Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Or Louis C.K., for that matter. You know, just in case you were confused. ;)

Characters: Adrian Pucey and Mrs. Zabini

Genre: Humor/Romance

A/N: I've temporarily rated the story M solely for this chapter; it's a bit more sexually explicit and I just wanted to play it safe. Next chapter should go back to a T rating.

Much thanks to NoxFlame172 and Aasiya333 for their review of last chapter. You rock!

That's the worst thing about a little boy's life, you start getting boners when you're nine, and you don't cum for three years. It's just three years of vicious little boners. . . . If you ever see a nine-year-old boy on the street, just give him twenty bucks 'cause he is very unhappy. . . .

~Louis C.K.

. . .

Pukey Pucey

Adrian wanted to throw up.

Crumpled candy wrappers littered the floor while a tub of chocolate frosting lay on its side, half-finished, abandoned in favor of the piece de resistance.

The cake.

The triple-chocolate cake.

Blaise's birthday cake.

Merlin, even thinking about it. . . . Adrian clutched at his stomach, he was gonna puke!

No. He'd come too far. He couldn't back down now.

The final, solitary sliver of cake taunted him. He had been planning to leave it for Blaise, everyone knew day-after birthday cake was the best. But it looked so lonely, a giant among the tiny globs of frosting speckling the salver. . . .

And authenticity was everything.

Pukey-Pucey, Pukey-Pucey. . . .

Hardly tasting the chocolate itself – and ignoring the bile rising in his throat – Adrian forced down the last bite.

After all, he didn't want Blaise getting sick from it, he was just a kid. Now Adrian, he was a man. And tonight – tonight, he would prove it.

Operation: Boobies had commenced.

One hand clutching his stomach, Adrian shuffled from the room – the house-elves would take care of the mess – tip-toeing past Blaise's room on slippered feet. There they lay, sleeping like babies, oblivious to the goddess that walked amongst them.

You had to feel sorry for them.

Creeping further down the corridor, Adrian ventured a tentative groan. He didn't want to wake the whole house up, after all.

But he was close. He could tell.

"Oh . . . oh, God . . . don't stop, oh, oh. . . ."

The happy noises, Blaise and Draco called them. The babies. Everyone knew what those were. Why did Blaise think he had so many step-dads? She just hadn't found the right one yet. . . .

"Ugh . . . ugggh. . . ."

And there he went, Husband Number . . . whatever he was. As if he could possibly please her.

"Ungggh."

There. That should work.

"What was that?" grunted Husband Number Whatever.

Adrian stepped away from the bedroom door, triumphant.

"I don't know, hold on. . . ." she purred. He heard the coverlet slipping back.

"Ow, don't twist it."

"Sorry. Just be a sec. It's probably just Blaise."

"I swear, Sylvia, you coddle that boy so. . . ."

Come on already. . . .

"Miss Zabi-ini," Adrian moaned. "I don't feel good."

"Oh, no." Her footsteps padded toward the door. "His mother warned me this might happen."

Authenticity was everything.

"Sylv-. . . ."

"Oh, stuff it, Al. . . . Ade, Ade, are you alright, hon?" She was kneeling before him now, a black silk robe thrown on over . . . over – was that a bra? And a black, lacy one at that. The few glimpses he had caught of his mum's underthings were a simple, economical beige – blech – nothing like this.

Plus, who really wanted to see their mum's underwear?

Adrian wanted to reach out and touch it, simply to confirm its existence, but forced his hand to remain at his side. The plan couldn't fail now, not when he was so close.

"Ade, Adrian, what's wrong? Did you eat too much at the party, love?" Her hand checked his brow for fever.

"I think so," he whimpered, forcing himself to sound as pitiful as possible. "I didn't mean to, Miss Zabini, 'm sorry. . . ." Clutching his stomach, he shuffled forward for a reassuring embrace.

Yes. Score. He could all-but feel them through the thin robe.

"It's alright, Ade." She patted his back. "Happens to the best of us. I think I have a potion that should help with the nausea."

"If he's sick, he should go home." His sizable gut announcing his arrival, Husband Number Whatever had joined them in the doorway. "C'mon, Sylvia, you go on back to bed, you've had a long day. I'll Floo his parents." Placing a large-knuckled hand on her shoulder, he glared at Adrian.

"No . . . I wanna stay over." Unable to summon tears on such short notice, he settled for a wobbling lower lip. "I wanna stay for the rest of the party. I promise I won't get anyone sick . . . please let me stay, please. . . ."

"He's right, Al. . . . It's not an infection, just a stomach upset. . . ."

"Well, I'm not about to stay up all night with some sick kid. I did not volunteer for that."

"I'm not asking you to. Just go on back to bed."

"Fine. Fine, Sylvia, choose the kids over me, just like you always do."

Pressed against her chest, Adrian felt her stiffen.

"One of those kids is my son, Alistair."

The silence was the coldest he had ever felt. He supposed he might have been uncomfortable if he hadn't been in the throes of ecstasy.

Her boobs were touching him!

"Come on, Ade. Let's go get you that potion." Reaching under his seat, she hauled him up so that his head rested comfortably on her shoulder.

"Mmm. Thanks, Miss Zabini."

"It's no problem, Ade."

Husband Number Whatever stood in the hall, glaring after them. Adrian smiled back, a sweet little nine-year-old smile.

Idiot. As if he could possibly keep someone like her. The goddess with the black-lace bra. She needed a real man.

Someone willing to wait as long as it took.

Someone willing to prove it and eat that last slice of chocolate cake.

Someone. . . .

Pukey-Pucey, Pukey-Pucey. . . .

"Oh, Adrian . . . dear God. . . ."

. . . like Adrian.

. . .

A/N: Seeing as I have never been a nine-year-old boy, I hope I did alright portraying his emotions. Review and let me know!

I have a new poll on my profile page about Parts 1-10 of The Sorting Bucket. If you get a chance, just go and vote on your one (or two) favorite chapters, that way I can get a good sense of which styles work and which ones don't. I'll be posting a new poll every ten chapters.

The next chapter will "star" the one, the only Harry Potter – I was wondering when I would get him – and Andromeda Tonks. Be sure to tune in!

~Lizzy Lovegood