A/N: It's a beautiful day! The trees are singing, the birds are swaying! And I will keep quoting Dylan Moran until someone recognises it!
Lovely day for a bonus update, don't you think? The unseasonal sun in England has put me in a spectacular mood. That, and I now have five chapters (well, four, now) queued up ready to be posted. I work much better, and faster, under pressure. This will do me good. I hope. I will, of course, update as normal on the weekend.
I am in the process of writing Harry Potter/ Charlie Weasley slash. If I write it, they will come. Or, something like that.
Today I read a fic called Sirius Strangelove by TuesdayMidnight (see my favourite author's page) which had me crying with laughter on the train during my commute home. It is seriously, seriously funny and I really recommend you pop over there and leave her some love when you're done with this.
I hope you all have a lovely day! - HFS xx

Chapter 7- Broomsticks, Butterbeer and... Something Else That Starts With The Letter B

Harry woke alone unable to feel his hands. He'd slept with them tucked up under his chest and the pressure and weight of his body had numbed the nerve endings, forcing him to shake them awake. At some point in the night he'd kicked off jeans and socks - it was practically sacrilegious to sleep in socks - and the smell and feel of the sheets underneath him made him immediately aware that this was not his bed.

It was Draco's.

Draco wasn't in it.

He retained a vague, sleepy memory of curling around another warm body in the night; of soft cries of distressed that lessened as he fit his chest to the curve of another's spine, tucking his knees into the crook of someone else's knees.

The house was silent but for the soft tinkling of the mobile hanging above Bear's crib, one that depicted a full Quidditch team with corresponding balls, floating in a vague game structure. It was Draco's, from when he was a child.

Harry rose, checked the baby, showered and dressed and went in search of food. He was surprised to see the late hour, and not really surprised that Draco had already left for his mysterious Saturday activities.

But he'd left a note. Another note, pinned to the cupboard where Harry kept the biscuits- a sure sign that he would find it.

Harry-

Bear's fine. I need to go to Gringotts and to the Apothecary for Potions supplies.

Will be home by about 4.

- D

Harry sighed as he made a pot of tea and summoned his conspectus charm from wherever it was hiding. His snitch came too, seemingly unhappy with being usurped by its fellow floating companion. Catching and pocketing the little golden ball, a slow smile crept across Harry's face.

He still had no idea where Draco went on Saturday afternoons, even if his Thursday exploits had now been shared, and today it didn't matter.

He was going to go play Quidditch.

xXx

It only took one call for Harry to find out that there was a thriving Saturday Quidditch league in London and his local team practiced only a few minutes walk from where he lived. The matter of a babysitter was harder though; he didn't want to swamp Molly and being a Saturday George was likely to be rushed off his feet at the shop. In the end he shrank down his Firebolt and packed it, with his Quidditch gear into a backpack and strapped Bear to his front, deciding to just go down and introduce himself this week and see where it left him.

"Fuck me, it's Harry fucking Potter."

He'd only just walked into the wizarding section of the park when a voice carried over and he turned instinctively to face three tall boys, probably a bit older than him, each with a broomstick slung over their shoulder.

"Hi," he said, suddenly nervous. "I heard there's a Saturday league on here?"

"Yeah," the boy with the filthy language said, extending a hand to him. "Niko Arlington. And this is Darren and Frankie. You wanna play?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm babysitting this morning. I just wanted to find out a bit more about the team."

"Uh uh," Darren said, shaking his head. "You were the youngest Griffindor Seeker in a century, everyone knows that. We've not had a decent seeker since Cassie went and had a baby- we need you."

More than anything, he wanted to get up in the air again. But there wasn't any way he was going to leave Bear unguarded.

"Sorry guys, really, but I haven't got anyone to look after the baby."

Niko frowned and looked over to a small wooden hut, like a changing room off to the side of the park. High trees hid the Quidditch pitch from view, although Harry was sure there would be further enchantments higher up in the air.

"Oi! Lee!" he yelled.

Harry watched in shock and excitement as Lee Jordan poked his head out from around the door.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, rushing out to greet him. "No way! What brings you here?"

Harry shrugged. "Boredom," he laughed.

"Awesome. Because these guys need a Seeker. They're crap at the moment."

"Thanks, Jordan," Darren said, shoving the other man in the shoulder good naturedly.

"Do you play?" Harry asked Lee.

"Nah, mate. I only come down here because Jenny plays." At Harry's raised eyebrow, Lee raised his left hand to show off a silver band. "Got hitched at the beginning of the summer," he said, grinning widely.

"Congratulations," Harry said enthusiastically. "Wow. That's great."

"Yeah, she's pretty amazing." Lee nodded to a slim girl with latte coloured skin who was tying her long hair back in a ponytail, her wedding ring glinting in the sunlight.

"So," Niko said, interrupting. "Would you watch Harry's kid for a while so he can train with us?"

"Your godson, right?" Lee corrected Niko as Harry opened his mouth to do the same.

"Right," Harry agreed. "You don't have to, Lee, honestly..."

"Nah, I don't mind," Lee said easily. "How old is he now?"

"Uh... just over seven months? There's a sippy cup with some juice for him in there if he starts fussing."

"No problem."

"But he's such a good baby," Harry said, already unbuckling the straps of the harness he carried Bear in. "He won't be any trouble at all."

Niko quickly introduced Harry to the assembled group as he struggled out of his backpack and restored his Firebolt to its normal size. Harry nodded politely and smiled, desperately trying to remember all of the names and positions of each team member and failing miserably. The look of relief on Jenny's face as she was told she was being moved to Chaser position and Harry would take Seeker made Harry's mind up - this was a good idea. They wanted him.

"Okay," Niko called out (he was apparently the team captain, too), "Let's get in the air, everyone!"

The rush of air past his face made Harry want to whoop out with excitement, but he held it in, bottling up the feeling for later perusal. He hadn't been on a broom in... fuck, too long, and it was familiar and real and wonderful and just so fucking right.

He lapped the pitch twice, ducking between players and trees before he realised that this wasn't Hogwarts, he couldn't just do his own thing and there were other people around to consider. But the others were watching him with bright eyed excitement and Darren was actually laughing as Harry pulled up short.

"Sorry," he called out.

"Bugger this," Niko said. "Let's just play."

He quickly assigned positions to people who nodded and fell into formation; Harry deduced that they were used to mixing up what position they played in the team because no one was particularly bothered or surprised at their assignment. They played in teams of four: a Keeper, two Chasers and a Beater per team and Harry was a bit disappointed about being left out until he realised he was the only Seeker.

"We just want to see how you play," Niko assured him as he flew over. "We'll just have a mess about with a Quaffle and a Bludger and you do your thing."

"Okay," Harry agreed easily. "I've got a snitch with me, don't wear out one of yours."

He lapped the pitch again as Niko flew down to let the balls out and suddenly there was a full blown Quidditch match erupting around him. It made Harry feel carefree for the first time in almost two years. He pulled the little golden ball from his pocket and set it free; it seemed to be happy to be given free roam again and immediately shot off for the trees.

The team were okay, sort of like the Ravenclaw side circa Fifth Year; nowhere near as good as the old Griffidor side, they were too uncoordinated and didn't seem to work together that well. But they had some good set moves and everyone was fit and enthusiastic, highlighting his rusty flying and out of shape fitness.

But none of that mattered. He missed the snitch twice before he finally caught it to the whooping cheers of his teammates. Harry blushed and released it again, not wanting the game to end just yet. The others were laughing as he took off again around the field, trying to get a feel for the feints and dives that were, at one time, such an integral part of his flying vocabulary.

When he returned from the park Harry was a hot, sweaty mess, but he loved the burn in his muscles and the mud on his hands; it was proof that he'd achieved something. He set Bear in his crib and went for a shower, changing into his most comfortable lounging about the house clothes and waiting for Draco to come home.

He was late. By about an hour. Harry staunchly didn't mention it, though.

They tiptoed around each other until Harry finally broke as they sat, not talking in the living room, the crackling of the fire the only noise permeating the silence.

"Are we going to talk about last night at all?" he demanded of Draco.

"Nope," Draco said, flicking a page in his book.

"You're ridiculous," Harry huffed.

Draco ignored him.

"Pretending it didn't happen won't make it go away," Harry said petulantly. He wasn't sure why he was pushing the issue, but with everything that Draco had confessed to him it didn't seem right, somehow, to let it drop without at least discussing it first.

"I think," Draco said slowly, "that there's only one solution here."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We need to get drunk."

"Really?" Harry said, amused.

"Yes. Very, very drunk. What's your potion?"

"My what?"

"What do you drink?" Draco asked, exasperated.

"Oh. Anything, really."

"Okay. I'll go get some stuff in." He turned to leave- Harry grabbed his arm. "I'm coming back, Harry. I promise."

"Okay," Harry agreed. Draco turned on the spot and disappeared.

Bear was sleeping, according to the conspectus charm, and Harry suddenly decided that to do 'this' properly, they needed a babysitter. He stuck his head in the fire and called the only person in London who he could trust.

George was sat in a large, leather swivel chair, frantically scratching his quill over a pile of paperwork.

"Harry," he said with a smile, turning to reveal a pair of dark framed glasses. He pulled them off, seemingly un- embarrassed. "What can I do for you?"

Harry stalled, suddenly conscious of what he was asking his friend to do. "I don't suppose you're free for a couple of hours tonight, are you?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"I need a babysitter."

George swung back and forth in his chair, chewing on the arm of the spectacles, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Why?"

"Because," Harry said, exasperated. "Please?"

"I've got someone coming round tonight actually."

Harry nodded. "Okay. No worries mate."

"Hang on a minute. It's a person of a distinctly female shape and I know what a girl magnet that kid is."

Harry laughed and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?"

"I'll do it if you tell me why."

Considering his position on the matter, Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, stalling for time. "How about, I'll tell you when I come and pick him up?"

"Even better," George said. "Bring him over."

"Okay. I just need to go and get all his… stuff. He has a lot of stuff."

"No problem."

Harry pulled back from the fire and raced around the house, Summoning various baby paraphernalia and stuffing it into the nappy bag they hardly ever used. Bear seemed to be happy enough and Harry made sure he had a change of clothes and his favourite squashy chair and the Moses basket for him to sleep in before he took the quick trip through the Floo to George's place.

"Who's your date, then?" Harry asked as he set Bear up in his chair.

"I'll tell you later, when you tell me about yours," George said with a sly smirk.

"Fair's fair, I suppose," Harry said. "There's two tubs of stuff in there for his dinner. The orange mush is savoury and the pink mush is sweet, not that it makes a lot of difference what order you give it to him in."

"Okay."

"And there's a bottle for before he goes to bed." Harry added and kissed Bear on the forehead. "Be good for Uncle George," he told the baby, who blew a raspberry at him.

"Come and get him in the morning if you want."

"Are you sure?" Harry said, frowning. "He does sleep through now, but not all the time..."

"Harry. Mate. I don't sleep through myself. You can come and get him later if you want, but it's no big deal if you don't."

"Okay," Harry said, still frowning. "If you need us, just call us. Or your mum. Thanks, George."

"Any time."

He arrived back home only moments before Draco appeared with his arms full of bottles.

"Bloody hell, what's all of that?"

"Alcohol," Draco said grimly. "Lots of it."

"Is it going to make you spill all of those dark secrets?" he asked, sitting down on the floor next to the fire, his back to one of the arm chairs.

"Probably," Draco agreed. "I don't think I care any more, though."

There were too many ways that Harry could interpret that statement, so he decided not to do any interpreting at all and just go with it. Whatever 'it' was.

"Cheers," he said, popping the top off a bottle of Butterbeer.

They'd gone from Butterbeer to firewhiskey, then on to a Muggle drink that Draco had picked up in his time trawling Muggle gay bars called a Jägerbomb. Back on the Butterbeers (for respite), the conversation turned decidedly more languid.

"Harry Potter, you're such a fucking player," Draco laughed, swigging his Butterbeer.

"What?" Harry spluttered. "No I'm not."

"Yeah you are," Draco said in the superior voice that drove Harry absolutely fucking crazy. "Come on. The girls have been falling all over you for years."

"Doesn't mean I did anything to encourage them though," Harry argued.

Draco raised a smug eyebrow and took another deep pull from his bottle. Harry mirrored the action. "First year," Draco started. "Weaselette, obviously."

"Don't call her that," Harry warned him. "Call her Ginny."

"No way."

"Call her Ginny or I'll hex you."

Draco visibly shuddered before considering. "Well, she was still all over you in our second year. Then it was Chang, obviously, then Parkinson at the Yule Ball in Fourth Year-"

"That wasn't anything," Harry interrupted but Draco continued regardless.

"There were rumours of you and that Beauxbatons girl, what was her name," he snapped his fingers a few times in frustration.

"Fleur?" Harry said incredulously.

"Yes! Fleur that's the one."

"She's married to Ron's brother!"

"Well, she wasn't in fourth year, was she? And she kept kissing you all the time. And Moaning Myrtle fancied the pants off you but unfortunately, she's dead." Harry shook his head despairingly and wondered if the bottom of his bottle would make things make more sense. "Then... beginning of fifth year there were whispers about you and Diggory, considering your reaction after he died. I mean, none of us really know what happened in that maze."

"You would know if you bloody listened to me," Harry muttered. Draco ignored him.

"Then back to Chang? Oh! Then it was that weird Ravenclaw girl, Lovegood, the one you took to Slughorn's Christmas party."

"Luna? Oh, come on, please..."

Draco carried on unperturbed. "Then Weas- Ginny. Now, personally, I've always thought you and Granger probably had an illicit little fling at some point." Draco leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee, adopting the position of someone who was really getting into the swing of things.

"Hermione and I never had a fling," Harry said blandly although he knew this wouldn't make any difference to Draco's 'theories'.

"If you say so. Um... Weasley's brother?"

"What the hell are you on? No. Which one?"

Draco laughed, delighted. "The eldest one. The one who likes dragons a bit too much." He whispered the last few words conspiratorially.

"Charlie. No. Just... no."

"Yeah, him. That last summer. And then," he heaved a dramatic sigh. "The Weaselette dumped you."

"Are you done?"

"I think so."

"Draco, I'm a virgin."

Harry watched in his own form of sadistic delight as the blonde man choked on his Butterbeer and started hacking and coughing, doubling over with the effort to breathe.

"Holy fuck, Potter, why would you do that to me?"

"Said I'd hex you," Harry said, examining his bitten fingernails. "Thought that would be more effective."

"You at least play for both teams though, right?" Draco demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"You're bisexual, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh. Well, I don't know. Yeah, I suppose so."

"For goodness' sakes," Draco sighed dramatically. "While the rest of us were dealing with an abundance of hormones, you were off saving the world. Wait- you aren't completely asexual are you?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "I just… I don't know. Always had bigger fish to fry, I suppose."

"Ever had a blowjob?"

"What? No. No, I haven't."

Draco's eyes swept over Harry's body, lingering on his lips, then his crotch. "Want one?"

"Fuck off. I'm not falling for that." The tiny, almost imperceptible quiver in Harry's voice betrayed him.

"Close your eyes. Imagine whoever you want."

"No, Draco," Harry protested feebly.

"Harry." His voice was low. "Close your fucking eyes."

With the alcohol swirling through his consciousness, Harry closed his eyes. He didn't imagine anyone else. It was Draco's hands who cupped the backs of his knees, tugging them forward so his bum hung off the edge of the cushion. Those hands ran down the outside of his calves, gently stroked the tops of his bare feet, disappeared, only to reappear at the button fly of his softest pair of blue jeans.

Harry swallowed thickly and a dull thud informed him that he'd dropped his (thankfully empty) glass. Long, cool, slim fingers worked metal through denim four times, then the warm air assaulted his exposed skin and he had to remind himself that his eyes could open, if they wanted to. He was keeping them closed through choice.

And because he didn't want to incur Draco's wrath for disobedience.

And because he feared Draco may stop if Harry defied him.

So his eyes remained closed.

His jeans were tugged down to his knees, trapping them together in an awkwardness by the waistband that meant Draco couldn't get between them. Harry felt Draco's huff of annoyance as a warm breath that skimmed the tops of his thighs. Suddenly, Harry was very pleased it was laundry day. And that he'd gone commando.

Long, cool, slim fingers floated back up his legs, teasing the dark, wiry hairs covering his thighs until they reached their final destination and, without hesitation, brushed over Harry's sensitive testicles. He shuddered and felt his length grow against his stomach. His t- shirt was tugged up to give it further room for engorgement.

Those fingers... Draco's fingers seemed intent on exploring the whole of Harry's groin area; they combed through the dark trail that drew a line from bellybutton to the thicker growth below, teasing behind his balls before stroking up his erection. One hand remained on his balls, gently rolling them in a surprisingly large and warm palm. The other hand grasped the base of his (now fully hard) cock, and angled it into an incredibly hot mouth.

Harry groaned. Loudly.

Draco huffed in amusement and his tongue flickered over the head of Harry's cock. It took a supreme amount of self control for Harry to not orgasm and clearly, self control was not one of his strong suits or his cock would not have been in Draco Malfoy's mouth. The presence of an ungodly amount of alcohol in his system was, ironically, helping him with the physical side of his self control. For that, Harry was grateful.

As Draco swallowed the rest of Harry's shaft down his throat his hand changed angle so his fingertips were pointing backwards and Harry's balls were resting on his wrist. Harry was almost too far gone to notice this; he was gripping the arms of the chair with a white- knuckled grasp and his head was thrown back, the tendons in his unshaven neck standing out with tense jawed glory.

"Breathe, Harry," Draco implored and licked a stripe from base to head of Harry's cock.

Harry breathed. It felt good, so he did it again.

He then became aware that Draco's inquisitive fingertips had drifted further back, teasing unchartered territory and, if he was honest with himself, it was only the sublime feeling of a tongue on his cock that prevented him from jerking away in horror at the idea of someone touching him there.

Draco pulled his mouth away and the assault of cool air on wet skin helped pull him back from the edge again. Small, wet kisses were placed along his shaft and fingertips edged further backwards. Harry wrenched his eyes open. For a moment his vision swirled, then settled on slate grey, passion filled eyes.

"Have you ever touched yourself here?" Draco asked in the same low voice.

Harry shook his head.

"May I?"

One shoulder lifted, then dropped in a half hearted shrug. Draco seemed to take this as acquiescence and gently lifted one leg, then the other, placing them over his shoulders and opening Harry to his gaze and touch. Harry watched, transfixed, as Draco sucked a finger into his mouth, wetting it, then took Harry's cock in his mouth again.

This time Harry couldn't have shut his eyes even if he wanted to. His new distraction was one long, wet, Slytherin finger that was gently rubbing and caressing his anus. His asshole. That place where he never imagined anyone even wanting to touch. Harry was immensely grateful that Draco didn't attempt to penetrate him; the gentle fingertip kept a fluttering, teasing presence but never pushed inside. His mouth, however, seemed to be intent on sucking Harry's orgasm out of him.

Draco's mouth was alternately too tight then too loose, too wet, sharp teeth, smooth tongue; a dizzying combination for an already dizzy head. He made a conscious decision that he'd waited long enough already, his manhood and lasting power had been established and he bowed back from the chair, gasping and grunting through his release and hyper aware that Draco was swallowing him. Tasting him.

With eyes tightly closed, Harry was pulled into strong arms and felt a familiar twist of Apparation. When he was set down it was in his own bed. Harry stripped off his t- shirt and pulled the covers back, fully intending to sleep next to Draco and maybe return the favour. He cracked an eye open to see what the problem was.

Draco had transfigured a glass paperweight on his nightstand into a water glass and whispered 'Aguamenti' to fill it. Then he leaned down and pulled Harry's glasses from his face. Then he walked to the door and shut it behind him as he left, leaving Harry alone in the darkness.

xXx

The next morning Harry woke to a intense headache and nausea rolling through his belly. He walked to the bathroom aware that he was stark bollocks naked but not caring. After throwing up the contents of his stomach, and then some, he took a bone achingly hot shower that went partway towards making him feel human again.

To his complete horror, Draco was already in the kitchen when he descended in search of coffee. There was also a short water glass full of brilliantly indigo potion.

"It's a hangover potion," Draco said, his voice scratchy from sleep, or lack thereof. He was dressed in loose sweatpants and a black long sleeved t- shirt, his hands wrapped around a large mug of black coffee. Harry noted, with no little relief, that it seemed like Draco was putting on weight. He wasn't fat, but the harsh angles of his bones had softened.

"Thanks," Harry said, throwing back the potion in one. As the harshly sweet liquid hit his tongue he was reminded of Mad Eye, and what he'd make of Harry drinking a potion brewed by Draco Malfoy. Constant vigilance indeed, Harry thought wryly. Although he did feel almost instantly better.

"I'm going to go and pick up Bear," Harry said. Draco nodded. "See you in a bit."

It was so, so awkward, Harry decided as he went straight back up the stairs to the living room Floo. His first sexual experience was with the one person he could honestly say he hated during his school years, and he couldn't even run away and hide from it because he had to bloody live with the man. At least there was a baby between them to divert the awkwardness elsewhere.

"George?" Harry called as he stuck his head in the fire.

"Come on through!" a female voice called out. Harry smirked to himself. Whoever George's date was for the evening, it obviously went well enough for her to stay for breakfast.

At least, it smelled like she was making breakfast, the waft of bacon and toast was floating through the flat from the kitchen.

Harry was more than a little surprised to see his old Quidditch team member standing with her back to the kitchen door, legs covered in black leggings but sparkly silver toenails bare to the tiles, a long blue and white striped shirt covering her almost to her knees.

"Angelina!" Harry said with a genuine smile, pulling her into a hug.

Angelina laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "How's it going, Harry?"

"Good, okay, thanks," he said. "Where's my boy?"

"George is just getting him dressed. You're so cute." Angelina turned back to the stove as they fell into an easy conversation.

"No I'm not. Why?"

"'My boy'," she teased.

"Well he is," Harry said defensively. "He's my godson."

It was almost a relief when George walked through with Bear on his shoulder.

"Before you ask, he woke up once and went straight back to sleep," George said as Harry took the baby and cuddled him close to his body.

"Thanks, George," Harry said, slipping his hand between Bear's t- shirt and baby grow to feel his warmth. "I really appreciate it."

"So, tell me about your date," George said with a wink.

"Sorry, George, there was no date. Draco and I stayed in and got drunk. Discussed ancient history and dark secrets."

"That's even better!" Angelina laughed.

Bear started to whimper and Harry decided it was time for breakfast. For the baby and his friends at least, his stomach was still feeling rather delicate.

"Really, thank you," Harry said as he started to load his arms up with all of Bear's stuff.

"Any time, Harry," George said. "Honestly. I don't mind at all."

Harry nodded, thanked George again, and decided to think more about why Angelina Johnson had spent the evening at George's flat later.

When he arrived back at Grimmauld Place he settled Bear into his squashy chair with his mobile playing, then carried the contraption and child back to the living room where Draco was dressed properly and sat looking anxious.

"What is it?" Harry demanded.

Draco held out a letter silently. Harry skimmed the contents, his eyes flickering back and forth to Draco, then read it again carefully.

"Oh shit."