saunter over to your desk and put my hands on your shoulders, aiming to rub some of the tension out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back just slightly, exposing sore muscles on the sides of your neck. I massage those, too, my fingers rubbing hard little circles up and down the cords. "Mmm," you moan. "Score, that feels so good. You've no idea."
"Sure I do," I answer, then take a risk: I bend my own head down to kiss the juncture of your neck and shoulder, darting my tongue out to taste the soap and sweat there.
You stiffen, and turn around so quickly that I'm nearly knocked over. "What do you think you're doing?" you demand. I shrug a bit, and you glare at me.
"I'm finally doing what we both want, George," I say after the silent tension becomes so thick that I want to cry.
"Presumptuous, aren't we?" you try to sneer, but I can tell your heart's not in it. "You know this isn't allowed, Scorpius Malfoy. No fraternisation."
"Fuck it!" I say vehemently. "Aren't you the one who always says that rules can be bent a long way back before they snap?"
"Well, if I kissed you back, there would definitely be a snapping sound," you snarl, and I can't help it, I think your anger, your tenuous grasp on self-control is dead sexy, and I move in again, trying to put my arms around your neck.
But I fail; you've grabbed my hands tightly and started to move me backward towards the Floo, moving to grab both my wrists in one fist as you toss some Floo Powder into the fire and shout, "Flatulence Flat!"
When I've stopped laughing at your Floo address, you old fart, I realise you are still holding me, holding my wrists together, holding them so tightly that it is starting to hurt. You grab your wand and command, "Accio hemp rope!"
My cock, which had only been threatening to go hard during all this, definitely sees the advantage of filling at the idea of having my arms bound. I wonder, what else might you bind?
You move my arms from where they'd been captured above my head to behind my back, looping the rope 'round my torso and then securing wrist to elbow. I'm not sure I like this game completely; you've not taken my shirt off, and now it doesn't look like it'll be coming off anytime soon. Except then you murmur, "Divesto," and my soul praises magic again.
"Look at you," you say, pacing around me. "Is this only way to keep your hands and mouth from wandering where they're not supposed to?"
"No, George," I whisper. "I can be good."
"Oh, I'm sure you could be good," you retort. "I just doubt you're motivated enough to make it happen for more than a minute." You look down at my cock, hard and ready for action. "Especially with that stiffie."
I drop my head, conceding the point. I've neither respect for the rules of my apprenticeship, nor the willpower to keep from breaking them even if I did. You finish your circuit and sit on a battered ottoman. "Come here," you say.
I come. No, I don't orgasm. I mean that I walk to you. "Lie across my lap," you say.
"George?" I query, hoping you're planning to spank me, afraid that you are planning to spank me. For while I've certainly fantasised in the past about submitting to spankings or stronger beatings - I did grow up in a manor house with a dungeon, after all - I've never actually been subjected to one. But I'm curious. More than curious. Curious enough that I had spread Desire's Demand on my bottom, hoping to work that particular fantasy into this one.
"Lie. Across. My lap," you repeat. "Now."
I lie across your lap.
You spank me, your bare hand hitting my bare arse over and over, alternating between series of soft smacks, more like pats, and harder whacks that make me whimper in pain. And make my cock ache. I'm so hard that I'm starting to hump your legs. "Oh, no," you say. "You won't be coming while you're being punished like this. Stay still."
I am so unsuccessful at this that you stop spanking me and push me slowly to the floor. "Kneel," you say. I kneel. You reach down, pinch my nipples hard while you kiss me, your tongue plundering my mouth. "You want to break the rules, Mr Malfoy?" you ask. "We're going to break them hard, then. But first, a little taste."
I'm confused as the head of your cock passes my lips and I suck delicately, my tongue pushing the foreskin back and forth. Isn't this breaking the rules "hard"? I'd certainly call it 'fraternisation;' what we're doing is just short of fucking.
Oh. That's what you mean, isn't it? My eyes go wide at the realisation, and you look down and laugh. "Oh yes," you say, pulling your cock with its taste of you out of my mouth. "We're going to get on to the shagging in just a bit."
And then you leave the room. I realise after a few moments on my own, my cock still erect but beginning to falter, that this is the punishment for young men who find their spankings arousing.
When you return, you are carrying a tumbler of water. "Here, drink," you say, and hold the glass up to my lips. I sip, I swallow. Water drips down my chin and onto my chest. I take a breath, and you ask whether I want to finish the glass; I shake my head.
You unbind my arms, take my hand, and I realise that now you are naked, too. You lead me back to your bedroom, with an old tied quilt on the bed. I stare at it in fascination; we've nothing like it at my house. "It's from when everything needed to be saved," you say, as if that explains everything, and I suppose it does.
I bend my head to kiss you, and you finally wrap your arms possessively around me. We deepen the kiss, and I wish you would swallow me whole. I want you to own me. "Please, George, please, please, please..."
Understanding my plea, you push me onto the bed, face first, and lie gently on top of me. "You want me to please fuck you, is that it, Scorpius?"
"Oh, yes," I say. What you don't know is that I've never bottomed before. Not to anyone. Even my first time, I topped, because, I reasoned, I'd done more reading on the subject than had Kent. I knew about such things as preparation, you see.
And you did see, gasping as my hole easily took two fingers, and with just a little prodding ate your third. "Dirty, slutty boy," you growl, kneeling on my calves and leaving my back cold. "Did you do this for me, or do you always go around stretched like a Knockturn Alley whore?"
"For you, George, only for you. Only you, you, you, you..." I'm chanting, barely cognisant of what I'm saying. I can't believe you're being this assertive, talking this dirty to me, but I don't have the focus to question it now. For the moment, you are the sun that I orbit, my own satellites be damned. You've got one hand buried in my arse, opening like a tripod to stretch me, then closing and twisting to hit my sweet spot in turn; the other hand is tugging at my balls, keeping me from coming. "Please, George!" I whinge.
"Please, what?"
"Please, take me, use me, fuck me!" I cry, and with that you flip me onto my back and haul my legs up so that my knees are bent nearly to my shoulders, and position your cock, your red, stout, gleaming cock, at my arsehole.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Your whisper is almost reverent.
"Yes, George. Please. I want this," I say, and feel you push forward, your fist guiding the head of your cock into my hole so that it doesn't slip out. I gasp as it enters; there's not a terrible lot of burning, but I still feel a bit, and in any event, I feel like you are breaking me open.
"All right, Score?" you ask, looking up at me. Sweat is glistening on your brow, and I nod. I think you are the sexiest man on two legs, and not just because it's your cock inside me. Your face has an openness that I'm used to seeing only rarely, when we've got a quiet moment together and our conversation wanders into non-Wheeze territory. Yes. This is definitely alright.
As you proceed in shagging me, leaning down as you pull out a bit to grab kisses or give me love bites, my legs open further, then wrap behind your back in their own sort of embrace. I've watched your technique; I know how you fuck. But it's amazing to actually feel the thrust-rotate-thrust-withdraw being pounded into my arse, to be the one gasping and moaning as I'm broken, stroked, created anew. And after we come, you growing stiff above and inside me as your hand tugs and twists at my own penis until it spurts, you pull out slowly and collapse in the bed beside me. I'm shaking from the orgasm; somehow, coming always lowers my blood pressure. "Budge up a bit," you say, and pull the now-messy quilt over us.
We cuddle. Despite the fact that I am taller, I tuck my head into your chest, and you stroke my hair as my hand pets the soft copper and white hairs on your chest. Who would have thought a bloke as freckly as you would have such glorious chest hair? Not I. I'm still bald as a baby.
"George?" I murmur.
"Yeah, Score?"
"Thank you for this. Even if it's only the once," I say.
"Oh, Score. It's not the once," you say. "I love you, you know."
A glowing happiness is expanding in my chest, and I feel like dancing, though that would require moving from the nest of your arms. "I love you, too, George," I say, and grin against your chest. We fall asleep snuggled together like that, and a wee bit later, I wake up, my legs twisted in the messy sheet.
That was my fantasy. I reckon it's not terribly realistic, but I'd love to see your wilder side come out sometime. I bet that there's a ferocious Papa Bear in there to go along with the Teddy Bear that is more easily apparent. I want to know them both.
I hope that you have a good year. Send me owls if you miss me! I'll try to be good about my correspondence.
With affection and desire,
Scorpius Malfoy
HOGWARTS APPRENTICES REFLECT ON THEIR SUMMER PLACEMENTS
By Albus S. Potter
August 1, 2025
...Finally, I was lucky enough to speak with Scorpius Malfoy, who spent the past month apprenticing under George Weasley of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
ASP: What sort of work are you doing with Mr Weasley?
SM: Oh, all sorts of things. I help out with greeting and sales, of course, but much of my time has been devoted to learning the knuts and sickles of producing, patenting, and introducing new products to the Wizarding population.
ASP: Really? Did you design any of the products by yourself?
SM: Of course not. While I have ideas for a couple of projects, nobody at Wheezes ever works alone. It's a safety in numbers thing.
ASP: Have you grown particularly close to anyone on the staff at Wheezes?
SM: Well, the staff does function like a highly chaotic, though loving, family. But I got closest to Mr Weasley himself; since he's my Mentor, I spent the most time with him.
ASP: What is the greatest lesson you will take from this summer, Scorpius?
SM: [Mr Malfoy pauses, considering.] It would be easy to say, 'Hold on to your playfulness,' since imaginative energy is the fuel of invention. But instead, I have to say, follow your passions. Even if others don't understand them, they're your passions and the key to your happiness.
Indeed, that seems to be the greatest lesson taken by all the apprentices I interviewed. The Summer Apprenticeship Programme is, from these accounts, as rousing a success as usual. With any luck, these students, including yours truly, will be able to take the lessons we've learned over the past month and use them to help plan our future.
My thanks in particular goes to Rita Skeeter, The Daily Prophet, and to those students and mentors who allowed me to interview them in the past week. My apprenticeship here is done, but my curiosity continues to know no bounds.
Perhaps you shall see more of my writing in the future. Until then, adieu.
Author: ????
Recipient: wwmrsweasleydo
Pairing(s): George/Scorpius, with mentions of George/Angelina, various combinations of WWW staff, and acknowledgment that both boys have had boysex before.
Word Count:~31 000; this section ~8110
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Before starting their Seventh Year, Hogwarts students are required to take a month-long "apprenticeship." Everyone is in for a surprise this year.
Warnings: UST, wanking (of a sort), light bondage and discipline, self-denial, consensual voyeurism, ADW: 47/17.
Disclaimer: All characters and settings are property of the illustrious J.K. Rowling and her representatives at Bloomsbury, Raincoast Books, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. This is written for fun, not profit, and probably wouldn't earn much money, anyway.
A/N: Thank you to wwmrsweasleydo for your request and your prompts! I used two of the three prompts; I wager that you wouldn't have imagined it would come to this.
To the champion beta/cheerleading team of M&M, each of you is, in your own way, the heroine who made finishing this fic possible. I couldn't have done it without you.
And to the mods, the ever-lovely tania_sings and lauryne78 , thanks for putting up with me and the fact that I just couldn't end it at any reasonable time or length. Your encouragement and patience is greatly appreciated.
CAREER OPPORTUNITIES FOR SWOTS
Part IV: A Denouement (of Sorts)
SURPRISES AWAIT THE OPEN-MINDED:
An Interview with Albus S. Potter
By Rita Skeeter
Three weeks into the summer apprenticeship season, I have the honour of introducing to you my own apprentice, Albus Severus Potter, son of Harry Potter (otherwise known as Saviour of the Wizarding World) and Holyhead Harpy Ginevra Weasley Potter.
Albus was matched to The Daily Prophet and yours truly after submitting a stunning essay describing how he hopes to travel and learn how people and creatures in other parts of the world live. It appears that there were no appropriate travelling apprenticeships, so we have had the pleasure of showing him the ropes, so to speak, at The Daily Prophet.
RS: What is the most interesting thing that you have learned this summer, Albus?
ASP: Probably that your Quick-Quotes Quill isn't a device designed to wreak as much havoc as possible on your interview subjects.
RS: And yet, you still insist that I interview you without the benefit of it.
ASP: Well, just because it isn't malicious doesn't mean it isn't harmful. The Quick-Quotes Quill functions as a fact-checker, but the facts it checks against have been limited to old editions of the Prophet, which means that the Quill does not allow for any new information to be ascertained. In fact, it will change the content of a quote to match what it believes to be 'reality,' if it fails the check. It is also charmed to frame quotes in your own voice, which is very clever and a real labour-saving feature. But I would hope that most reporters would be willing to do that extra bit of labour to ensure accurate reporting. Why are you laughing again, Ms Skeeter?
RS: I continue to be amazed at your optimism, that's all. What, in your opinion, is a superior way of writing up an interview or getting a quote correct?
ASP: As I've said every time we've spoken on the subject, Ms Skeeter, I think that it is much more ethical to take a few notes while interviewing, mostly to reassure the subject that you are paying attention, but really spend most of your energy watching them. Then you can Pensieve the memory and re-create the interview from that. It would require, of course, that the Prophet invest in a number of Pensieves, but such a successful organisation should have no trouble doing so; I believe that The Quibbler, which has a much smaller circulation, already uses Pensieve verification for its interviews, and includes both corroborating and discrediting evidence alongside the quote in the report.
RS: Yes, yes. Moving on, then. What have you learned about the techniques of reporting?
ASP: That it is essential to put your subject at ease, of course, and to seem friendly while retaining your journalistic objectivity. This is very hard, in my recent experience. [Mr Potter will be contributing his own piece on what he and his Hogwarts cohort have learned during their apprenticeships, to be published on 1st August, when his apprenticeship is finished.] Especially when interviewing people I've known for years, or have fondness for, I have to remind myself that this job is not about making them or myself look good, but about telling the truth, and conveying what information the public needs to know...
Scorpius and George had spent the morning brewing, making several different variations, including one based in aloe gel rather than flobberworm because women tended to prefer that for 'personal lubricants.'
Scorpius found that bit of information fascinating, especially since his recent studies had taught him that the flobberworm base, being a mucus, was actually closer to what women produced when they were excited anyway. Women were weird. Thank goodness he didn't have to worry about pleasing them sexually. Well, pleasing them both sexually and directly, he supposed.
George had called the staff together before the two of them had started brewing to explain that he and Scorpius planned to spend the day in the lab. They would be completing and testing a prototype potion, and that nobody was to enter the lab until they said they were done or they smelled smoke drifting downstairs. In the latter case, Verity and Teddy were permitted to engage in rescue activities as needed.
And thus Scorpius had been left alone with George for the day, trying to concentrate on the variations on the potion and keep up the light-hearted banter despite his rather intrusive thoughts of shagging the man beside him. Or being shagged by. It didn't matter to him, really. The knowledge that they would be trying out 'Desire's Demand' for real, and he would be fantasising in front of the object of his fantasies was enough to keep Scorpius well and truly on edge.
George, damn him, didn't seem to be at all apprehensive.
"None of these ingredients, especially when combined, are respiratory or dermatological irritants. This should go off with no ill effects; the big question is whether it will work as planned," he said confidently, and another chill coursed up Scorpius' spine. He'd got a whiff of the potion the night before, and was fairly certain that it would work. Perhaps it would work too well. He hoped that he didn't embarrass himself with his teenaged lack of stamina.
"So, George, how are we going to do this? I assume you're testing first, right?" Scorpius asked when they returned from lunch.
"Of course. Despite the fact that I'm almost positive this is safe, I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you because I was wrong."
Scorpius scowled at that. "Look, George, I appreciate the thought, and I have no problem with you testing it first. But you should know that since I made the potion up, I too would be overwhelmed with guilt should something happen to you as the result of using this."
"Of course," George let out a slow breath. "My apologies for not honouring the responsibility you carry for the safety of 'Desire's Demand.'"
"Plus, I care what happens to you, you prat," Scorpius added, his scowl diminished but still present. He took his own calming breath, exhaling loudly. "Right. Other than your going first, what's the plan, George?"
"Well, the subject will disrobe, apply the potion to the areas he wants affected by the potion, and then lie in the middle of the Testing Area with a sheet over him until the test is done. The observer will take notes about the visible or aural effects, and then we'll take a quick break for the loo and a snack, and switch off."
"Very organised."
"Well, you know how I think organisation is the key to efficiency."
"Indeed." Scorpius turned to George. "So... Is the subject going to get to apply the potion in private? Only, I don't really want you to see all the places I want to put it on." At least, I don't want you to see me preparing my arsehole unless you're planning on fucking it and good.
"Good point. Hm. I've got a blindfold somewhere." He rooted around in his desk until he found one. "Alright. Here we go."
"Are you getting dressed after you put it on?"
"What?" George paused again. "Oh. No, I'll pull the blanket on the settee over myself."
"Right. Shall I cover my eyes now?" Scorpius asked, wishing he could watch George strip.
George nodded, the blindfold went on, and Scorpius took a seat on the settee. He could hear George moving about, hear the thumps of his boots hitting the floor by his desk and the quiet sounds of his hands tapping one another as he folded his clothes. He heard the squelch of fingers digging into the lukewarm gel they had produced and the impact of the gel before it was (he assumed) silently spread on George's skin. He could smell the lotion, and said, "Hey, George, can you bring me a scarf or something to keep the fragrance from taking over my mind as well?"
The soft padding of George's footsteps approached, and something a bit heavier than Scorpius was expecting fell into his lap. He felt it; it was knitted, and he suspected that it was George's - or somebody's - old Gryffindor scarf. He brought it up to his nose and mouth and inhaled the scent of George. Yes, this is George's - smells of his shampoo and a little bit manly. Then Scorpius finally heard the soft thud of George's arse hitting the specially outfitted, cushioned floor, and the susurration of the sheet flowing onto him.
"Can I take off the blindfold now?" Scorpius asked.
"Huh? Oh, er, yes..." said George, obviously under the influence of the potion already. Scorpius tied the scarf around the back of his head so that he had his hands free, and reached for his notebook to scribble that the potion seemed to have an immediate effect on the brain, or at least on one's ability to register one's surroundings.
Having written that first observation, Scorpius looked over at George. The ginger-and-white head was all that remained uncovered at the moment, though when George shifted, the sheet moved to expose his left foot. Apparently, he had not applied any of the lotion to his feet or legs, as the sheet stuck to his skin where he had: his hands, shoulders, nipples, hips and cock. There was also potion on George's lips, which fell open as he moaned, and then licked, spreading the potion onto his tongue.
Shite, we didn't check to make sure it was ingestible, Scorpius thought, and looked over his ingredients list again. Well, everything in it is used in other ingestible potions, so we can only hope that they aren't going to be dangerous in combination. He breathed a sigh of relief as he ran through the list yet another time and realised that any dangers should have become apparent during the brewing stage. He turned his attention back to George.
Who was continuing to moan, arms working their way out from under the sheet to reach for his imagined lover. His head tilted up a bit, and his lips and tongue worked as if he were kissing, deepening a kiss, trying to devour his lover's soul. His arms twisted, one reaching up as if to tangle his hands in someone's hair, the other reaching down to grab an arse cheek as he pressed his own hips forward.
At the sight of George pressing forward, the tip of his cock making the sheet slightly more damp, Scorpius realised he might be in Big Trouble. He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he started to run through all the least arousing scenarios he could. The Headmistress in a milk bath. Extracting mucus from flobberworms. Gathering manure from the Hippogriff paddock to use as fertiliser. Mushy peas.
George groaned, snatching Scorpius' attention from the task of keeping his arousal at bay. He was now on his knees, the sheet barely covering his hips and cock. His mouth opened wide, and he puckered his lips, his tongue stabbing in and out, occasionally rotating. His hands were holding onto the fantasy lover's hips.
Oh, Merlin, Scorpius thought. What is he doing, and when can I have him doing it to me? It was torture, that's what it was. Scorpius distracted himself by noting that the subject was not only capable of moving while under the influence, but of doing so with gusto, so it ought not be done at a high elevation or on a particularly narrow bed. Once again his attention was brought back to George, who had growled and fallen forward.
Clearly, he'd moved on to shagging. He looked almost like he was doing push-ups, except for the fact that it was his hips leading the action, and rotating slowly before tilting up and withdrawing. His arse and cock were both on display now, the sheet having fallen away when he leaned over. Scorpius was stunned, and craned his neck down to get a look at George's red, swollen cock. "Come, on," George groaned again. "Let go. You know you want to."
Fuck. I'm going to shoot my own load if I don't calm down, think of something other than him, Scorpius thought. He pinched his arm and recited arithmancy tables and took care to smell his own breath in the scarf. He thought of Professor Sinistra naked atop the Astronomy Tower at school, standing right in front of the plaque that commemorated the fall of Albus Dumbledore, speaking of the Saturn regression. He imagined her nips all wrinkled and pointy in the cold air, and that his own bollocks were that cold and in need of a retreat as well. He felt himself calming, in a disgusted sort of way.
Until George cried, "Yes! There you go! Fuck! Come for me, Score!" and started snapping his hips faster and faster. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, want to be in you, live in your sweet tight hole, oh, Scorpius!" George finally stiffened and short, thick ropes of semen spurted from his cock.
Scorpius' own cock twitched, seeming to complain about how unfair it was that a fantasy version of it got to have all the fun. Scorpius' mind happened to be in agreement, but knew that, even at seventeen, his recovery time would be too long to allow him to come during his own testing phase if he gave in now.
He cast Tempus: the potion had 21 minutes left to go in George's system. Good. That should give him time to get his libido more fully under control before George snapped out of it, and get him back to "base level" before having his own go at 'Desire's Demand.'
Scorpius saw that George was cuddling the sheet and whispering to it, though he couldn't make out the statements themselves. Eventually he seemed to slip out of consciousness, falling asleep for the last ten minutes of the potion's effect, allowing Scorpius the time to practice breathing deeply through his nose, make some final notes about his observations, and willing away his erection so that the two of them could discuss the potion like mature, objective adults.
George woke up feeling languid. Then he realised that his arse was cold. Which was because he was arse-naked on the Testing Area floor, cuddling the sheet that was supposed to be covering him. In front of the young man he'd just spent an hour fantasising about to the best orgasm he'd ever had without another person.
Fuck, he thought, as he sprang to cover himself with the sheet, hoping that he hadn't made a great fool of himself. He remembered rimming the Dream-Scorpius, and fucking him like the younger man had been built for his own pleasure. He remembered that Dream-Scorpius had demanded more, had begged him to claim him, to own him, to tie him down and keep him forever. George remembered snuggling Dream-Scorpius close to him after the shagging was done, telling him that he was perfect, that he loved him, and hearing him say, 'I love you, too, Georgie.'
Fuck! This was not what was supposed to happen, though George couldn't imagine how he thought anything else would happen.
Now he had to watch as Scorpius subjected himself to the same sort of deep, amazing fantasy that he'd just had. And then they would have to compare notes, and probably talk about what they had witnessed, but in the most vague terms possible! Restore their relationship to sanity. Restore himself to respectability; he certainly counted as a Dirty Old Man now that he'd climaxed in front of the young man he lusted after.
He really, really ought to have skived off on this, assigned Scorpius and Angela to work together and have himself work with Verity, who knew all his secrets anyway.
"Er, hallo," he said. "You about done with your notes, then?" He felt the heat spreading across his face and his chest. Damn pale, freckly skin.
"Been done for a bit, mate. It seems that if your fantasy runs out before the potion does, the subject falls asleep," Scorpius replied, avoiding George's eyes. Which George didn't see because he was avoiding eye contact, too.
"Er, alright. Would you mind putting the blindfold back on, even though I expect you've already seen my goods? It would be more comfortable for me," George said.
"Right. Here I go," said Scorpius as he re-covered his eyes.
George looked at him for a bit, taking in the vision of the young man relaxing on the settee, wearing a blindfold and a Gryffindor scarf along with his Wheezes robes. The colours were dead blinding together, yet George couldn't help but find the effect adorable. He was unable to read Scorpius' mood from the line of his lips, which seemed slightly turned down, but probably more out of boredom than anything else. Right! I'm supposed to be changing! George remembered, and cast a quick Lavare over himself before tugging on his denims and shirt, robes unnecessary for the time being. He decided to leave his socks and boots off, too, even though he knew it was against his own protocol; he'd already had this potion all over his skin; the only reason he'd need his boots would be in case of an emergency. He'd take his chances about that, since Scorpius probably wouldn't be wearing shoes, either. It was only fair.
"All dressed, Score," he said, and winced, remembering how he'd addressed the boy in his fantasy. He soldiered on. "Ready to get your potion on?"
"Trust you to make that sound even pervier than it is," Scorpius muttered, just loud enough to make George chuckle uncomfortably. He held out the blindfold and scarf.
"Yeah, well, go on, then," George said, and slid the two accessories onto his face.
When Scorpius came to at the end of his fantasy, George was wanking his way through his second climax of the afternoon.
I'm going to a special hell for this. Probably the one filled with the most boring of Death Eaters, he thought.
Scorpius, on the other hand, had other concerns. "You let yourself come again? When I had to keep my entire sex drive in check while you wanked off, shouting my name? How on earth is this fair?"
"Score, I - "
"Oh, come off it, George. You can't hide the fact that your willy is hanging out of your trousers and you've got a sticky palm. Not to mention a very wee puddle on the floor. And we both know who you were fantasising about when you used the potion before."
"We do?"
"You, er, talk in your sleep, George."
Fuck again. "So do you, Scorpius. It seems we've something to talk about, eh?"
Scorpius rolled his eyes. "No ratshit, Rowena." He closed his eyes, sighed, gathered the sheet, and all of a sudden George had a lapful of very naked Malfoy. His arms circled the young man before he'd registered what he was doing.
"Oi!" George exclaimed as he realised that they were in rather a compromising position. "What are you doing here?"
Scorpius looked him in the eye, took George's head in his hands, and laid a soft kiss on his lips. "Just this, for now," he said. "I know the rule about no fraternisation."
"You realised you've crossed that line, don't you?" George groaned.
"Yes," said Scorpius, sitting up and climbing off George's lap to wrap himself in the sheet and sit beside him on the settee. "But it can be between us, can't it?"
George gave him a pained look. "It'll have to be."
"Thank goodness we've only got another eight days until this apprenticeship is finished."
"Er, Scorpius, not that you aren't incredible..."
Scorpius could hear where that statement was headed. "But what?" he demanded. "There's absolutely no reason why we shouldn't get together as soon as my apprenticeship to you is done. And why wouldn't we, when we both want it?"
George sighed. "It still has the appearance of being inappropriate - "
"Fuck inappropriate!"
"- and I totally feel like a dirty old man, since you're around the age of my own kids."
"What if Fred and Roxy gave their approval?"
"Scorpius!" George was scandalised. "We are not going to my children for permission to date!"
"Well, what do you want, George? Here's how I see it: I think you're the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on. You're also smart, stable, funny as hell, and successful. You make me feel warm and cosy inside, much to my surprise. I have witnessed you concoct me as your dream-bloke, and confess some tender feelings during the running of Desire's Demand. Yeah, our ages are pretty far apart, but what does that matter in another twenty or so years? The only thing that I can think of to keep us apart is this silly contractual obligation not to fraternise with one another, which somehow means we're not allowed to fuck."
George closed his eyes and counted to ten.
"Alright," he finally said. "You deserve a full and honest answer. The truth is, I wasn't going to act on this at all this summer. I was going to pine from afar, and let you go off after your apprenticeship to have the last wild summer of your youth. And while I want more than what we've got now, I'm afraid that you'll blow me off for some sweet young thing or some amazing opportunity."
"I won't -" Scorpius started to interject, but George held up his hand.
"You may not think you would, but Score, you deserve to have and take advantage of those kinds of opportunities. You do. I missed having them, and made some stupid mistakes in my life, like rushing into a het marriage, because of it. You don't need to be so eager to grow up.
"That said, I haven't felt like this about somebody in ages. Possibly ever. I could definitely fall in love with you. I'm fairly certain that if you decide to come back to me after finishing at Hogwarts and going on whatever fabulous trip your parents plan to give you, I'll be more than ready to date you. And we'll be on more equal footing, since you'll be starting your own business, and I'll still be running mine. I want you to grow up, Scorpius. I want to have a serious, solid relationship with you, and I want you to be sure of your own long-term desires and have some sense of your identity as an adult before we take that on."
Scorpius gazed silently and thoughtfully at George for several minutes. Merlin, I wish I knew what he was thinking, fretted George. I hope he doesn't hate me, or think I'm too old-fashioned for him now.
Finally, Scorpius spoke. "George, I care a lot for you. Maybe I'm a young romantic who doesn't really know any better, but I think I already love you. And... I can see why you're nervous about starting a relationship with me just now. I am young, and you're right, when the internship is done, you probably won't see much of me until a year from now." He paused. "My maman is planning on bringing me to Papa's family chateau in France until about a week before the Hogwarts Express leaves, and the point of the trip is to give me exposure to French Wizarding society - making contacts and the like. Sounds bloody boring, but it is what it is; I'm a Malfoy and a Greengrass and need introduction to all the 'right sort of people,' as my parents would say. Even though they know that I plan on working for my living and that this will make me less attractive in the eyes of many of the pureblood families. And then they'll be sending me to the tropics of my choice after I finish my NEWTS. So yes, you're absolutely right about a relationship being inconvenient, and if I were you, I'd certainly be worried that my young paramour would become...distracted over the course of a year.
"So, I accept. No defined relationship until a year from now, when I return from abroad."
"You do?" George asked, surprised and a bit disappointed by Scorpius' quick change of mind.
"Not happily, mind, but I do. It's only fair to both of us." He smiled ironically. "Some of your Gryffindor must have rubbed off on me while I was wearing your scarf, making me consider fairness, of all things."
George reached his right arm behind Scorpius, squeezing his shoulder before relaxing into a friendly embrace. "Well, the clothes do make the man," he said.
"I shudder to think what that made me two hours ago," retorted Scorpius. "But George?"
"Yeah?"
Scorpius' voice softened. "Can we still keep in touch, owl each other and the like? Because I'm going to miss you."
George swallowed. "Of course, Score. I'm going to miss you, too."
"Well, that's alright then," Scorpius said, and sat up, suddenly businesslike. "I reckon we should just quickly compare our observations about the potion and then head home, yeah?"
"You do realise you've picked up my verbal tics in addition to Al's, right?"
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?"
"The most obvious, maybe." George straightened his back, ready for a return to the magical scientific method. "Alright. So we both noticed that the psychotropic effects started almost right away. How long did it take for you to feel the physical effects?"
Scorpius stood from the settee, the items he had accrued during his month at Wheezes shoved haphazardly into a rucksack, with a large pot of the newly-patented 'Desire's Demand' on top. The patent papers were shoved somewhere in his rucksack; George had insisted that he take them, since it was his name on the patent.
He looked at George. "Are you sure you don't want to have my Wheezes robes back? Maybe you could resize them for your next employee."
"No, Score," George smiled. "Those colours are all yours, mate."
"Hmpf," Scorpius grunted, though he strove to keep even his grunts and snorts as dignified as possible. He was, however, uncomfortable; unsure how he was supposed to say goodbye, unsure how to bring this part of his summer to an end.
"Er, thanks for the party, George. It was loads of fun."
George laughed outright. "Oh, Score, the look on your face when you realised that we'd culled only male dancing fairies for your fairy lights! And the pudding-eating contest you let Teddy goad you into...."
Scorpius sniffed. "He just took advantage of the competitive streak endemic to Slytherin House." This statement did nothing to subdue George's laughter; in fact, he was coming close to his world-famous cackle.
"Oh my, Score," George gasped. "I'm going to miss having you here more than you can know."
"I'm not sure about that," Scorpius gave him a sad smile. "I'll miss you an awful lot."
"Ah, yes..." George said as he caught his breath. "Listen, I have a little gift for you."
Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. "A little gift that you need to give to me in private?" He felt his face break into a grin as George's face flushed. "Ooh! A naughty gift, is it, George? I can't wait!"
"Well, you'll rather have to wait to use it, I'm afraid." He handed Scorpius a small box. Scorpius pulled the bow out of the ribbon around it, and opened the box carefully. Nestled inside shredded parchment was a phial filled with swirling silver.
"A Pensieve memory?" Scorpius asked, awed.
George nodded. "Of that first time I tried 'Desire's Demand,'" he said, looking down.
Scorpius stepped over to him, took his chin in hand and lifted it so that George had to meet his eyes. "Thank you, George," he said. "This is incredibly special, and I shall treasure it." His eyes sparkled. "And wank to it, of course!" He kissed George on the mouth, light and chaste.
This is sweet, this kiss, thought Scorpius. As he pulled away, he said, "And I have parting gifts for you, as well."
"Gifts? You didn't need to give me anything," George protested.
Scorpius gave him a sceptical look. "Oh, really? After all you've done for me this summer? Leaving someone's home without sharing a gift with them just isn't done, George. I have actually learned something from all the years of comportment lessons Maman has forced on me." Scorpius pulled away from George and walked back to his rucksack, pulling out a box slightly larger than the one that had contained the phial, as well as a scroll tied with a green ribbon.
"Here. These are for you," he said, handing the items to George.
George made to untie the ribbon on the scroll, but Scorpius stopped him. "No, wait until you are alone to open these. If you need to respond, you can owl me."
"O-kay, Score. May I thank you in advance, even though I don't know what they are?"
"But of course!" Scorpius said impishly, and cocked his head. "It's about time for me to get home for dinner. One more hug before I go?"
"But of course," murmured George, stretching his arms out. Scorpius relaxed into his embrace for long seconds, finally bestowing a final light kiss to George's pink lips.
"Until next summer?" Scorpius asked.
"Until next summer," George confirmed, and Scorpius felt his gaze, heavy on him as he strode to the Floo, gathered the green grains into his fingertips, and threw it in, shouting, "Malfoy Manor!"
31st July, 2025
Dear George,
I imagine we've just had quite the awkward good-bye - I've been dreading that moment for weeks. And it's crushing to think that you won't be a fixture in my life for another year, though yes, I do accept that.
So I'm leaving you with some parting gifts. The one you should look at first is inside the box. Go ahead, open it.
Do you like it? I made it myself, moulded it from some of that leftover Tiberian clay, and cast a plasticity charm on it so it wouldn't get all hardened and brittle. I was remembering that day when you spoke of how St Mungo's wasn't able to give you a suitable prosthesis. I thought that was just plain silly; how hard could it be to replace the cartilage with some sort of moulded ear? Even if it were from Muggle rubber or something.
This isn't Muggle rubber, though. The fact that it's the same batch of Tiberian clay as that which we used for the Incense of Canens means that it will be particularly effective in helping you re-learn how to interpret volume and tone as the ear funnels the sound towards your eardrum. You can charm it to be whatever colour you want, and whatever shape you want - I made it blue to start since it clashes so badly with your hair. Can't have George Weasley of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes looking anything short of ridiculous, can we? But a word to the wise: making yourself look like an elf or a goblin is one thing; making yourself look like a cat is another. I doubt that a cat ear would work very well for you - stick to humanoid ears, George!
As for keeping it on, just use a standard sticking charm. Stay away from those permanent ones; you don't want to be stuck with my twee attempt at making a new ear if a better version comes along.
On to the second part of my gift, which, as you might have guessed, is contained in the rest of this scroll. I have written for you an account of the first fantasy I had of you with the assistance of Desire's Demand - the fantasy you watched me having. Please, don't laugh; I actually went through several drafts over the past few days. It's quite racy, so you might want to wait until you get home. Or not. Just make sure that Teddy isn't about to come into the office if you choose to read it there.
In preparation for the fantasy, I was very careful of where I spread the gel. I'd just watched you get off with my name on your lips, and was about ready to come already, even though I'd several times visualised my way out of the erection. So my question was, what sort of fantasy do I want to have? What kind of lover do I want to be, do I want George to be, especially since I know he will be watching and I very well might be moving in such a way that there can be no question what sort of activities I'm dreaming about.
I slicked my hands and wrists, almost halfway up the forearms. I spread the gel around my neck, rubbing just a little onto my earlobes, which are always sensitive. My nipples, too, just in case. I reached behind myself and prepared my hole, using the potion as a lubricant, sticking one, two, three fingers inside of me. This, even though I knew that the fantasy you would be stretching me as well.
By then, the fumes were starting to enter my mind. But I persevered. I shoved a little extra gel into my arsehole, hoping it was going deep enough to hit my prostate, because, damn, I wanted you to hit my prostate while your dream-self was fucking me. Then I spread some onto my arse cheeks and the backs of my thighs - remember how I told you I was a kinky bastard? I then move the gel ever-so-lightly over my cock, around my bollocks and onto the perineum before finally spreading some on my hips - the hips I know you want to grab when you're fucking me because I watched you fantasise about doing just that.
Finally, my mouth. Did I tell you I'd watched you lick your lips and then use your newly-potioned tongue to do marvellous things? It had looked like you were rimming me; is that something you fantasise about doing? When I wank now, I think of that image, the image of you on your knees, the sheet hanging from your cock, your mouth open and sucking, your tongue jabbing in and out of your mouth and sometimes taking a moment to reach further out and wiggle or rotate. It gets me so hard, so hot. It's unbearable.
Right now I've got one hand on my quill, the other cupping my cock through my trousers. I expect that by the time this letter is finished, I'll have pulled it out and be stroking it long and hard. You'll forgive me if I'm a few minutes late to work on my last day, won't you?
Right. So I've slicked my lips, making sure to get the corners of my mouth and the skin around the lips in case my fantasy self decides to suck you off. And I've used my fingers to purposefully anoint my tongue, so that it will both receive and give - shush, it's my fantasy! - pleasure.
Finally, looking over at you, seated on the settee in your blindfold and Gryffindor scarf, I made my way over to the Testing Area and lied down, pulling the sheet over me so that I could at least pretend a semblance of propriety. And I give up my conscious thought.
We are in your office; you're working on some sort of, well, something, I don't really care what, but it's paperwork. I saunter over to your desk and put my hands on your shoulders, aiming to rub some of the tension out. You close your eyes and tilt your head back just slightly, exposing sore muscles on the sides of your neck. I massage those, too, my fingers rubbing hard little circles up and down the cords. "Mmm," you moan. "Score, that feels so good. You've no idea."
"Sure I do," I answer, then take a risk: I bend my own head down to kiss the juncture of your neck and shoulder, darting my tongue out to taste the soap and sweat there.
You stiffen, and turn around so quickly that I'm nearly knocked over. "What do you think you're doing?" you demand. I shrug a bit, and you glare at me.
"I'm finally doing what we both want, George," I say after the silent tension becomes so thick that I want to cry.
"Presumptuous, aren't we?" you try to sneer, but I can tell your heart's not in it. "You know this isn't allowed, Scorpius Malfoy. No fraternisation."
"Fuck it!" I say vehemently. "Aren't you the one who always says that rules can be bent a long way back before they snap?"
"Well, if I kissed you back, there would definitely be a snapping sound," you snarl, and I can't help it, I think your anger, your tenuous grasp on self-control is dead sexy, and I move in again, trying to put my arms around your neck.
But I fail; you've grabbed my hands tightly and started to move me backward towards the Floo, moving to grab both my wrists in one fist as you toss some Floo Powder into the fire and shout, "Flatulence Flat!"
When I've stopped laughing at your Floo address, you old fart, I realise you are still holding me, holding my wrists together, holding them so tightly that it is starting to hurt. You grab your wand and command, "Accio hemp rope!"
My cock, which had only been threatening to go hard during all this, definitely sees the advantage of filling at the idea of having my arms bound. I wonder, what else might you bind?
You move my arms from where they'd been captured above my head to behind my back, looping the rope 'round my torso and then securing wrist to elbow. I'm not sure I like this game completely; you've not taken my shirt off, and now it doesn't look like it'll be coming off anytime soon. Except then you murmur, "Divesto," and my soul praises magic again.
"Look at you," you say, pacing around me. "Is this only way to keep your hands and mouth from wandering where they're not supposed to?"
"No, George," I whisper. "I can be good."
"Oh, I'm sure you could be good," you retort. "I just doubt you're motivated enough to make it happen for more than a minute." You look down at my cock, hard and ready for action. "Especially with that stiffie."
I drop my head, conceding the point. I've neither respect for the rules of my apprenticeship, nor the willpower to keep from breaking them even if I did. You finish your circuit and sit on a battered ottoman. "Come here," you say.
I come. No, I don't orgasm. I mean that I walk to you. "Lie across my lap," you say.
"George?" I query, hoping you're planning to spank me, afraid that you are planning to spank me. For while I've certainly fantasised in the past about submitting to spankings or stronger beatings - I did grow up in a manor house with a dungeon, after all - I've never actually been subjected to one. But I'm curious. More than curious. Curious enough that I had spread Desire's Demand on my bottom, hoping to work that particular fantasy into this one.
"Lie. Across. My lap," you repeat. "Now."
I lie across your lap.
You spank me, your bare hand hitting my bare arse over and over, alternating between series of soft smacks, more like pats, and harder whacks that make me whimper in pain. And make my cock ache. I'm so hard that I'm starting to hump your legs. "Oh, no," you say. "You won't be coming while you're being punished like this. Stay still."
I am so unsuccessful at this that you stop spanking me and push me slowly to the floor. "Kneel," you say. I kneel. You reach down, pinch my nipples hard while you kiss me, your tongue plundering my mouth. "You want to break the rules, Mr Malfoy?" you ask. "We're going to break them hard, then. But first, a little taste."
I'm confused as the head of your cock passes my lips and I suck delicately, my tongue pushing the foreskin back and forth. Isn't this breaking the rules "hard"? I'd certainly call it 'fraternisation;' what we're doing is just short of fucking.
Oh. That's what you mean, isn't it? My eyes go wide at the realisation, and you look down and laugh. "Oh yes," you say, pulling your cock with its taste of you out of my mouth. "We're going to get on to the shagging in just a bit."
And then you leave the room. I realise after a few moments on my own, my cock still erect but beginning to falter, that this is the punishment for young men who find their spankings arousing.
When you return, you are carrying a tumbler of water. "Here, drink," you say, and hold the glass up to my lips. I sip, I swallow. Water drips down my chin and onto my chest. I take a breath, and you ask whether I want to finish the glass; I shake my head.
You unbind my arms, take my hand, and I realise that now you are naked, too. You lead me back to your bedroom, with an old tied quilt on the bed. I stare at it in fascination; we've nothing like it at my house. "It's from when everything needed to be saved," you say, as if that explains everything, and I suppose it does.
I bend my head to kiss you, and you finally wrap your arms possessively around me. We deepen the kiss, and I wish you would swallow me whole. I want you to own me. "Please, George, please, please, please..."
Understanding my plea, you push me onto the bed, face first, and lie gently on top of me. "You want me to please fuck you, is that it, Scorpius?"
"Oh, yes," I say. What you don't know is that I've never bottomed before. Not to anyone. Even my first time, I topped, because, I reasoned, I'd done more reading on the subject than had Kent. I knew about such things as preparation, you see.
And you did see, gasping as my hole easily took two fingers, and with just a little prodding ate your third. "Dirty, slutty boy," you growl, kneeling on my calves and leaving my back cold. "Did you do this for me, or do you always go around stretched like a Knockturn Alley whore?"
"For you, George, only for you. Only you, you, you, you..." I'm chanting, barely cognisant of what I'm saying. I can't believe you're being this assertive, talking this dirty to me, but I don't have the focus to question it now. For the moment, you are the sun that I orbit, my own satellites be damned. You've got one hand buried in my arse, opening like a tripod to stretch me, then closing and twisting to hit my sweet spot in turn; the other hand is tugging at my balls, keeping me from coming. "Please, George!" I whinge.
"Please, what?"
"Please, take me, use me, fuck me!" I cry, and with that you flip me onto my back and haul my legs up so that my knees are bent nearly to my shoulders, and position your cock, your red, stout, gleaming cock, at my arsehole.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Your whisper is almost reverent.
"Yes, George. Please. I want this," I say, and feel you push forward, your fist guiding the head of your cock into my hole so that it doesn't slip out. I gasp as it enters; there's not a terrible lot of burning, but I still feel a bit, and in any event, I feel like you are breaking me open.
"All right, Score?" you ask, looking up at me. Sweat is glistening on your brow, and I nod. I think you are the sexiest man on two legs, and not just because it's your cock inside me. Your face has an openness that I'm used to seeing only rarely, when we've got a quiet moment together and our conversation wanders into non-Wheeze territory. Yes. This is definitely alright.
As you proceed in shagging me, leaning down as you pull out a bit to grab kisses or give me love bites, my legs open further, then wrap behind your back in their own sort of embrace. I've watched your technique; I know how you fuck. But it's amazing to actually feel the thrust-rotate-thrust-withdraw being pounded into my arse, to be the one gasping and moaning as I'm broken, stroked, created anew. And after we come, you growing stiff above and inside me as your hand tugs and twists at my own penis until it spurts, you pull out slowly and collapse in the bed beside me. I'm shaking from the orgasm; somehow, coming always lowers my blood pressure. "Budge up a bit," you say, and pull the now-messy quilt over us.
We cuddle. Despite the fact that I am taller, I tuck my head into your chest, and you stroke my hair as my hand pets the soft copper and white hairs on your chest. Who would have thought a bloke as freckly as you would have such glorious chest hair? Not I. I'm still bald as a baby.
"George?" I murmur.
"Yeah, Score?"
"Thank you for this. Even if it's only the once," I say.
"Oh, Score. It's not the once," you say. "I love you, you know."
A glowing happiness is expanding in my chest, and I feel like dancing, though that would require moving from the nest of your arms. "I love you, too, George," I say, and grin against your chest. We fall asleep snuggled together like that, and a wee bit later, I wake up, my legs twisted in the messy sheet.
That was my fantasy. I reckon it's not terribly realistic, but I'd love to see your wilder side come out sometime. I bet that there's a ferocious Papa Bear in there to go along with the Teddy Bear that is more easily apparent. I want to know them both.
I hope that you have a good year. Send me owls if you miss me! I'll try to be good about my correspondence.
With affection and desire,
Scorpius Malfoy
HOGWARTS APPRENTICES REFLECT ON THEIR SUMMER PLACEMENTS
By Albus S. Potter
August 1, 2025
...Finally, I was lucky enough to speak with Scorpius Malfoy, who spent the past month apprenticing under George Weasley of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
ASP: What sort of work are you doing with Mr Weasley?
SM: Oh, all sorts of things. I help out with greeting and sales, of course, but much of my time has been devoted to learning the knuts and sickles of producing, patenting, and introducing new products to the Wizarding population.
ASP: Really? Did you design any of the products by yourself?
SM: Of course not. While I have ideas for a couple of projects, nobody at Wheezes ever works alone. It's a safety in numbers thing.
ASP: Have you grown particularly close to anyone on the staff at Wheezes?
SM: Well, the staff does function like a highly chaotic, though loving, family. But I got closest to Mr Weasley himself; since he's my Mentor, I spent the most time with him.
ASP: What is the greatest lesson you will take from this summer, Scorpius?
SM: [Mr Malfoy pauses, considering.] It would be easy to say, 'Hold on to your playfulness,' since imaginative energy is the fuel of invention. But instead, I have to say, follow your passions. Even if others don't understand them, they're your passions and the key to your happiness.
Indeed, that seems to be the greatest lesson taken by all the apprentices I interviewed. The Summer Apprenticeship Programme is, from these accounts, as rousing a success as usual. With any luck, these students, including yours truly, will be able to take the lessons we've learned over the past month and use them to help plan our future.
My thanks in particular goes to Rita Skeeter, The Daily Prophet, and to those students and mentors who allowed me to interview them in the past week. My apprenticeship here is done, but my curiosity continues to know no bounds.
Perhaps you shall see more of my writing in the future. Until then, adieu.