Archive of Our Own

The extra large filing cabinet was Hermione’s safe space. Provided there were no pixie infestations, the extended drawers offered a place for her to bury her head, successfully blocking out the sight of Malfoy rolling up his sleeves in preparation to groom a mooncalf (a sight proven to be dangerous for both her self control and underwear).

Don’t even think about looking.

Just keep your head buried in the cabinet and pray that nothing sneaks up to eat you from behind.

The thought prompted a rather vivid memory of Malfoy biting her arse and sliding his tongue between her cheeks when they’d been alone in the Archives Department a few weeks back. Following the shock of such a memory, Hermione jumped, and a loud metallic thunk echoed around the office as her head connected with a metal drawer.

“Fuck!” Hermione hissed, emerging from the cabinet to rub furiously at the back of her skull.

“I know you don't want to go to the Ministry Christmas Party tonight, Granger, but giving yourself a serious head injury to get out of it is a bit over the top,” Malfoy called from across the office, managing to demonstrate far too much smugness for a person whose leg had been vigorously dry-humped by a Gnome last week. “If it helps, I’d happily fuck you until you can’t walk; you only have beg.”

The throbbing pain in the back of her skull did not stop the sudden flood of desire that flared to life between her legs following that statement. Fidgeting to relieve some of the ache, Hermione suddenly realised that allowing the rest of the team to leave early to prepare for the party might have been a mistake. In fact, a very grievous mistake, because she now found herself alone with Draco Malfoy; a situation that Hermione had sworn (multiple times over the past two months) to avoid. Yet, unfortunately, also a situation that seemed to be unavoidable because following the visit to the Treefern Clan’s cave and the resulting fuck-fest that (mortifyingly) could not be blamed on the Lust Potion infused wine, Malfoy had started accosting her at any given opportunity. Even more unfortunate was the fact that Hermione, famously known for being very level-headed and extremely professional, allowed it (despite sometimes having to sneak off afterwards to extract straw from places that straw really had no right to be).

Refusing to look in Malfoy’s direction, just in case she got ensnared by the eyes that had once convinced her to try a position that had resulted in multiple visits to a chiropractor, she called back, “Big talk coming from the wizard who wanted to reward me for scolding Harry at the Ministry Quiz Night, only to come in, what was it? Oh, that’s right: 96 seconds.”

“You didn’t just scold Potter for thinking he knew the Holyhead Harpies win record better than I did, you also solved a runic puzzle before Theo, the self-proclaimed runic genius. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. I’m surprised I lasted as long as 96 seconds to be honest,” Malfoy noted, then, after a thoughtful pause, added, “Also, 96 seconds is oddly specific. Have you been timing me?”

A grin spread across Hermione's face as she replied brazenly, “I’m collecting data for your end-of-year review.”

“Hmm, well to be fair, my ejaculation response time is more likely to get me a promotion than my correspondence response time,” he replied playfully.

“Not at 96 seconds.”

Godric, why am I flirting with him?!

He’s like a Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean; the mystery draws me in, even though I know it will end in gut-retching disappointment.

Malfoy shrugged, adding, “Well, given that I’ve shown a complete disregard for your owl post response time rules and haven’t responded to any letters for about two months, I'd side with the premature ejaculation; at least it showed enthusiasm and a willingness to succeed. Two things you said I lacked during my last review, I seem to recall.”

In order to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh, Hermione gave an over-exaggerated sigh of exasperation and muttered, “Godric, you’re infuriating,” before leaning back into the filing cabinet.

“I live to please you.”

An infuriating persistent flutter sprung to life in Hermione’s stomach. The fact that she was clearly developing feelings for Malfoy was alarming, mainly because it was apparent that the regular exchanging of orgasms between them was just a bit of fun. Yet, despite being aware of this fact, she remained a glutton for punishment.

Taking a leaf out of Malfoy’s book, Hermione decided to pass the blame for the complicated situation to the most depraved elf in existence. An elf who gave Umbridge a run for her money in the most tasteless wardrobe department, and who should be banned from places that sold small rodents: Leader of the Treefern Clan, Keith.

About 20 minutes later, Hermione noticed that the Magical Creatures department was eerily quiet. If it were early afternoon, when most of the animals took their nap, it might not have raised alarm, however, it was feeding time and therefore, the silence was highly suspicious. Suddenly on high alert, Hermione paused mentally cataloging the long list of filing violations that Malfoy had managed to rack up and moved away from the filing cabinet to survey her surroundings. Currently hidden somewhere amongst the tinsel-adorned cages, that now housed a variety of mute magical creatures, was the 96-second trouser jizzing champion.

A tingle of anticipation raised all the hairs along the back of Hermione’s neck as she waved her wand to cancel the Silencing Spell. The usual assortment of noises assaulted her ears once more: a cacophony of squawking, stamping, fluttering, rattling, and Beethoven’s 9th symphony (little known fact: Bowchuckles are amazing pianists).

“Malfoy!” Hermione yelled, successfully vanquishing the unease in her voice with an increase in volume. “Would you care to explain the Silencing Spell?”

“The Billywig was pissing me off,” Malfoy replied, somehow having managed to sneak up behind her.

A rather undignified shriek escaped Hermione following this revelation, startling the Bowtruckles and resulting in Beethoven’s 9th Symphony turning into five seconds of musical torture as the creatures frantically scrambled across the keys to the safety of their tree. The shock had Hermione’s heart pounding violently within her chest as she spun around to face him, a verbal assault of the most colourful expletives on the tip of her tongue. However, the words got stuck in her throat when she noticed the dark, hooded look and mischievous smirk he was giving her.

“Malfoy…” she warned, as he took a very slow and deliberate step forward, like that of a sphinx closing in on its prey.

“Mmm?” he hummed, taking another step towards her, forcing Hermione to take a step back.

“We agreed that we wouldn't shag in close proximity to the animals again! Especially after what happened with the Billywig!” she hissed, eyes flicking to the sapphire blue insect who was frantically flitting about his cage, wings beating so fast they were a blur.

It’s almost as if he wants a repeat of the great sperm spreading incident.

“I know it's Christmas, and the forecast is snow, but I can quite assure you that I do not plan on projectile ejaculating across the office again,” Malfoy noted, taking another step towards her, forcing Hermione back further until her thighs bumped against the edge of her desk. “I do, however, plan to spread some Christmas cheer by projectile ejaculating into you…” he grinned, adding as an afterthought, “Please note that I said projectile ejaculating and not premature ejaculating.”

“Thank you for clarifying,” Hermione said breathlessly, trying not to lose herself in the addictive scent of sandalwood and Mooncalf that was emanating from his body. “A relief, honestly. Your end-of-year review was shaping up to be abysmal at best. Still, we should refrain from spreading Christmas cheer in the office.” Hermione's breath hitched when Malfoy reached out and cupped her face, slowly running his thumb along her bottom lip. She was done for. At best, minimising the risk of getting caught was all she could hope for. “Why don’t we visit the Archive Department? I’m sure there are still a few pages of your father’s criminal file that we could stick together.”

“Whilst I do enjoy selecting old case files to fuck you on, my father’s war trial being a particular highlight, I have a fantasy that I wish to fulfil,” Malfoy noted, biting his lip as his eyes flicked to Hermione’s mouth. “A fantasy that involves spreading some festive cheer all over your desk, in fact. Now be a good girl and hop up,” he instructed, slapping the edge of her desk so hard that her core clenched in response.

“The animals need to be fed and watered!” Hermione argued, desperately trying to remind herself why she shouldn't be allowing this. It was exceptionally hard when the human personification of a Greek god happened to be towering over her.

“I’m in need of hydration too!” Malfoy insisted, grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up onto the desk. “I plan to lap at your cunt like a dehydrated unicorn who has finally stumbled across a watering hole for the first time in days. And then...” he whispered, forcing her thighs open and yanking them up around his hips.… “I’m going to impress you with my magical horn.”

An uncontainable whimper broke free when Malfoy pressed his erection against her core. “We can’t keep doing this,” Hermione groaned, unconvincingly, by all accounts, considering she had just started grinding her core against him.

As a wise woman once said: if you are already completely and utterly fucked, you might as well get your tits out. (Ginny was banned from Quidditch League games for two years following this statement.)

“As a well-educated witch, I’m sure that you are well aware that it is very bad luck to deny a unicorn,” Malfoy breathed, leaning forward to run his tongue up her neck and around her ear, which he bit with a growl.

“As a well-educated witch, I know that it is bad luck to kill a unicorn,” Hermione corrected, as her hands found their way into his hair. “And given that your current status in society ranks far lower than such a magnificent creature, I'm sure no bad luck will befall me if I decide to murder you and feed your corpse to the Manticore.”

“Salazar, how is it that you know exactly what to say to make my cock even harder,” Malfoy growled, and before Hermione could register what was happening, a bite of cold air washed over her skin from a sudden lack of clothes.

“Did you just banish my favourite jumper?!” Hermione screeched, as a shiver wracked her body. “Malfoy, we really need to stop doing this! We agreed that what happened in the cave was likely a result of the leftover Lust Potion coursing through our veins, but we have no such excuse right now!”

“You’re the only one looking for an excuse,” Malfoy noted, cupping her breast and running his thumb across her nipple, which sent a different kind of shiver through her body.

“I’m just trying to make sense of the situation,” she moaned, arching back to press her chest more firmly against his palm.

“Just like the Demiguise who vanishes every time I try to treat his alopecia, you really enjoy making things a lot harder than they need to be,” Malfoy chuckled, taking her hand, which he guided between them to press against the bulge in his trousers, proving his point.

Swallowing, she tightened her hand around him over the fabric, watching transfixed as his eyes darkened and flicked up to meet hers. Softly, he cupped Hermione’s face again and guided her closer, gently ghosting his lips across her own. The tenderness was even more tortuous. If she were honest with herself, there had always been an attraction between them. Even at school, the years of childish bullying had eventually turned into heated exchanges so fraught with tension that Hermione had been left craving alone time with the Vibration Spell that Lavender had taught her. Now, away from school, the attraction had escalated into whatever this was. Apparently, being compared to magical creatures in the most unflattering of ways was her kink, and Malfoy was more than happy to indulge her whilst simultaneously fucking her senseless. Hermione was quite sure that the random hook-ups were where it would stop though; inevitably their brief union would come to an end, and when it did, it was going to hurt.

Sensing that Hermione’s brain was in the process of overthinking, Malfoy tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss. Any resistance was futile, so whilst stroking his erection, she parted her lips to invite him in. Malfoy's tongue caressed her own, teasing, enticing, intoxicating. He tasted as divine as he smelt.

“I feel like a Niffler who's threatening to die rather than give up his hoard of gold; you have driven me to unyielding levels of insanity," he declared when they broke apart, panting.

Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest, but as her arousal-addled brain tried to come up with a response, a gasp was wrenched from her throat. The sensation of something strange being pressed against her clit made her eyes widen, the feel of it firm, but soft… yet definitely not a finger, despite Malfoy's hand being in the general facility.

Slowly, she looked down, noting blankly, “I see you’ve found another inappropriate use for a custard cream.”

“Mmm” Malfoy hummed, admiring the biscuit pressed against her core. “I removed the top layer of biscuit; I assumed you’d prefer the feel of the creamy filling.” Testing his theory, he rubbed the custard cream against her, which, Hermione was loath to admit, did feel rather nice. A delighted grin spread across Malfoy’s face when she bucked her hips forward with a whimper. “Judging by your reaction, I'd say we owe Keith a dormouse.”

“If you could refrain from talking about Keith at this precise moment in time, it would be very much appreciated,” Hermione pleaded, as short pants traitorously escaped every time the custard cream made contact with her clit.

Malfoy chuckled, leaning low so that she could cling to him as uncontrollable tremors jolted through her body. He rubbed her slowly, taking his time despite the hungry Firecrab to their left who was clearly trying to decide how to set them on fire for delaying his dinner. As the pressure built, low and demanding between her legs, Hermione reached out to undo Malfoy’s trousers, releasing his cock, which sprung free, hard and ready. Gripping it, she stroked him, matching the pace he’d set between her legs.

“I bet you taste delicious right now,” Malfoy said shakily, dragging his cock from her hand as he moved down her body to swipe his tongue across her core. The shock of it caused her to reach out, blindly seeking something on the desk to grab onto, which resulted in a number of items clattering to the floor. “Exquisite,” he breathed, swirling his tongue against her clit before moving away once more to kiss his way back up her body.

He looked extremely pleased with himself when he came back into view, so Hermione half-heartedly mumbled, “Smug prat,” before gasping as he swiped the biscuit through her arousal. Without breaking eye contact, Malfoy raised what was left of the custard cream to his mouth and bit down, groaning.

Custard creams are Harry’s favourite… I’ll never be able to have tea with him again.

“Godric, help me,” Hermione breathed, shuffling forward on the desk to line his cock up with her entrance.

“Rude,” Malfoy remarked, looking down in amusement at Hermione who was wriggling around to try and get his cock to do more than nudge her. “I haven't finished eating. Would you like to help speed things along?” Hermione eyed the half-eaten biscuit being held out towards her cautiously. “Be a good girl and open up. I promise it tastes better than the black cauldron sludge you fed me yesterday.”

“Marmite is not black cauldron sludge, you fucking heathen!” Hermione retorted indignantly.

Apparently, the punishment for calling someone a fucking heathen after they’d just rudely hated on one of the greatest foods in existence, was a spunky biscuit being unceremoniously shoved into one’s mouth. This was immediately followed by a firm thrust, which Malfoy may have experienced regrets about, given that the force at which his cock entered her body managed to force a spray of spunky biscuit crumbs from her mouth and onto his face.

“Your methods of seduction are quite an acquired taste,” Malfoy noted dryly. “It is fortuitous for you that I enjoy playing with feral beasts.”

“Acquired taste?!” Hermione scoffed as Malfoy began moving in earnest, cock slamming into her repeatedly as she continued her rant. “Says the man who just fingered me with a custard cream! And whilst we’re talking about fortuitous situations, it is very fortuitous for you that I have the patience to put up with your abysmal filing! Why would the Ashwinder file be stored under the letter C, you illiterate twat?!”

“Because he’s a cunt!” Malfoy growled, thrusting into her hard enough to send the desk scraping backwards across the floor.

“That makes no logical sense!” Hermione growled back, grabbing onto Malfoy’s arm to stop him from thrusting her halfway across the office.

“Not everything has to make sense!” he panted, leaning down to press her thighs against her body, managing to stabilise her whilst simultaneously securing her in a position that enabled him to thrust deeper. “I once fucked a decorative bowl full of clotted cream that my mother had left out after one of her afternoon teas. There was no sense in it, but it felt good… just like it feels good to call the Ashwinder a cunt.”

Molten arousal had built to a point where Hermione was finding it hard to think straight, let alone continue an argument, so to nonverbally demonstrate her frustration, she bit down on Malfoy’s shoulder. Apparently knowing her well enough to know that a lack of words meant she was close, Malfoy leaned to the side and slid a hand between them to rub firm circles against her clit. “Come for me,” he instructed, eyes fixed on the pleasure contorting her face.

The words sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, lighting her up, making her clench around him as the orgasm crashed through her body. In response, Malfoy thrust erratically, hand drifting to her neck, which he gripped tightly as he came.

Neither of them had any immediate plans to move, needing a moment to collect themselves and bask in the post-orgasm bliss. However, Malfoy’s hungry eagle owl had other ideas and swooped over to drop an empty metal food bowl on Malfoy's head with a dull thunk.

“Ow!” Malfoy cried, looking over his shoulder to scowl at the bird.

“I think that's his way of saying that he won't tolerate a round two,” Hermione noted, chuckling as Malfoy groaned and tried to bury his face in her breasts (the ultimate way to avoid responsibility).

The plan had gone better than anticipated: after gaining access to the Ministry by agreeing to pay an extortionately high fine for what Keith considered a minor misdemeanor (public indecency), he’d spent the rest of the afternoon skulking about (in)discreetly working on the real reason for the visit (sexy carnage). For it had come to his attention that the Ministry folk were planning a party, and given how up-tight they all were, it would have been a sorry affair without a little help from the Treefern clan.

I wonder if tha Ministry folk will permit me to exit via the employee entrance? I do love submerging myself in pipes full of sweet-scented sewer water.

Excited that his afternoon was about to get even better thanks to a toilet spinny pipe fucking, Keith pulled up the collar of his trench coat and skulked his way over to the fireplaces lining the wall of the Ministry Atrium. After finding a dark corner to lurk in, he began observing the employees heading home, assessing which one would have the privilege of giving him an unsanctioned piggyback ride on the sewer express.

It’s a shame I cannae stick around to enjoy tha show, but I did promise to pick up tha hamsters for the Clan orgy tonight.

Rubbing his thighs, distracted by thoughts of the evening's festivities, Keith almost missed the Meatstick Man as he headed towards one of the fireplaces, looking rather dishevelled.

Fate has decided to fuck me up the arse with lots of good fortune today.

“Meatstick Man!” Keith called, grinning in delight when the Unfortunate One skidded to a stop and bestowed him with an expression that could not decide if it was pained or annoyed.

“Stop calling me that!” Meatstick Man snapped, looking around to ensure that no one had overheard the affectionate nickname that poked fun at his engorged and unsightly appendage.

“Aye, I know; it's a sensitive subject. Did yah get the leaflets I sent?” Keith asked quietly.

“For fucks sake,” Meatstick Man groaned, clutching the bridge of his nose. “Of course it was you that sent all the penis reduction pamphlets! I blamed Theo… Now I have to apologise for signing him up to a girthy grannies subscription as revenge!"

“Woah,” Keith remarked, growing hot. “Yah musta appreciated the help if yah rewarded the gesture so generously!”

“Did you really have to send the leaflets ‘care of the Minister for Magic’?!” Meatstick Man hissed. “Your plan to embarrass me backfired, by the way; his secretary intercepted them and spread a very favourable rumour about me.”

“A rumour to confirm that yah finally doing something about yah horrendous medical condition?” Keith enquired.

Just before Meatstick Man could respond, a female with a face like a siren and a voice like a whip crack across the balls, cut in sharply, “What horrendous medical condition? Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Pans!” Meatstick Man quickly re-assured the female. “I’m fine.”

“Debatable,” Keith noted. “Especially if tha screams coming from tha female yah tortured in ma cave was anything tah go by.”

The siren, who seemed to be named after a kitchen cooking utensil for some reason, raised her eyebrows in an inquisitive way, clearly expecting an explanation. “I didn’t torture anyone! The screams were from pleasure,” Meatstick Man insisted. “Keith wouldn't understand, seeing as he relies on coercion or kidnapping to secure a female.”

Nothing wrong with it…

“Well thank fucking Salazar that you’ve finally found a witch and given up on Granger,” the Siren replied, looking relieved. “That was utter madness. Anyway, I want to hear all about her, and more importantly, what you did that made her scream to the point that Anorak Perv (possibly referring to Keith) thought she was being tortured. Let's catch up later, though; I’m already late for my hair appointment.”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Keith’s future wife sauntered off, somehow managing to make striding into a fireplace look like an erotic strip tease.

I’d love to cover her in dormice…

“What are you doing here at the Ministry, Keith?” Meatstick Man growled, jerking Keith rudely away from his dormice fantasies. “Apart from trying to humiliate me, that is.”

With a shrug, Keith went on to explain in a bored voice, “Came to pay a fine. I don’t see why though, can I be blamed if a gust a’ wind sent me loincloth flapping just as a group of nuns walked by?”

“Yes.”

“Gah,” Keith huffed. “Yah sound just like Auror everyone beats their stick over… Hairy Trotter, or whatever his name is.”

“Ah,” Meatstick Man noted with an amused smile. “I see that Ginny delegated the delightful task of dealing with you to her husband. I will be sure to bring that up with Potter when I see him later.”

“Aye, at yeh party,” Keith replied, failing to keep the delighted grin from his face, which, of course, made Meatstick Man suspicious.

“Why did you come here in person?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “I seem to recall that you’re not all that fond of fresh air.”

“Tha air in London is far from fresh, Meatstick Man,” Keith laughed. “Anyway, I’d better scadaddle; clan orgy tonight, and I need tah pick up tha hamsters.”

“In future, feel free to keep information like that to yourself,” Meatstick Man groaned, jealousy evident.

“Don’t worry, Meatstick Man,” Keith said sympathetically. “Perhaps yah boss will pity fuck you again tonight.”

“She didn’t pity fuck me!”

“I know what I saw,” Keith said sadly, as Meatstick Man's mouth dropped open in shock. “Anyway, enjoy yah party…” and with a small amount of elvish persuasion influencing his next words, added… “tha cake looks grand; you should definitely have a slice later.”

The Atrium to the Ministry of Magic was decorated in the way you would expect from a Christmas party that would likely end with at least two employees receiving a disciplinary. Christmas trees and garlands lined the walls, adorned with fairy decorations that had somehow acquired very large breasts (likely, thanks to the man who collected disciplinaries like they were trophies: Seamus Finnegan). The buzzing sounds of merriment filled Hermione’s ears, along with some lively music coming from a gramophone at the far end of the hall, situated near a makeshift dance floor. This early into the evening, the dance floor was occupied by the only man who was perfectly willing to embarrass himself whilst still sober: Theodore Nott, wearing a silk shirt decorated with snowmen arranged in compromising positions.

“Thank Godric you’re here!” Ginny exclaimed, shoving a glass of bucks fizz into Hermione's hand. “Percy has been banging on about the new additions he’s found for his pencil collection; I was seconds away from drowning myself in the punch bowl!”

“I thought he’d given up collecting pencils after George cursed them to draw naked pictures of Umbridge whenever he left them unattended?” Hermione questioned, thoughts flitting back to when a shriek during Sunday lunch at the Burrow had led to the discovery of Percy’s new wallpaper. Unfortunately, the artistic renderings of a nude toad woman with strategically placed cat plates had proved impossible to remove from her memory.

“Gah,” Ginny shivered. “Don’t remind me; not even my Mind Healer could help me get over that trauma. Bellatrix casting a killing curse at me? No problem. Pictures of a naked demon toad? Not a blizzard's chance in hell.”

“Relatable,” Hermione agreed, clinking their glasses together before taking a healthy sip.

“You’ve got a freshly shagged glow about you,” Ginny announced suddenly, making Hermione’s healthy sip turn into an unhealthy inhale. “Come on, who is it? And before you deny it, I feel it's only right to warn you that I am not against tickling you into submission, regardless of the skimpy dress.”

“My dress is not skimpy!” Hermione protested, pointing at the hem of her tight, green velvet dress that skimmed very respectfully above the top of her knees. In comparison, Ginny's extremely tight silver dress barely covered her arse. “Yours, on the other hand… I’d likely see what you had for breakfast if you bent over,” Hermione added.

“I don’t know about my breakfast, but you’d definitely catch a glimpse of the lovebite Harry left down there,” Ginny muttered, hiding her mouth behind her glass as though it might prevent her words from being overheard.

“Urgh!” Hermione remarked, wrinkling her nose before intrigue got the better of her. “Where abouts?”

“Just here…” Ginny I-have-no-shame Potter was just about to open her legs to show off the lovebite whilst standing in a hall full of people, when she huffed out a laugh. “Nice try, tell me who you’re shagging. I’ve seen this glow on you a few times over the past few months, and I’ll have you know, I’ve been very patient. In fact, I've only trailed you once, turned up unexpectedly in the hopes of catching you twice, and asked your interns about any unexpected visitors six times. Unless you’re having a very anatomically questionable affair with Hagrid, I've drawn a blank.”

The fact that one of those surprise visits resulted in her sitting through an entire David Attenborough documentary almost makes it funny.

“Why am I still friends with you?” Hermione asked dryly. “Hagrid?! Really?!”

“Me confirming that I’ve drawn a blank was also me concluding that your mystery man is not Hagrid. Come on, Hermione, you’re supposed to be intelligent! Do try and keep up,” Ginny remarked. “Now quit stalling and spill.”

Unfortunately, Ginny was known to be very good (and extraordinarily relentless) when it came to interrogations. She had once famously managed to extract a confession from Cormac McLaggen, during which he’d admitted to embezzlement (accused crime) and dressing his house-elf in a French maid outfit (the real crime).

“What I have going on… is complicated,” Hermione sighed.

Proving that whilst her job revolved around fact gathering, she was also still adept at jumping to conclusions, Ginny exclaimed excitedly, “Fuck; he’s married, isn't he?!”

“No! Nothing like that,” Hermione said quickly. “I just don't want to talk about it right now, not until I've figured things out.”

“It must be someone you assume I wouldn’t approve of…” Ginny mumbled thoughtfully. “And let’s face it, that isn't a long list… Grave dodger? Falmouth Falcons supporter? Someone who says ‘toodle pip’? Please tell me they’re more human than creature… because, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a centaur’s chest as much as the next…”

“Godric, Gin, he’s human!” Hermione cut her off. “It’s just, I don't really know… I mean, we haven't discussed…anything. I’m quite sure it’s probably just fun for him.”

Watching her closely, Ginny said softly, “But you want something more serious?”

“I don't know… maybe,” Hermione admitted, cringing at hearing the words out loud for the first time. “Can we please pause the interrogation, at least for tonight?”

“Urgh, fineeee,” Ginny reluctantly relented. “But only because it’s Christmas. Don’t get used to getting your own way,” she added, peering around for a change in subject. The subject change presented itself on the dance floor in the form of a wizard performing an overtly explicit dance involving air spanks and thrusting. “How long do you think we have until Theo rips his shirt off?” Ginny enquired.

“Maximum? 20 minutes,” Hermione predicted, a flashback from last year flitting through her mind, specifically, the moment when a semi-naked Theo had turned the buffet table into a slip-and-slide by smothering himself in blancmange and launching himself along it. “We should probably visit the buffet table before he gets bored and decides it’s time to abuse the desserts again.”

“Who knew blancmange would be such an effective lubricant? I can't wait to see what I learn at this year’s party,” Ginny mused as they weaved their way through groups of witches and wizards towards a long table filled with fun, festive classics, such as: party rings, sausage rolls, mini sandwiches, and, the ultimate buffet table staple, cheese cubes on cocktail sticks.

In what Hermione assumed was the organiser’s way of attempting to soak up some of the freeflowing alcohol (mini sandwiches could only do so much), they had also included a few hearty offerings this year, including: ribeye steak, a variety of pies, and a large snowman made out of mashed potato.

As Ginny scooped up enough sausage rolls to feed her entire family, Hermione set about decapitating Frosty. She had just added a small portion of pie to her plate when she heard Harry talking to someone further down the table, near the dessert section. He was blocked from view by a group of people wearing jumpers declaring themselves to be the ‘festive committee’ (Hermione would congratulate them on the cheese cubes later), but his words could be heard loud and clear: “The creepy fucker thought wearing a bowtie with his loin cloth counted as smart attire! I had to disinfect my eyes after the meeting, along with two chairs, a golden snitch quill holder, and a lamp!”

Beside Hermione, Ginny snorted at the words and, around a mouthful of sausage roll, informed her, “Keith showed up this morning, and because Harry dared to suggest that we don’t buy Christmas gifts for each other this year, I made him deal with the pervy fucker alone. You should have seen his face when Keith removed his trench coat to reveal a red loin cloth with white fur trim and matching bowtie.”

I’ll be lucky if I don't have nightmares about the mental images tonight.

“Why did Harry have to disinfect a lamp?” Hermione asked quietly, as they navigated their way around the festive committee to join him.

“Let’s just say that sex pests like to test an object's sturdiness by humping it,” Ginny chuckled.

“Gah,” Hermione remarked, wrinkling her nose.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until they’d maneuvered around the festive committee that Hermione realised who Harry was talking to. Dressed in a cream rollneck with an expensive looking pendant strung around his neck, emerald green jacket and tight black jeans that hugged an arse she’d definitely left scratch marks on earlier, was the cause of her current emotional turmoil.

“You could use the memory of Keith humping your lamp in interrogations; it’s sure to make even the most stubborn criminals break,” Malfoy was saying, barely containing his amusement.

“It broke me, that’s for sure…” Harry cut off when he spotted Hermione and Ginny. “Oh here she is!” he exclaimed loudly, eyes fixed on Ginny. “The woman who claims to love me, yet, even though I've experienced ample amounts of trauma in my life, delights in exposing me to more.”

Ginny responded with something about Harry needing to grow a pair, which then sparked a debate about who had been in worse situations since becoming an Auror, in order to determine who did, in fact, have a bigger set of balls. Hermione, however, wasn’t paying attention because Malfoy’s eyes had locked onto her the moment she’d appeared and were now very slowly making their way down her body. An involuntary shiver sped through her at the attention, and in order to distract her mouth, which thought salivating uncontrollably was an appropriate response, she quickly focused on finishing her food.

Godric, I'm worse than the Crup who used to dribble every time I looked at him whilst eating a tuna sandwich.

“I see you’ve finally managed to break the Hogwarts school rule regarding appropriate skirt length. Congratulations; you’ve managed to hike it up a full inch above the knee. What does being such a rebel feel like?" Malfoy asked, tilting his head to the side slightly as he stared at the hemline of her dress.

“Invigorating,” Hermione deadpanned, placing her empty plate onto the table and grabbing another glass of champagne from a tray as it floated past. “Did your house-elf shrink your trousers in the wash, or was it a deliberate decision to sport a permanent wedgie tonight?”

A slow grin spread across his face as he muttered, “The tightness was a deliberate decision; I enjoy it when the fabric presses against the wounds, providing me with a constant reminder of…” his eyes flicked to Ginny and Harry, who had finished their debate and were now watching the interaction with unabashed interest (or confusion in Harry's case)… “what happened earlier with the pixie,” he finished, straightening.

“Pixie?” Harry questioned, eyes flicking between them.

“One escaped and… ended up in Malfoy’s trousers,” Hermione explained awkwardly.

“Quite feral, she was,” Malfoy confirmed, amusement sparkling in his eyes at her ridiculous response.

“Another traumatising image I didn't need,” Harry mumbled blankly.

“Yes, it’s been quite a traumatising day, hasn't it, Potter? Get some of this down you, it will make you feel better,” Malfoy said, cutting Harry a slice of cake from a rather unattractive mould-green monstrosity decorated with pink frosting. “I don’t usually care for cake, more of an ice cream man, but something about this one has been calling to me since I arrived,” he added, also cutting a slice for himself.

Whilst Malfoy and Harry were preoccupied with gorging themselves on questionable cake, Ginny leaned in to whisper, “I can’t believe you have been fucking Draco Malfoy and have not provided me every filthy detail! I hope you realise that such an offence gives me grounds to arrest you.”

Apparently not done, Ginny opened her mouth to say more, and in a moment of sheer panic, Hermione concluded that there was only one way to prevent further verbal accusations, and that was to shove a sausage roll into Ginny’s mouth. “I… we’re not… you can’t arrest me for…” she babbled.

“Chill out,” Ginny hissed, chewing at a speed that could only come from growing up in a multi-sibling household. “The pixie story was pathetic, to say the least, and the only reason Harry has accepted it is because he doesn’t want to think about the two of you fucking. I, on the other hand, have no problem with that image. In fact..” Ginny abruptly cut off when she caught sight of Harry and Malfoy in her periphery, the latter staring at her husband intently as he reached out a finger to gently brush away some escaped frosting from the edge of Harry’s mouth.

“Urm…” Hermione remarked, when Malfoy opened his mouth and sucked the frosting-covered finger clean. “Malfoy, what are you doing?”

“Why does such a pretty mouth always have to ask so many stupid questions?” Malfoy mumbled, moving closer to Harry, who was watching him intently.

Is this a prank…?

It’s a weirdly erotic prank if that is the case…

“I’m not entirely sure what’s happening,” Ginny muttered, sliding her half-eaten plate of sausage rolls onto the table to give the situation her full attention. “But I’m glad I'm not a guy because there’d likely be a serious trouser situation going on.”

As though in a trance, Harry stepped up to Malfoy, bringing their chests flush together and forcing a shaky exhale from his mouth. “Despite you winning our argument about who has the bigger pair of metaphorical balls,” Harry breathed. “I can assure you that I have a very real pair, and a very serious trouser situation going on right now.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Good to know,” Ginny breathed, watching intently as Harry's hand slid down Malfoy's chest to squeeze his pectoral.

“You want to do this in public?” Malfoy muttered, gripping the back of Harry’s neck. “And there I was thinking you were ashamed of me.”

Harry groaned, “What are you talking about? You groped me in the middle of a playground last week when one of the single mums offered to shine my broomstick…”

Hermione looked at Ginny blankly, who sheepishly explained, “Found out afterwards that it was an innocent offer; the woman works at Spintwitches Sporting Goods Store, but how was I supposed to know that?!”

“You can shine my broomstick,” Malfoy groaned, pressing his lips against Harry’s.

Oh…

At this point, it had become clear that something was amiss. However, Hermione was having a very hard time trying to convince herself to do anything other than gawp, especially when Harry and Malfoy began kissing in earnest. The noises forced a flush of heat up Hermione’s neck that bloomed to life across her cheeks and suddenly gave her the overwhelming urge to perform a swan dive into the nearest ice bucket.

“We should probably stop them, they’ve clearly been enchanted,” Hermione noted, not moving despite her words.

“Clearly,” Ginny agreed, also not moving. “But, I’m also quite curious to see where this goes.”

Harry’s hand slid into Malfoy’s hair as he tilted his head to the side, allowing Malfoy to deepen the kiss, which he did with a loud groan that was luckily drowned out by the music. A giggle, the likes of which she’d never heard from Harry before, escaped when Malfoy bit his lip before running his tongue along it and sliding it into his mouth. What had started as quite a tender exchange, quickly turned into a frantic clashing of tongues as they both battled for dominance.

“Good Godric,” Ginny breathed.

With a lack of words forthcoming, Hermione decided to silently agree with Ginny’s assessment by nodding.

Unfortunately, the rather public re-enactment of everyone’s favourite trope (enemies to lovers) caught the attention of the nearby Festive Committee, made apparent by a chorus of shocked gasps, followed by uncontrollable giggles and someone remarking loudly, “Bit early for truth or dare! I’m still on the cheese cubes!”

The reality of the situation sunk in, thankfully snapping Hermione back to her senses. “We need to get them out of here!” she insisted, giving Ginny a shake.

With a great show of reluctance, Ginny groaned and was about to agree when Theo Nott decided to activate full chaos mode, only this time, the deserts were not the target. “I’ve been dreaming of this my whole life!” he declared, ripping open his shirt (still a highlight, even given the current situation) and diving towards Harry and Malfoy.

The now threeway kiss, which involved an aggressively enthusiastic combination of hair pulling, grunts, and tongue, unfortunately attracted even more attention.

“What in Hufflepuffs name is going on here?!” Kingsley remarked, abandoning the pie he’d been in the process of serving himself, to observe three of his Ministry employees partake in a very aggressive game of tonsil tennis.

“They’ve been enchanted!” Ginny explained, rushing forward, only to rather spectacularly fail in her attempt to wrestle Harry away from the tongue tornado. Harry used the age-old technique of a hand against Ginny’s forehead to keep her back whilst he latched mouths with Theo, allowing Malfoy to begin trailing kisses down his neck.

Knowing that physical restraint on Malfoy would be useless, Hermione flicked her wand to yank him back a few paces and hold him still, which resulted in a very frustrated growl of, “Playing hard to get, I see!”

“It must be the cake” Ginny grunted, still trying to wrestle Harry’s hand away from her face as Theo grabbed Harry’s arse, declaring, “I can’t wait to suffocate between these cheeks.”

“I’m going to have nightmares about this,” Dean Thomas, part of the Festive Committee, muttered. It was then that Hermione peered over her shoulder and discovered that a rather large crowd had gathered to watch.

Kingsley, who had knelt down to examine the cake, suddenly stood, shaking out a piece of parchment. “This was baked inside,” he said, casting a Scourgify over it before scanning over the words. Frowning in annoyance, he handed it to Hermione when he was done:

The Treefern Clan of Dumfries in Scotland, wishes the Ministry Folk a very merry Christmas. We hope this cake creates many memories that you’ll never forget, and definitely regret.

Squinting, Hermione moved to the bottom of the note, where, in very small writing it went on to say:

In accordance with rules put in place by the Wizarding Consumer Goods Committee of 1887, below is a list of all the ingredients used:

-Eggs - guzzled and regurgitated.

-Sugar - used first as skin exfoliant for extra sweetness.

-Flour - sieved through the holes of an ancient loincloth.

-Butter - softened under the arse of the prestigious Keith.

-Vanilla extract - bought at Tesco (please accept our apologies)

-Rose-Tinted Lust Potion - brewed in-house, and allows the consumer to see the person they most desire in the face and body of the first person they see after consumption. Side effects include: ravenous behaviour towards that person until the lust is sated, sexual positions that may lead to injury, a desire to explore sexual activities deemed illegal, catching sexually transmittable diseases, crippling regret, weeping and itchy balls. Recommended for use at orgies and bar mitzvahs.

“Fucking hell,” Hermione huffed, handing the note to Ginny, who snort-laughed her way through it. “Don’t worry, Kings, Gin and I will handle this…” she waved a hand towards Malfoy, Harry, and Theo, who were desperately straining to get back to one another… “You might want to hide the cake, unless a mass orgy was how you planned to close out the year.”

“Definitely not high on my list of things to explain to the Board of Directors,” Kingsley confirmed, levitating the cake into the air.

Ginny, a woman keen on resorting to violence, opted to physically wrestle Harry out of the Atrium and towards the Medi-bay, whilst Hermione (only prone to violence when provoked), was left to deal with not one, but two cunning Slytherins. Deciding to make things easier on herself, she restrained them with a Binding Curse and levitated them into the air, which resulted in some very fun declarations (Theo: “Fuck, I love bondage! Bring on the nipple clamps!” Malfoy: “My hands are made for pleasure; you’re doing yourself a disservice!”).

Indeed; I’m sure Harry will be most disappointed that those pleasurable hands are being restrained.

The medi-bay, a small room containing four beds, a bleachy scent, and tall cupboards stuffed full of supplies, was deserted. Which wasn’t surprising, given that it was too early for an influx of drunken wizards with injuries stemming from ill-advised stunts performed in an attempt to relive their ‘glory days’.

Hermione levitated Malfoy and Theo onto beds next to one another, ensuring that the Binding Curse was still in effect as Ginny wrestled Harry on a bed opposite them and stuck him down with a Sticking Charm.

“Just like last Thursday, only without the baby oil," Ginny muttered to him, as she attached his hand to the metal bedframe.

Gah.

“I’ll get some, if that's what you want!” Harry insisted, looking past Gin to stare desperately at Malfoy.

With a frustrated noise, Malfoy began frantically straining against the Binding Curse.

“Oh no, you stay where you are,” Hermione insisted.

“Why do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?” Malfoy groused at Harry. “You were clearly put on this earth to torment me.”

“Me torment you?! Says the woman who made me go to a ‘monkey music’ class with James the other day,” Harry retorted. “Trust me, no one has experienced torment until they've been trapped in a room full of toddlers who are actively encouraged to play with musical instruments!”

“True,” Ginny confirmed. “That class always gives me a migraine, but considering I birthed the child, it’s perfectly within my rights to assign Harry the musical torture. Anyway, what are we looking for?” she asked, opening the doors of a cupboard to peer at the supplies stacked inside.

“A general antidote that covers a number of different potions should work,” Hermione replied, kneeling down behind a large desk to wrench open each of the drawers one by one.

They were barely a few minutes into the search when a loud crash highlighted a very unfortunate detail that Ginny and Hermione had overlooked: in their haste, they’d not relieved the horny trio of their wands. So, after managing to free themselves, they’d now re-gathered in the center of the room and were picking up where they’d left off: Malfoy gripped Harry around the waist and pulled him close to trail kisses down his neck, whilst Theo wrapped his arms around Malfoy from behind and began groping his chest, slowly flicking open the buttons of his shirt as he went (a move both arousing and impressive; Hermione struggled with shirt buttons when in full view of them).

“Salazar, I love this arse,” Malfoy breathed, squeezing Harry’s arse before sucking on his neck hard enough to leave a mark.

“And I love this arse!” Theo announced, dropping to his knees to bite Malfoy’s arse through his trousers.

Godric; they're insatiable.

“Ginny!” Hermione snapped, noticing that Ginny seemed perfectly content to watch and was making no move to restrain anyone. “Watching definitely constitutes taking advantage of the situation!”

“Relax, Hermione, it’s all been pretty tame so far,” she insisted. “Plus, they’re all hot. I can't be blamed for enjoying it a little bit.”

“You can! And anyway, given that Harry is clearly picturing you, I can understand why you might be finding this fun. I, however, do not want to see Malfoy fantasize about some mystery woman…”

“Mystery woman?! He responded to your voice! And complained about stubbornness at least twice! Isn’t it obvious who he is picturing?!” Ginny remarked, an incredulous look taking over her face.

“Malfoy is an idiot; I'm sure he deems a lot of people stubborn, especially when he thinks stubbornness is born from basic things, like wanting a logical filing system,” Hermione insisted stubbornly.

“Godric, for someone so bright, you really are surprisingly dim at times,” Ginny muttered and, with a roll of her eyes, wandered over to the group. Whilst stroking her hand through Theo’s hair as he playfully nipped at Malfoy's arse, she leaned close to Malfoy’s ear and demanded, “What’s my name?! I want to hear you say it!”

“Ginny!” Hermione shrieked, just as Malfoy groaned “Hermione,” against Harry’s mouth.

Fuck.

… I hope one of these cupboards has a shelf labelled emergency underwear.

“Hmm, most desired,” Ginny mused, still stroking Theo’s hair as though he were a fond pet. “I get the impression he might want more than just fun, Hermione.”

“So much more,” Malfoy breathed, brushing some of Harry’s unruly hair away from his face before kissing him again.

The words took Hermione's imagination on a merry adventure where she experienced visions of herself and Malfoy acting inappropriately with custard creams in a variety of different scenarios. A strong (yet stubborn) woman with an idiot by her side, bickering their foreplay, insults their love language… no longer would she need to seek solace in filing cabinets. Draco Malfoy was, in a surprising turn of events, everything she wanted, and, as she observed him doing a thorough job of tonguing every inch of Harry’s mouth, Hermione concluded that she’d quite like to keep him.

“If you’re going to join in, I need to know the ground rules,” Theo breathed, running a hand up Ginny’s thigh, which quite effectively ruined whatever moment Hermione was having. “I don't want to piss off the saviour of the wizarding world by giving his wife a creampie without permission.”

… And if there was ever a sentence to make me consider obliviation.

“Permission…” Ginny echoed, giving Theo a puzzled look. “Wait a fucking minute; no one else is asking for permission! You didn’t even eat the cake, did you?!”

“Can’t, cake goes straight to my hips,” Theo noted sadly as he pushed up from the floor, dragging an open palm up Draco’s exposed chest. “What’s cake got to do with anything?”

“If you’re not enchanted, why the fuck are you…” Hermione indicated to Harry, who let out an overtly sexual noise as Malfoy bit down on his lip.

“Oh!” Theo’s eyes widened. “They’re enchanted! I did wonder why Draco hadn't pushed me away; he usually does when I try my luck,” Theo laughed, circling his thumb over Malfoy’s nipple, triggering Malfoy to grab Harry’s thigh, which he tugged up around his waist. “I assumed this was a pre-agreed Christmas treat for you both, and when neither of them pushed me away, I just went along with it.”

“That’s quite an assumption,” Hermione noted, unable to stop her eyes drifting down to where Malfoy and Harry were grinding against each other. “If this were a Christmas treat, why would they enact it for us in the middle of the Ministry Atrium?!”

Theo sighed, very reluctantly prying his hands off his best friend and moving away. “Draco would do anything for you,” he explained, the unspoken ‘duh’ obvious in his expression. “I thought you’d requested it.”

“Malfoy would certainly not do anything for me! If that were true, he would have stopped calling the Hippogriff ‘Beaky McBeakface’ a long time ago!” Hermione insisted, her traitorous heart tripping over itself within her chest despite the evidence she’d presented to dismiss Theo’s claim.

“Shut up, you obnoxiously stubborn Puffskein,” Malfoy breathed between kisses. “The only reason I won't rename the Hippogriff is because your indignation makes me hard.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open as Theo and Ginny were overcome with uncontrollable laughter.

“You haven't called me a Puffskein before,” Harry panted. “I thought you liked to call me your fuckable little Firebolt…”

“The list of things I need to talk to my therapist about just keeps getting longer,” Hermione exclaimed, raising an eyebrow at Ginny, just as Theo blurted, “Little firebolt?! I’m going to need clarification on whether the saviour of the wizarding world is sporting a micro-wand because, if he is, it would do wonders for my ego.”

“Considering that you invited yourself along to what you thought was our Christmas treat, I think we can safely conclude that your ego is big enough,” Hermione told Theo dryly.

“Just like my cock, which is more than can be said for Potter, apparently,” Theo replied.

I can already hear the rumours spreading.

“Hey! Harry is very generously equipped and wields his cock with a lot of enthusiasm, sometimes even precision when he really tries,” Ginny remarked, leaving Hermione trying to work out if Harry had just been complimented or insulted.

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry mumbled, fisting a hand into Malfoy's hair and pulling his head to the side to nip and lick at his ear.

“Salazar, who needs a cup of tea?! I want to dunk my custard cream in you again,” Malfoy groaned.

“I’m going to need a full explanation with regards to that statement,” Ginny quickly informed her. “But for the sake of confectionery, I think we should continue our search for an antidote.”

With a reluctant Theo begrudgingly assisting, they went from cabinet to cabinet, inspecting potion vials, knocking things onto the floor, and, in general, making a lot of mess. As they worked, Hermione made a mental note to file a complaint with regards to the lack of organisation, of which, there was none. At one point, Theo tried to Accio an antidote, but given that they didn’t know the name of whatever antidotes the Ministry used, the spell resulted in silence punctuated by the rustling noises of two men dry humping each other.

When a very pleasurable moan filled the room, Hermione jumped, accidentally sending a number of bandages cascading to the floor.

Shit, we left the horny duo unattended for too long.

“Malfoy! Remove your hand from the back of Harry’s trousers!” Hermione snapped, flicking her wand to send Malfoy careening back into one of the beds, where she proceeded to cast Petrificus Totalus on him.

“It’s probably a good thing that I just found an antidote, because Harry is likely going to need some serious therapy, given what Malfoy probably did to get him to moan like that,” Ginny noted, holding a vial out for Hermione to inspect.

“Do we think there is a slight possibility that Draco fingered the saviour’s arse?” Theo questioned delightedly. “If so, I can’t wait to tell Blaise.”

“Godric on a Gondela,” Hermione signed exasperatedly. “If that happened, it doesn't leave this room,” she insisted, running a hand through her hair as she skim read the description on the antidote vial that Ginny had found. “This should work,” she concluded, relieved.

After depositing three drops of the antidote into Malfoy's mouth with minimal help from Theo, Hermione handed the vial to Ginny, who looked far too excited at the prospect of bringing her husband back to a reality in which he’d potentially had his arse (accidentally) violated by his school nemesis. Once the antidote had been administered to all affected parties, Hermione cast a Finite to cancel the Petrification Curse on Malfoy and stepped back to watch him in anxious anticipation.

The lust-crazed frenzy slowly left Harry and Malfoy’s bodies, their muscles visibly relaxing against the mattress. Instead of moving, however, they both laid very still with wide-eyed stares fixed on the ceiling.

“What the fuck,” were Malfoy’s eventual first words. Predictable and to the point.

“Urm, look I know how you love to blame others for your indiscretions, and in this instance, we’re all fully behind you!” Hermione said, attempting to sound positive. “You can blame all actions from the past hour on the Treefern Clan and the Rose-Tinted Lust Potion they baked into the cake you ate.”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry before he cleared his throat and quickly looked away again. “So that’s why Potter and I…” he didn't finish, seemingly unwilling to relive the horror by voicing it aloud.

“Got a bit carried away,” Hermione finished for him sympathetically, at the same time Ginny said brightly, "Couldn't stop shoving your tongues down each other's throat?”, which coincided with Theo requesting clarity on what he deemed to be the most important point to be addressed: “Did you finger Potter's arse?!”

As Sirius once said: sometimes hexing the balls off a man is the perfect way to rid the world of future stupidity.

Hermione sent a Stinging Jinx at Theo, who sidestepped it with a manic giggle very reminisce of Professor Sprout when Slughorn had complimented her ‘magnificent bulbs’ before realising how such a phrase would translate to a classful of immature sixteen-year-olds.

“I did not finger Potter's arse!” Malfoy insisted quickly, before adding in a pained voice, “I grabbed it and accidentally skimmed his balls in the process.”

“You just had to admit that out loud, didn't you?!” Harry retorted, flushing red. “You couldn't have buried that trauma deep down like a responsible adult!”

“If it helps, the whole thing was really hot,” Ginny assured them, in a very optimistic attempt at making them both feel better.

“Soooooo hot,” Theo confirmed delightedly, then, noticing Draco’s annoyed expression quickly added, “Hey, I backed off when I realised you were enchanted! And, let’s face it, we didn't do anything that we haven't already done multiple times during drunken games of truth and dare!”

“I must insist that we meet for coffee in the New Year so you can tell me all about that,” Ginny said, grinning. Theo winked in response.

“Wait a minute,” Harry exclaimed, suddenly sitting up to point an accusatory finger at Malfoy. “YOU CALLED ME HERMIONE!”

Malfoy let out a long sigh, muttering, “That I did.”

“Are you two together?! When did that happen?!” Harry demanded. “The last time we spoke, Hermione, you said you were contemplating a move to Antarctica to get away from him, you said that the penguins likely had better manners and would refrain from driving you insane!”

So much for keeping my confidence, Harry! Just you wait until I tell Gin that you thought her impression of McGonagall was sexy and wouldn't mind some role play…

“Seriously?!” Malfoy demanded, fixing her with an incredulous look.

“I was developing feelings for you… and, well, I thought you only wanted fun! Antarctica seemed like a good option..” Hermione retorted.

“You could have just talked to me about it. But ohhh no, you had to be all dramatic and plan a move to Antarctica because uprooting your life was clearly the only logical option!” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Salazar, I forgot what a pretentious wanker you can be sometimes” Theo remarked, staring at Malfoy. “I hope you’re having fun up there on your high Hippogriff, because I’m about to knock you off, Mr. I-gave-up-my-dream-job-in-the-Auror-Department-as-soon-as-a-position-working-with-the-woman-i’m-obsessed-with-but-too-scared-to-talk-to-came-up.”

For the second time that evening, yet probably not the last, Theo was forced to dodge a Stinging Jinx.

“You gave up your job as an Auror because you were too scared to talk to me?! Yet you had the audacity to get pissy at me for making a passing comment about moving to Antarctica!" Hermione demanded.

“If it helps, it has become extremely apparent that you are both idiots,” Harry deadpanned.

Ignoring him, Malfoy sniffed, “As if you would’ve said yes if I'd asked you out back then; you needed to get to know me first. So I did the only logical thing and strategically placed myself in a position where you could.”

“Get to know… my god, I've spent the past three years barely tolerating you!” Hermione snapped.

“And yet you’re having a grand old time riding my cock at any given opportunity!”

“Ahhhhh lalalalala” Harry yelled, shoving his fingers in his ears.

“How is it? His cock, I mean,” Ginny asked her, then at Hermione’s incredulous expression added, “What? This is your fault; if you’d informed me about the situation sooner, I wouldn't have to ask.”

“Urgh, this is the weirdest Christmas Eve I've ever had!” Hermione declared, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“Yeah; I wouldn't say it’s been all that normal for Potter or I either!” Malfoy huffed, eyeing Harry.

“Sooooo,” Theo began, a dimpled grin appearing as he looked between herself and Malfoy. “Are you two together now, or…”

“I’m his boss! I could lose my job,” Hermione exclaimed.

“I quit,” Malfoy said simply. “Gin, can I have my old job back?”

“Absolutely,” Ginny confirmed. “I’ve missed that ars… intellect,” she corrected quickly, with an innocent look at Harry, who scowled at her.

“Problem solved. Now, your first task as my girlfriend is to help remove the unfortunate taste of hero complex from my mouth,” Malfoy instructed, gripping the back of Hermione's head to pull her into a heated kiss.

As a mind-numbing, knees-weakening feeling of euphoria reached the very depths of Hermione’s soul, she heard Ginny ask Harry, “Come on; ball skimming trauma aside, was Malfoy a good kisser?”

“Oh yes,” Theo responded, just as Harry replied with a muttered, "He discovered parts of my mouth that I didn't even know existed."

The eve of the new year had the whole clan flicking their nipples with excitement. It was a night during which you could fuck anything with a hole, including your own relatives (Keith’s sister was in for a treat). In a lot of ways, the annual New Years Eve orgy was even better than the annual Christmas Eve orgy, partly due to the fireworks (set off inside) and partly due to the number of emergency hamster extractions.

Leaning back in his deckchair, Keith surveyed the flurry of preparations taking place around him; filthy pillow plumping, tissue distribution, pokers heating up, prong collar fittings… tonight was going to be a night for the history books, that was for sure.

“Custard Creams!” Harris announced gleefully, running into the cave and holding aloft a sealed packet of the despicable biscuits that Keith had once, very inappropriately, dunked into his tea.

“Bah, yah silly bastard! You were supposed to supply the leeks, what are we supposed to do with Custard Creams at an orgy?!” Angus scolded.

“Aye! I got tha leeks! I'm not an idiot,” Harris replied, which, for an elf who’d earlier proved his idiocy by blowing his nose on his own loincloth rather than a fellow clan member’s, forced Keith to raise an eyebrow. “I found the Custard Creams outside tha cave!”

Keith eyed the packet, considering for a moment. “Ah, muss be from the Glenmorgan Clan; a thank you from the leader for introducing his wife to strip Twister.”

“Cannea be! Yah set Old McTavish on fire after he spread that rumour about yah liking the Eurovision Song Contest,” Angus replied.

No one understands the joy that can be found in the phrase ‘nul points’. Gets me hard every time.

“Oh aye, I remember now,” Keith said, snatching the packet from Harris. “Well, no point lettin’ them go tah waste. Who wants a pre-orgy snack?”

A frenzy of grabbing and snatching began as the Clan members fought over the biscuits, quickly stuffing whatever morsels they could get into their mouths and filling the cave with the arousing sound of open-mouthed chewing. Having finished his own biscuit, Keith was in the process of brushing crumbs onto a clan member's bed when Angus held the empty wrapper towards him, noting darkly, “Clan Leader Keith, there’s a note written on tha inside of tha packet that I think yah should see…”

Sighing at being interrupted, Keith snatched the wrapper to scan the words:

Auror Malfoy from the Ministry of Magic in London, wishes the Treefern Clan a very happy New Year and gifts them a packet of custard creams that he expects will be the highlight of, what is sure to be, a very disappointing evening ahead.

In accordance with rules put in place by the Wizarding Consumer Goods Committee of 1887, below is a list of ingredients:

-Custard Creams - Tesco’s own brand (only the worst for you).

-Numbing Draught - brewed by Auror Malfoy to specifically target a certain area of the body. Side effects include: Limp dick. Not recommended to be consumed before orgies.

Peering down, Keith moved aside his loincloth to flick his perfectly proportioned one-inch meatstick, which flopped numbly, completely devoid of life, between his legs.

“What are we going to…” Angus trailed off, frowning in confusion at the slow smile spreading across Keith’s face… “Are yah not upset, Clan Leader Keith?”

“Why would I be upset, Angus?” Keith said, holding up the custard cream wrapper for all to see. “The hamsters will be disappointed, but nay mind. The Meatstick Man just declared war!”