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YEAR ELEVEN: CHRISTMAS EVE WILL FIND ME
By Harry
You never really plan for these things, or so I've been told. They're the will of a higher power and just happen, according to Mrs. Weasley.
For the first nine months of this year, Rosealyn Parkinson was a bit less theocratic in her beliefs on the matter, and a lot more judgmental about the men in Pansy's life taking a bit more personal responsibility for where they stuck their cocks.
Now, she's a bit less sanctimonious about the matter…especially after Pansy named our daughter in her mother's honour.
But the planning thing…I think that's true about love in general, isn't it?
You never expect it.
It just happens, like all miracles.
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INTERMISSION ELEVEN
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Everything was pastel pink, to celebrate Rose's first Christmas.
Harry didn't mind, although he thought the colour terribly clashed with the shock of bright red hair atop his daughter's head. She'd never be a girl who would be able to carry off pink—that much was for certain. He wasn't going to tell Pansy that, though. He liked his bollocks right where they were, thanks ever so.
Jamie was enamoured with his little sister. He lay down in her cot with her, watched her nurse from Pansy's breast with adoration, and he talked to her constantly. The boy was a gabber-mouth now that he'd learned how to form complete sentences. He never shut up, which was just fine as far as Harry was concerned, because it just proved his son was as bright as a lit-up tree and twice as curious as a Kneazle. Some days it drove the others up a wall, but no one ever discouraged the boy from inspecting and inquiring to his heart's content.
Definite Auror material.
Harry was inordinately proud.
Rose, on the other hand, was a quiet baby. Her gaze was sharp, and it was clear at three months that she'd be an early developer for crawling, but she cried and fussed very little. It worried Pansy, but not Ron, who's mother insisted he'd been the very same as an infant.
Harry wasn't worried. Instinct told him Rose would turn out to be the cleverer of their children…and that she was bound for Slytherin, whether Ron liked it or not.
With one look, Malfoy had agreed.
Speaking of…
Glancing over at their guest, he found Malfoy sitting on the sofa, a prisoner to his godson, Jamie, and one of the boy's exciting made-up stories about pirates. Little Rose was fast asleep in Draco's arms, one tiny hand clenched in the man's silken dress shirt, wrinkling the fabric. Draco was giving Jamie his complete attention while he rocked the baby to sleep against his chest.
It was a damnable thing to see such a sight, Harry thought—Malfoy completely enthralled by children...and with his children nonetheless.
"He was an only child," Pansy had once explained to him. "You and I both know what that's like, Harry, having been the same. Growing up without someone to play with, to share ideas or secrets with...it's lonely. It's why he's always antagonizing Ron, you know. Draco's jealous that the Weasleys can fill a large tower with their kin. He doesn't think Ron appreciates it."
Harry was positive that was the case, but he was also equally as sure that having too many people involved in your life could be quite intrusive and stir up all sorts of mischief. Having a large family was both lovely and infuriating, a double-edged sword...or so he'd seen and heard from various members of the Weasley household over the years. His own extended family, the Dursleys, were a perfect example of blood relatives you wished you could mail back through the post as 'Return to Sender'. Malfoy had never experienced such a thing, and so could not comprehend why anyone stuck in such a situation might complain on occasion.
Although, at the rate the ferret and 'Mione were going at things, Harry thought the man would find out eventually.
On the other side of Malfoy sat the man's three-year old son, Scorpius, who was equally as ensnared by Jamie's tale and Rose's sweet little sighs as his father. He was a dead ringer for his dad, Harry thought, with only hints here and there of Hermione's influence in his genetics.
The Zabini's fidgety daughter, Sophia, sat next to Scorpius on the other side, snug against the sofa's arm. She kept elbowing her blond play-date for attention, most especially every time Scorpius looked too long at little Rose. The girl clearly had her sights set on keeping Scorpius all to herself, and apparently didn't like competition.
Slytherin, that one. Definitely.
Across the room in a chair near the fire sat Carina Malfoy, Scorpius' sister. She was reading a book. Carina had gotten the lion's share of her mother's inheritance, in looks, interests, and attitude. The girl was going to be a firecracker at Hogwarts someday, when it was her turn. It would be interesting to see into which House she would be sorted. Harry and Hermione were both betting Ravenclaw, but Malfoy was sweating out the possibility of a Gryffindor, instead. His daughter was as daring as her mum.
A quick look around, and Harry found Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Pansy's friends, Daphne Zabini and Astoria Nott, in the kitchen. Apparently, the former Greengrass sisters had finally come to an understanding with their husbands after Pansy's interference a couple of years past had stirred the pot in regards to relationship and gender dynamics in the 21st century. Blaise and Theo had learned the hard way that a wife was not an arm ornament, nor was she any other type of property to be mistreated and tossed aside when inconvenient. Since then, the couples had been on a corrected course that seemed to be heading in the right direction, Harry thought.
Right then, the ladies were deep in discussion regarding Astoria and Theo's newest addition to their family, little Thaddeus, who was eating up all the female attention right then. Daddy Theo was busy was entertaining his two other children in the dining room while engaged in a discussion about politics with Blaise Zabini, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Parkinson, and Narcissa Malfoy.
Ron and Pansy, Harry noticed, were...conspicuously absent.
Slowly meandering his way through the Christmas Eve party-goers, he wound around furniture and decorations to the back hallway, where the private suites were located. A quick look and he could see a light shining under the door of his, Ron's, and Pansy's shared bedroom.
On sneak feet, he made his way to the door and pressed his ear to it.
The sound of a bed creaking and a feminine gasp had him going harder than steel in his trousers in seconds. Quickly, he stealthed his way inside his bedroom, and then locked the door and Silenced it for good measure.
When he turned around, it was to find Pansy in her cocktail dress, bent over the bed and Ron drilling her from behind. His trousers and pants were around his ankles and his tie thrown over one shoulder. Neither of them had fully undressed. Harry cupped himself and watched the action without a word. He stroked softly over his crotch as his husband and wife got each other off in a house full of guests, excited that they would dare something so naughty.
When Ron grunted and came and then withdrew, Harry was suddenly there to take his place. Pansy remained oblivious to his presence while she recovered from her orgasm.
There was a moment of surprise on Ron's face as Harry shoved him aside and unzipped, but then his husband grinned, gave him the thumbs-up, and moved off to redress. Harry took that opportunity to drop trou and grab Pansy's hips. He slammed home in a single thrust, making her arch and cry out. She knew immediately who it was behind her, hissed his name in pleasure as he pounded her until she was wailing and her cunt was clenching around him in a second climax.
When she'd gone utterly limp, he pulled out, reached into the bedside table's top drawer and grabbed some lube, and then slathered her arse with it.
She moaned.
"I've been dying to take this sweet arse today," he teased and tormented her with his fingers, thrusting them in deep and stretching her in a scissoring motion. "You want this, don't you, you naughty witch. Come in both holes when you go back out there to face them all. Tell me the thought doesn't turn you on."
"Oh, Merlin, yes!" Her thighs were quaking and her voice shook with anticipation. "You're really an evil man, Harry Potter. Everyone thinks you're so straight and good, but you're not at all. You're totally wicked!"
He grinned, withdrew his fingers and placed the head of his wet cock at her tiny rosette. "I know," he admitted, and with a firm grip on her hips, slowly inched his way inside her arse. "You love me for that deceit, don't you?"
"I so do!" She gasped and arched, stretched around him as he took her an inch at a time, spreading her open. "I love every villainous bit of you!"
When he was fully seated within her, he held still on purpose, forcing her to teeter on the edge with him. He was so close… A light spank to her bottom had her crying out in pleasure. "That's for sneaking off with Ron to shag without me." He gave her other cheek a nice, little whack. "And that's for getting me so horny I had to fuck you despite the fact your mother's in the next room."
"Harry…" she warned, shaking so hard he could feel her eagerness for him to get on with it. He knew she was worried they'd get caught since they'd been gone for so long. "Move, now!"
He circled his hips, but didn't thrust just yet. "Say what I want to hear first."
She whimpered.
He spanked her again for her stubbornness.
"I love you," she cried out, circling her hips to entice him to move. He could feel her cunt fluttering through the tender tissues just under his dick as another climax threatened to overtake her. "Sir, your witch needs you to love her back, please!"
"Good girl," he crooned.
He began moving then, setting a fast and hard pace from the start, knowing they were on borrowed time. Eventually, the guests outside would start asking where their hosts were, and Ron was good at distracting one-on-one, but not en masse.
"I love you," he growled, feeling his balls beginning to burn, his spine curling at the base as the need took over and sent him to the edge. "Forever, my witch. I'm yours!"
She vowed the same as they soared together, their bodies connected as intensely as their souls.
They were in this for life, he reminded her afterwards, as they hurriedly redressed and used magic to clean up and make themselves presentable once more. "For every Christmas from now to eternity," he whispered as he bent to kiss her mouth. "Whether it's pastel pinks, or red and gold, or silver and green…I want it all, every day."
On tiptoe she kissed him back. "That's probably for the best, since I'm never letting go, either."
TO BE CONCLUDED...
