Written for the hpsmfest on live journal for prompt 121 submitted by hpfangirl71

Warning: Infidelity, oral sex, piercings, the sex industry, close contact with a snake, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes.

Harry becomes obsessed with an erotic dancer before finding out who his father is.

Many thanks to emansil_08 for the beta.

Disclaimers: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. Lyrics quoted (and misquoted in the title) belong to My Chemical Romance.

Harry remembered when these places used to be smoky. That had felt right; the haze it had laid over everything had fitted with the low lighting, loud music and sleazy business of the clubs. Muggles had decided against smoking recently, for some reason which Harry couldn't be bothered to research. It made everything a little too clear, and the human smells too strong.

He bought a cool beer from the bar. Keeping an eye on the house at Privet Drive was the excuse he used to Ginny. Indeed, that was where he would be sleeping tonight. The Dursleys had emigrated in all the chaos and fear of the aftermath of Voldemort's uprising. Naturally, they blamed Harry for having to move, and expected him to look after their home for them, threatening to expose the Wizarding community if he didn't. As it happened, that suited him very well.

He had been visiting this club once a month for years. The Wizarding world was too staid and frigid to offer similar entertainment. He had never actually been unfaithful to his wife, at least not in deed. He had feasted his eyes, though, and fed his fantasies; he tried not to wonder how different that really was.

He moved through the busy room as the condensation on his pint glass chilled his fingers, checking all the platforms, poles and cages, scanning them for one performer. For years it had been the variety which had excited him. Now there was just one young man he came to see, one body which inhabited his dreams, keeping him feeling fulfilled for all the empty days between his visits.

Harry heard the "Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na-Na-Na-Na ..." which his favourite boy liked to use as a fanfare. A bright red spotlight shone down onto one of the stages in the centre of the huge room and Harry moved towards it. The crowd of punters shifted as, like a shoal, most of them swarmed in the same direction as Harry.

The stage was still empty. He always waited until he had a crowd before he made an entrance. There was no music. The audience held their breaths in anticipation. Then the song started:

When I was a young boy ...

He stepped into the light. The crowd exhaled in unison. He held his head high and moved gracefully, slowly, teasingly, round the edge of the lit space.

... My father took me into the city ...

He wore tight, white jeans, high boots and a leather jacket. This was a good sign – this probably meant he was using the snake. His pale hair fell down his back, contrasting with the black of the jacket. At his ears, nose and eyebrows, silver shapes twinkled.

... To see a marching band ...

As he strode deliberately through his space, the tightness of the jeans revealed every movement of his densely muscular thighs and tiny, tight arse.

... He said, 'Son, when you grow up...'

His face was the most bewitchingly beautiful that Harry had ever seen.

'...Would you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned ...?'

The stripper reached the centre of the stage and cocked his head on one side. He turned on the spot, eyeing his audience, judging them and making sure that every single man there was transfixed. By him. He started to sway and writhe, to throw back his head in time to the music. Then, he ran his hands up his thighs, across his crotch and up the front of his jacket. His slim, white fingers reached the top of his zip just in time. The brass section joined the band; he whipped the snake out of his jacket; the audience gasped.

He wrapped the long, silver snake round his neck, standing on one leg, rubbing the heel of one boot against his other knee. At the same time, he slowly unzipped.

Harry took a long drink, but it did nothing to solve the extreme dryness of his mouth. He had trouble swallowing round the lump in his throat. That was nothing to the swelling he was already experiencing in his underpants.

The stripper's well-shaped arms were gradually revealed as the leather slipped from his shoulders. They shone with oil. The snake slithered down his chest, over his skimpy white T-shirt. It wrapped itself like a belt around his waist. Harry longed to whisper it instructions, but he couldn't remember how to speak in any language, even Parseltongue.

The music sped up and so did the performer's movements.

...Sometimes I get the feeling

She's watching over me

And other times I feel like I should go...

He unzipped his boots and kicked them off. They skidded across the stage in different directions. The snake wound its way under his top, pushing it up, displaying his perfected abs. He flung his head back and forth, whipping his straight, blond hair through the red light which reflected off it.

Harry stared, transfixed, his drink ignored, oblivious to the other patrons who knocked against him as they leaned forward.

The dancer raised his arms and, somehow, the movement of the snake over his skin pushed his shirt over the bar through his navel and the rings through his nipples, right up and over his head - until the white cotton only covered his arms and trapped them together in the air.

...We'll carry on, we'll carry on...

The snake got comfortable around the young man's perfect neck again and the stripper wriggled free of his T-shirt. Dressed now only in his tight, white jeans, he danced – spinning, stamping, writhing – and the watching men waited.

...And while that sends you reeling

From decimated dreams

Your misery and hate will kill us all...

The snake unwrapped itself and secured its head and the end of its tail in embraces round muscular upper arms. Finally, finally, his hands fell to his waist, caressed his belly, and then popped open the first button on his jeans.

The audience moaned in happy unison.

His legs bent and straightened, he kicked high and landed with his legs apart.

The music slowed again and he stopped his wild dancing. He closed his eyes, flung his head back and lead the transfixed gaze of his audience from one button to the next. Then he pushed the tight denim waistband over his gently swaying hips and revealed his beautiful cock, lying in a nest of hair as blond as that on his head, and even more pale than his skin.

The bleached denim fell to his ankles.

...We'll carry on...

Then he stepped – perfect and naked – out of the fabric. Finally, to a fitting drumroll, he turned and bent forwards from the hips, touching his fingertips to the stage in front of him and displaying the cleft of his perfect, naked arse. That image featured in every fantasy with which Harry would keep himself going for the rest of the month. His tight, red arsehole called to Harry to fill it. Instead, the snake slid across the smooth planes of the stripper's back and down between his buttocks, as, with a noise like a muffled explosion, the music ended and abruptly the spotlight was extinguished.

Another one of the Minister's boring official functions. This one involved the Tunisian Ambassador. There were some tricky treaty subsections involved. The Minister gave a bland speech about the usual esteem with which his government appeared to hold the Wizarding population of every other nation. There was applause. There was food. Even the food was the same old inoffensive fare as always.

The Minister and his wife sat at the head of the top table, politely responding to every approach which interrupted their meal. Heads of department wanted quick clarifications, anyone recently bereaved felt entitled to the solace of a light touch of his revered hand, pressure groups thought it a good time to lobby.

The seating plan alternated men and women in the traditional way, meaning that because the Ambassador was a man, he sat beside the Minister's wife.

"You have many fine buildings in Britain, Mrs Potter," he said.

"Indeed, I have long admired Tunisian architecture, Mr Ambassador," Ginny replied politely. "Do you follow Quidditch?" she asked him hopefully.

"I am more enamoured of the Arts than the Sports. This is why I find the Wizarding Art gallery at Monmouth so fascinating."

"There are certainly some fine pieces there. I particularly admire the ceramic pots that your own Minister donated to it."

Ginny's voice remained sweet, but Harry, who was listening in, knew that her heart must have sunk when she had realised that she was condemned to yet another evening of dredging up compliments to a country she barely knew, with no Quidditch banter to relieve it.

He should have been listening to the War Widow to his right, who was being honoured for the heroic work her husband had died performing against Voldemort. Frankly, though, she was a Nosebleed Nougat short of a Skiving Snackbox and kept calling him 'Cornelius', so he just smiled warmly and let his thoughts drift.

"Minister Potter, may I interrupt for a moment?" asked the smarmy voice of the git he always seemed to have to endure on these occasions.

"Mr Malfoy. I'm so glad that you accepted your invitation. I hope that you are enjoying the event."

The two men faced each other with accustomed lack of expression. There were always representatives of the old Dark at these events. The British Wizarding Community had to be seen to be marching united into the future.

"The dinner is, as always, of the highest quality. Your speech was most diverting, Minister Potter." Malfoy smiled his slippery smile.

"I am gratified that you found it so." Harry smiled back.

Neither backed down from direct eye contact. They were still the Princes of Gryffindor and Slytherin, just as they had been at school – leaders of their rival tribes. It was essential that their exchanges be seen to be cordial; they each had too many followers who would be eager to copy any example of enmity.

"Mrs Potter looks elegant, as usual."

"Is Mrs Malfoy accompanying you this evening? I would be charmed to be allowed a moment's conversation with her."

"She is indeed. We are joined by our son tonight. This season we are proposing to introduce him to society. Might I be permitted to present him to you?"

Ah! So that was what this was about. Of course, the Malfoy heir was the same age as Albus. That would be about the right age. Harry frequently found himself dragged into this ridiculous ritual which the Pureblood families (and those who aspired to being accepted by them like Pansy Nott) insisted on perpetuating. They chose to spend a year unveiling their offspring to the world as though they were living in an eighteenth century novel. Being the Minister of Magic, his was the hand they all wanted their children to be seen to be touching. There would be a photograph on the society pages.

He agreed, of course. Anything else would have been viewed as such a snub that half of his constituents would have become ungovernable. It was a dreadful waste of time, though, and it certainly wasn't something he was going to impose on his own children.

He returned to his one-sided conversation with the batty old lady he had to be nice to. Two heads of Department badgered him about funding allocation. The Ambassador leaned across Ginny to suggest a change to the wording in the clause about freedom of travel between the two nations. Harry wasn't sure, but the adjustment to the word order was probably related to inserting loopholes regarding flying carpets. Then Malfoy returned.

Harry stood up and kissed Mrs Malfoy's hand and muttered some of the usual oil he used on these occasions.

"Minister, please allow me to introduce our son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," she simpered.

Harry turned to look at the young man in the green dress robes who was standing behind his mother. He looked into his face.

Catatonia briefly seized him as his two worlds came crashing together. The pale skin, high cheekbones and blue eyes of the face which looked into his, were those of his favourite stripper. There were small holes in his nose and eyebrow where he had clearly been made to remove his piercings, and his long hair was tied in a neat ponytail, but apart from that Harry was holding his hand out to the subject of his filthiest fantasies. He tried to stop himself from wondering about the silverware below the neck-line, to picture the nipple-rings secretly rubbing against the lining material of the respectable robes.

The young man – Scorpius – looked tense, too. His lips were held in a tight line. "It's an honour to meet you, sir," he managed.

"And you." Harry resumed the movement of his arm towards Scorpius'.

They gripped hands firmly and shook. Then Harry sat back down.

"So, uh ..." He had forgotten what he usually said in these situations. "Do you, uh, follow Quidditch at all?"

Draco snorted and Harry wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Wasn't that safe, neutral ground? He was distracted by the loose robes the dancer wore, which revealed nothing of his shape. Harry knew it, though. He knew everything that hid under that fabric. His unhelpful memory assailed him with images of it.

"To my father's disappointment, I've never seen the attraction of ball sports," Scorpius replied smoothly. "I prefer something with a more intellectual element."

He must have got that body working out in a gym, then. That body which Harry was trying not to think about. He had to stop picturing that body oiled up under coloured light, bending forwards ...

"Uh, chess, for instance?" Harry choked out. "Ronald Weasley, my good friend, is, of course, erm ..."

"One of the most renowned Wizard Chess players in the world," Scorpius finished for him.

"Yes," Harry said.

"It was an honour to meet you, sir," Scorpius – the erotic performer – the Malfoy heir – said. He was repeating himself, but that hardly mattered. What else could he say? He stepped quickly back into the function room and walked away. Harry didn't trust himself to watch his movement.

He wouldn't go back. It was easy. He would restrain himself, make do with DVDs and magazines, find out how the internet worked. He would go to another club. London was full of places where young men undressed for an audience. Surely? It was far too dangerous for him to go back there. He wouldn't look at Scorpius naked again. There were plenty of other performers in the club. He would just go back one last time, and if he saw the young blond, then he'd walk the other way. It was easy. It would be fine.

After walking around for a while, Harry found him, wearing only silver chains and suspended in a cage. A group of men stood underneath it and looked up. Scorpius spread his legs and flexed his knees amenably so that they could see what it was they wanted.

Harry sat back, away at a darker table where he could almost pretend that he wasn't there at all. He looked at the face, the hair, the shape the body made, the glint of the chain and the body jewellery – like that made him superior to the punters staring up between his legs. Malfoy's son. His father was Harry's age. And he was Albus' age. He wasn't long out of school. His NEWTs had been impressive, his school record spotless. Not that Harry had been researching these things. And he was so fucking beautiful that it hurt.

Men came and went and Scorpius stayed where he was, thrashing about wantonly. Harry lost all track of time just watching.

Then the light dimmed and Scorpius reached up to a small sack hanging from the ceiling of his cage. A man marched through the crowd. He was wearing a suit and he was so well-muscled that he made Crabbe and Goyle look like they'd only been playing at being broad. Scorpius pulled a light blue dressing gown out of the bag and slipped it on as the cage lowered to the ground. The big guy opened it for him and escorted him through the club to a pair of double doors near the back. He glowered at a couple of customers who looked like they might be about to approach the talent and they sprang back.

Harry felt sick and ashamed; he also knew that he would be back here in a month's time. He headed for the bar. One last drink before he went back to Privet Drive for a short, hard wank.

One drink became three as he tried to convince himself to leave. He was listening out for the "Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na-Na-Na-Na ..." which would herald one of Scorpius' performances, though he knew it wouldn't come. Not on a cage night.

Someone slipped onto the bar stool next to his. Someone slim in denim.

"Minister Potter?"

Harry's head spun on his neck. He found himself looking into the face in his fantasies. His throat closed over.

"Sorry. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Not at all." Harry grappled for coherence. "You shouldn't call me that. Here."

"Of course not. Sorry." Even simply dressed in Muggle street clothes, Scorpius looked amazing. "I just wanted to thank you. For not saying anything. At the function."

"It was a bit of a shock."

"I could see that. I had wondered, actually, before, whether you knew who I was. I recognised you, of course. I think you're the only ... one of us ... I've ever seen in here." Harry understood that he meant wizard, was grateful that he didn't say it.

"Thanks for your discretion," Harry said. "I had no idea that you were his son. That you were one of us."

"I thought that might have been why you watched me so closely."

"You noticed? When you dance it doesn't look like you're aware of anything else."

"Oh, I know my audience. I'm not quite so caught up in things as it might appear." He paused. "I had a couple of paranoid moments, actually, when I thought you might have been spying. I don't think I'm breaking any Ministry rules."

"Nor do I. Look, can I buy you a drink?"

Scorpius shot a frightened look towards the doors where more burly security staff were standing with their arms folded. "Not allowed," he said. "Pisses the punters off if they think someone's getting special attention from one of the artistes. I should go. Look, I just wanted to say thanks and, um ... Look. My parents, they don't know. Not exactly."

Harry shook his head. "I'm hardly going to say anything. We can keep each other's secrets."

"Just wanted to make sure we were both doing that. Thanks. Better go. See you next month." Scorpius slipped from the stool and walked out of the building, Harry's eyes on him all the way.

Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na-Na-Na-Na. Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na Na-Na Na-Na-Na-Na. Na Na-Na Na. Na Na Na-Na Na. Na Na Na-Na Na. Na Na Na.

It was too early. Or rather, Harry had got there too late. Even though it was his usual time and he really couldn't have got away from the family any quicker. But Scorpius didn't usually perform until later. Not that he could be expected to time his shows around Harry.

Harry's fingers slipped on the keypad of the card reader. He found this Muggle technology confusing enough anyway. He got the number wrong and had to start again. Scorpius' fanfare had finished. His dance had started and Harry was missing it. His mind went blank. He couldn't remember any numbers. Did he have enough cash? The music sounded like it was near. That was one comfort. Once he'd got himself through the doors he'd be able to find Scorpius' stage quickly, shouldn't miss too much of it. He remembered the four digits of his PIN. He punched them in, remembered to take the card and the receipt and then dashed.

He was right, Scorpius was near the doors, to the right of the bar. That meant the pole. Which was good. No snake. But it was all good.

Harry had hoped, that his desire would wane during the five months since he'd last spoken to the young man. Instead it had grown. Harry was desperate for more contact. He yearned for a reason, any reason, to start a conversation. But there never was one."

The music the usual sort of thing; maybe a bit slower and quieter than some of Scorpius' choices. Scorpius' white arms were visible above the crowd, clutching high up the pole, twisted round it.

... Where will you stand

When all the lights go out ...?

Harry pushed his way to the front. He was sweating and anxious. Then he saw Scorpius and he was pole-axed yet again.

Scorpius wore baby pink, sequinned hot-pants and a tiny, matching waistcoat. His back was to the pole, the bronze of it contrasting with his pale skin. He spun slowly, taking in his audience, turning round and round the pole.

... Covered in ash

Covered in glass

Covered in all my friends ...

Scorpius dipped down, the pole between his buttocks. Then he rose again as though he were rubbing himself on it. And every man there wanted to be that pole. He hung off it by one hand and unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat. It gaped open, flashing tantalising glimpses of pale skin and a ruby twinkle from his navel.

... If there's a place that I could be

Then I'd be another memory ...

He leaped and turned suddenly, ending up high on the pole with both legs wrapped round it. He happened to be facing Harry when the singer asked:

... Can I be the only hope for you

Because you're the only hope for me ...?

And Harry thought, Oh yes. Oh, yes you are even though he knew his love was actually hopeless.

Then Scorpius bent backwards, only the strength in his thighs keeping him attached to the pole. His waistcoat slipped off his shoulders and over his head and it landed on the floor.

... Face all the pain and take it on

Because the only hope for me is you alone ...

He righted himself. Harry tried to sip the beer which wasn't in his hand because he hadn't had time to get it. Scorpius' hair was tousled; Harry wondered whether that was how it looked after sex. Scorpius slid all the way down onto his knees. He snaked and writhed on the floor, round the pole.

... If there's a place that I could be

Then I'd be another memory ...

He edged his way upright. Sweat was shining on his abdomen now, matting the sparse, pale hairs there. It dripped from his brow and his nose. Once again Harry imagined fucking. Scorpius performed a headstand, supported by the pole. Then he straightened his arms. Then he wrapped his legs round the pole and used his hands to push himself further up it. His hair fell straight down.

... The only hope for me is you

The only hope for me is you

The only hope for me is you ...

Scorpius bent at the waist, clenching his abs until he was at a right angle to the pole. Then, as quick as a flash, one hand went to grip near his feet and the other grabbed his shorts. In a movement which couldn't be possible, the glittering pink fabric flew from his body and onto the stage.

... And if we can't find where we belong

We'll have to end it on our own ...

And Harry was sure that he'd caught him out. It wasn't just acceptable now for him to speak to Scorpius, it was his duty and his job. He sighed and smiled as he feasted his eyes on every inch of Scorpius' naked, dramatically displayed body.

Harry waited at the stage door. He had watched this small, blue-painted Fire Exit door before – hiding in the shadows of the alleyway opposite, wary of the vigilant doorman. He had seen Scorpius leave, sometimes with the snake in a cage, always with a backpack hung on one shoulder. He had never followed him before. He knew where the nearest Apparition Point was, though; he knew how much time he would have to approach his quarry between the security guard's view and the moment of magical disappearance.

Scorpius exited eventually, wearing loose navy joggers and a baggy hooded sweatshirt. Harry slipped from his hiding place and walked quickly but – he hoped – casually. He wished he had the Invisibility Cloak with him. Scorpius was checking the coast was clear to Apparate when Harry approached him.

"Did I catch you using magic in front of Muggles?" Harry hissed.

Scorpius jumped. "Minister Potter!" His eyes grew huge. "No, sir."

"Really?"

Scorpius calmed and took a deep breath. "Really. I'm not that stupid."

"Then how did your tiny shorts fly off you like that. It's impossible. They couldn't have got down your legs."

To Harry's surprise, Scorpius laughed. He slipped the backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it. He pulled out a scrap of pink, sequinned material and handed it to Harry. It felt to Harry as though it were still warm from Scorpius' body and he froze.

"Velcro," Scorpius said. He gently turned the fabric in Harry's hand to display a rectangle of fuzzy, bumpy stuff at an edge. "Muggles really are bloody clever. They've invented all sorts of things to make up for not having magic."

Harry found the echoes of his father-in-law's frequent refrain disturbing. He was holding the garment that had cradled his obsession's genitals, and he was thinking about Arthur Weasley. He looked down to where Scorpius' pale, slim fingers moved too close to his own. The edges of the material attached themselves. Scorpius worked round a few places, then he held out the hot-pants to show that they were whole again. Then he plucked them from Harry's loose grip, took hold of the leg-hole in two places and tugged firmly. It came apart. He pressed them back together again.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling foolish.

"So, no magic, Minister. Ok?"

"Yes, of course. Sorry."

"I won't pretend the snake wasn't trained without the odd charm, nor that he's a standard Muggle breed. But I don't actually cast any spells in front of anyone."

Harry shrugged and looked at the floor. "Right," he said. "Sorry."

"I'll see you around then."

"No, wait, stop!" That couldn't be it! That couldn't be the end of it! Months Harry had waited for a chance to talk to Scorpius and that was all he got?

Scorpius waited.

"Look maybe we could. Um. I mean, would you let me buy you a drink to apologise? You're not working now. We can go somewhere else. I've got a house we could go back to -"

"I don't do extras," Scorpius said. He looked wary, maybe even frightened.

"Extras?" Harry asked stupidly.

"Some of the boys, they do extras. Home visits. Private services."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "No, I didn't mean anything like that." Now his head was filled with pictures of it, though. How much would it cost for a whole night with Scorpius? What would he ask of him? It wasn't going to happen. That's what Scorpius was saying.

"I take my clothes off and let people look, but nobody touches. Not for any amount of cash," Scorpius said firmly.

"That's clear. I just meant a drink. Just to apologise. Because I accused you wrongly."

"Well, not tonight. I have to get straight back. My mother worries. Not that she knows, you know, what line of work I'm in. Just she doesn't trust Muggles." Scorpius gave a half-grin.

"Another time?" Harry asked hopefully. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"Maybe. I'll Owl you. I've got to go." Scorpius jogged the few steps to the Apparition Point and disappeared.

Witch's Institute AGM. Meet me from work.

Harry's heart stopped when he saw it.

"Is there a reply, sir?"

He shook his head and the aide went away. The annual Gala dinner of the Witch's Institute was on the next Thursday. Ginny was the honorary president, Astoria Malfoy the Chairwoman. Neither of them would be able to leave the dinner early and it generally went on until the early hours of the morning. It was perfect. And Harry knew Scorpius' work rota, knew that he did the early evening slot on a Thursday. But did this mean that Scorpius knew that Harry knew? And how had he been so sure that Harry would recognise his handwriting?

It had been six weeks since they had spoken. He had wondered whether Scorpius had forgotten about him, or whether he was trying to avoid him.

Sweating stupidly, Harry Apparated to Hogsmeade Owl Office at lunchtime. It seemed safer somehow, although there weren't any magic folk anywhere who wouldn't recognise him.

Quarter to ten, stage door.

He wanted to write reams about how grateful he was, how much he looked forward to it. He posted it as it was, though: as simple as a telegram.

Scorpius was ten minutes late in the end. He was wearing skinny black jeans and a shapeless dark green sweatshirt. There was the usual backpack on one shoulder. He looked exhausted.

The doorman gave Harry a stern look as he approached Scorpius.

"Hello," Harry said. "How are you?"

"Fine!" Scorpius replied dismissively. "There's a nice pub I know a couple of streets away."

"Can I carry the bag?"

"It's fine. You look nice. Nice suit."

"Thanks." He'd spent ages deciding what to wear, feeling foolish about doing so all the while.

"Very Muggle," Scorpius whispered.

"You look tired," Harry said.

"That obvious? Just been working hard. I don't know how the other boys manage, without iPepper Up/is and iReviva/i."

"I don't suppose they're expected to spend the daylight hours representing their families at garden parties and charity lunches."

"There is that. What do you think?"

They had reached the pub. Harry thought it looked friendly and clean, but that wasn't his main concern. "Look, if you're not feeling up to this ... I mean, if you're tired, you should go home and rest." He hoped against hope that Scorpius wasn't going to take that advice. "Are you hungry?" he tried.

"Starving. But I really don't think I could cope with all the formality of a restaurant. I just want to flop down somewhere. And I'm hardly dressed for it."

"Well, look, I don't mean to be – I mean, say no if you like. If you're not comfortable, then I'll just get you some chips in the pub or whatever. Only, I've got this place. A Muggle place. There's food in the kitchen. A sofa ..."

Scorpius nodded. "Sounds great."

Scorpius tucked into the dinner straight away. Harry watched him for several hungry mouthfuls, before Scorpius managed, "So, you can cook?"

"I can fry," Harry amended. He looked towards the kitchen. "Learnt in this very house. It's where I grew up."

"You were Muggle raised?"

Harry nodded.

"Muggles are amazing. My parents don't understand them at all." Scorpius dipped a slice of bacon in egg yolk and chewed for a while. He seemed to be thinking something through. "Father completely under-estimates them. He thought it would be easy. He assumed that we were more clever than them, that I'd be able to use magic to manipulate their currencies, stock exchanges and money markets – that sort of thing. He just doesn't get how it all works. He thinks that's what I do."

That sounded about right for Draco.

Scorpius shoved down some fried tomato and cut up the fried bread. "He didn't know. About qualifications and references, National Insurance, P.A.Y.E, all that. I couldn't get an office job anywhere. All that cleverness was no use to me. Luckily he doesn't even know that merchant bankers don't work nights. The only thing I could get a job with was this." He indicated at his body.

Harry tried not to stare. "I don't understand why, though. Why work in the Muggle world at all?"

Scorpius swallowed another mouthful. "Shouldn't be telling you this," he said. "Especially not you." He sighed. "There were reparations. A lot of people - victims, I suppose – were too scared to come forward while Grandfather was alive. It wasn't just the official compensation claims. There were payments to keep people quiet, too. We weren't expecting it. And then -" he shut himself up with the last fork-load of food. He seemed to be considering whether to finish that sentence as he chewed. He swallowed. "Well, you'll know how much was confiscated from the Manor. Dark Objects. Various books. Before the war and since."

Harry frowned. "Malfoy's been trying to replace it?"

"I didn't say anything. Obviously."

"No, of course."

"So, what with one thing and another, money's getting a bit tight for the family. And a Malfoy couldn't possibly be seen to be working. Not in our world. Reputation, honour, all that."

"And awkward questions about where the fortune had gone?" Harry nodded. "I see. So you're supporting the whole family?"

"They both have to be visible. I have more flexibility. Thanks for the food. Just what I needed." Scorpius relaxed against the sofa back.

"There's ice cream in the freezer," Harry offered.

Scorpius patted his tummy. "I'd love to. But that lot's going to cost a few sit-ups as it is. My figure is my fortune." He chuckled.

"Why not just use a Glamour?"

"Can't keep it up when I'm concentrating on the moves. Need the fitness anyway. Do you know about iCalories/i?" Scorpius leant forward slightly, a bit more awake than he had been.

Harry remembered Dudley complaining about the diets he'd been put on. He nodded.

"Muggles know all sorts of stuff. Science is amazing. We really miss out on all that."

"I'll wash your plate up. You relax there." Harry stood up.

Scorpius blinked his eyes open.

"Sorry," Harry said.

"What for? I should be apologising for being such poor company. How long was I asleep?"

"Only a couple of hours, I tried not to, but couldn't help it. It's a bit creepy." At Scorpius's raised eyebrows, Harry continued, his eyes downcast. "I was watching you sleep. Like some old pervert."

"Don't worry about it. We don't have much time left, do we? The Witch's Institute dinner will be winding down soon." Scorpius sat upright and rubbed his face. "You don't have to sit all the way over there, you know." He patted the seat next to him.

"I don't trust myself," Harry admitted.

"Look, Minister Potter, I understand. I can see how you feel about me. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't interested, too. You can sit next to me."

Harry's heart sped up and his stomach tightened. He didn't sit on the sofa, he knelt in front of it. With shaking hands, he reached for Scorpius' long fingers. "I worship you," he whispered. "I think about you all the time. I'm obsessed. I'd do anything."

"You're a nice man," Scorpius replied. He leaned forward and pecked a small kiss onto Harry's cheek.

Harry's skin flamed. He closed his eyes, overcome by Scorpius' touch. He felt soft lips on his.

"We don't have much time now," Harry said regretfully.

Scorpius laughed softly. "Just because I'm a stripper, it doesn't mean that I fuck on a first date! We've got enough time for what's going to happen tonight."

Harry looked into Scorpius' face, with a warm feeling of being blessed. "This is a date?" he asked hopefully.

"I think we can call it that." Scorpius pulled his hands from Harry's grasp and took hold of his face. "I'm going to kiss you now, and you'd better make the most of it, 'cos it's all you're getting for now."

Then their mouths met and Harry sank into a place of ecstasy which he had never dared hope to reach.

Harry locked the back door of Privet Drive from the inside. He didn't need to hear or smell anything to know that Scorpius was already there. The atmosphere of the uninhabited house was changed immediately in some undefinable way by the young man's presence. It was almost a year since that first kiss. It had been a wonderful year.

Harry went up the stairs to the bedroom which had once belonged to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. It had been a terrifying place then – the home of Vernon's belt and Petunia's hairbrush. Now just knowing it existed made Harry smile.

The curtains were closed, but Scorpius was awake in the bed.

"Good sleep?" Harry asked.

Scorpius smiled. He came here to nap during the day without the House Elves considering it unseemly. "Great. I've got a couple of hours before I need to be at work. Had a busy day?"

"Nine hours in meetings with interest groups overseeing the restructuring of Poltergeist legislation. You?"

"I sat for a family portrait, then came here. I've been working out with your cousin's old weights." He pulled a bare arm free of the bedding. "Want a feel?"

Harry forgot how to breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and stroked the smooth skin from Scorpius' forefinger tip to his shoulder. "Lovely," he whispered breathlessly. He laid his cheek against the muscular upper arm. He inhaled Scorpius' unique scent. "Are you naked?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm trying out a new costume," Scorpius purred. "Want to see?"

Mouth dry and eyes huge, Harry sat back on his heels, nodding. Scorpius watched his face as he peeled back the bedcover. A fine, green chain ran over his chest, through his nipple rings and one through his belly button. He was wearing long, tight green trousers, too, in some kind of artificial snakeskin.

"I want to kiss your chest," Harry said, when the bedding was only down as far as Scorpius' knees.

"Ok," Scorpius said. He lay back, still, as Harry rose up on his knees to plant a soft kiss on the pale skin. From a distance it looked as though Scorpius had no chest hair – but before he had ever touched it, Harry had known exactly what pattern the pale, thin, soft covering made on the skin of almost exactly the same colour. He kissed again and again, round the chains, between the nipples.

"Please can I touch your chest?" Harry breathed onto that skin.

"Yes," Scorpius said.

Harry ran his fingers over the pectorals and the ribs, making Scorpius moan slightly. "I love every inch of you," He darted his tongue out to flick at Scorpius' nipples. "I worship you." He ran his hands down the side seams of the trousers. "Ah. Velcro?" he asked.

"Uh huh," Scorpius replied.

"Mmmm. May I?"

"Uh huh."

Scorpius lay back and closed his eyes as Harry moved away far enough that he could get hold of the waistband. He was about to tug when he heard a sound.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"What?" Scorpius chuckled. "You're talking Parseltongue again. It's just hissing to me, remember?"

Harry looked into Scorpius' face to ask, "You've got the snake in bed with you?"

Scorpius just grinned. Harry grinned back. He looked back to the bottom of the bed, where the bedding was still scrunched round Scorpius' feet. "Come here," he hissed, "wrap yourself round your master's leg."

The ear-less, silver head appeared, tongue flickering, and the strong, thick serpine body moved up Scorpius' left leg. Scorpius yelped as his snake pushed its blunt head between his knees, forcing them apart, then moved between his thigh and the bed. As it came back into sight, Scorpius asked, "What did you just tell my snake to do?"

"Nothing much," Harry lied.

"Too hot. Squashed," the snake hissed to him.

"He wants you to raise your legs," Harry told Scorpius.

Scorpius did. Harry hissed again and the snake started to edge its way in to the waistband of the pants. With a ripping sound, the velcro was forced apart and, as the snake worked its way back down his master's leg, naked skin was revealed inch by tantalising inch.

Harry watched, enchanted. He placed his hands back on Scorpius' chest, caressing him. Then he kissed him on the throat.

"You can put that mouth to better use lower down." Scorpius' voice was thick.

Harry took hold of the side of the trousers which were closest to him and pulled decisively. He tossed the top of them to the floor. Harry never tired of the sight of his young lover's body. It was perfect. Always. With a snake encircling one leg and chains decorating his torso he was something beyond perfect. Harry lowered his mouth and filled it with Scorpius.