Harry Potter
Draco/Harry or Harry/Draco
"White Wedding". Must somehow include Ginny as the "little sister, what have you done?"
"Do you understand your mission?" the red-headed young woman asked solemnly but with just a glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Aye captain, my captain."
The two boys quickly exited the room.
"Occludo infragillis …" two redheads whispered as one before disappearing down the corridor like wraiths.
The door handle of the dungeon classroom jiggled slightly, and then more violently.
"Alohomora."
Nothing happened.
"Recludo."
Again nothing.
"Resero!"
The handle twisted but the heavy door still stood firmly shut.
The following morning Harry showed up to breakfast late, flushing, and with the worst case of bruised lips this era of Hogwarts students had ever seen. He ducked his head and pursed his lips—grimacing in pain—when anyone asked about it. He kept glancing out of the corner of his eye across the room.
Draco, pale as ever, arrived and sat at his place stiffly. His neck was set at a slightly awkward angle. He was wearing a turtleneck under his robes this morning.
"I wish I could wipe that vile smirk of your face." Harry hissed venomously.
"Try it," Draco growled, smirk widening to reveal his sharp canines.
The dark-haired fifth year pulled out his wand, licking his lips in eager anticipation of the lesson he was about to teach. Draco rolled his eyes lazily and brushed back a lock of thick blond hair.
"Hiding behind your tricks again, Potter?" He drawled.
Draco stretched his arms over his head, arching like a feline. He stalked towards Harry in a remarkably predatory manner; somehow making lithe limbs and elfin features look… intimidating.
Harry lunged at him with lightning speed, pinning the taller boy to the wall with a firm hand around his throat.
"I'm tired of your lip, Malfoy," He hissed, bringing their faces closer together. "That's all I ever see from you; Lip."
"I'm never tired of yours, Potter," The blond purred.
The hall was pure white and the chairs were ebony, the flowers were red and the tablecloths were green. One ring was gold. The other was silver. Ivory and olive digits were laced together as the Nymphoi danced.
"Little sister," Fred asked with a grin down to Ginny and a happy shake of the head.
George grinned as well and pet her elegantly coiffed hair. "What have you done?"
Nymphoi: Male Brides.
