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Scorpius could tell the adults in the room, though he hated calling them that, considering he now fancied himself one at the ripe age of twenty, were already well into their eggnog and rum. Still, Albus Potter’s parents and their friends insisted on calling them “the kids.”
It was their first Christmas back in the UK since enrolling in the post-Hogwarts Alchemy Collegiate program in America. The course load had left no time for proper holidays over the past two years. Now, with their studies wrapped up after the autumn term, Albus and Scorpius had decided to take the next year to “sow their wild oats”—a phrase Mr. Potter kept using with a wink. Scorpius wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but he always smiled and chuckled politely just in case it wasn’t appropriate to ask.
The Potters’ hospitality was always a welcome change from the cold indifference of home. Holidays at Malfoy Manor were quiet, formal things; his father spoke in pleasantries and practiced manners, and his doting grandmother insisted on decorum above all else.
This year’s Christmas dinner was served at Grimmauld Place, where Scorpius found himself beside Hermione Granger: a woman he was keenly aware of, though he’d only met her a handful of times. She had once guest-lectured at Hogwarts, and that had been the first and only time he’d been captivated by someone speaking about magical law. Later, through a bit of casual inquiry, he learned she was Rose and Hugo Weasley’s mother, and that she and their father, Mr. Weasley, who was now sitting across the table beside his new wife, Padma, had divorced not long after Rose started school.
He’d seen her other times too, quickly leaving his father’s office at the Ministry, looking flushed, her curls a little wild as she swept past him and his mother in the corridor. His father, on those days, would always look rumpled, with a bruised mark behind his ear, when Scorpius followed his mother in for their visit. Without fail, those evenings ended with another argument between his parents.
Sitting next to Ms.Granger now, he was doing his best to appear mature and worldly, rather than the awkward schoolboy she might remember, when she leaned over and offered him a glass of wine.
“Would you like wine, Scorpius, or would you rather butterbeer?” she asked kindly, just as Mrs. Potter began passing around the roast and fixings.
“I’m not as good of a cook as your Grandmum,” Mrs. Potter chirped, “but this will have to do. Both your siblings are off visiting Uncle Charlie in Romania, so you’re stuck with me tonight.”
Scorpius straightened. “Wine, I prefer it,” he said quickly, as there was no way he’d be caught dead asking for a butterbeer.
“I saw you guzzling butterbeer last night at the pub,” Albus interrupted mid-bite. Scorpius shot him a ‘sod off’ type glare.
“This is quite a palatable Pinot,” Hermione said lightly, pouring his glass as though she hadn’t noticed the exchange.
He nodded, mumbling, “Thanks” before taking a sip and focusing intently on his plate.
Mrs. Potter leaned over and dolloped a generous helping of gravy onto his roast.
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Scorpius said politely.
“Scorpius,” she chided, “Please call me Ginny.”
“Ah, right. Thank you, Gin—ah—Ginny,” he corrected, the informality sitting awkwardly on his tongue.
Albus piped up, “Mum, is Ms. Parkinson coming tonight?”
A huff came from further down, where Neville Longbottom, Ms. Parkinson’s on-again, off-again sort-of husband, was nursing his drink. Scorpius had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Albus had harboured a hopeless crush on Pansy Parkinson ever since the summer between sixth and seventh year, when she’d turned up to his pool wearing the tiniest bikini imaginable. She’d been there with his father, Aunt Daphne, Uncle Theo, and Uncle Blaise, and Scorpius could still remember the exact shade of red that had been permanently plastered on Albus’s face.
“Ah, yes, sorry, Nev,” Ginny said. “I invited Pans.”
“It’s fine. She haunts me no matter where I go; might as well make it Christmas too.” Professor Longbottom said with forced cheer, as Albus’s iries took on heart shapes.
“And why do you want to know, Alb?” Ginny questioned, settling back into her chair.
“Albus fancies her,” Mr. Potter’s comment earned an immediate roar of laughter from Mr.Weasley.
“Dad!” Albus groaned as Scorpius lost his composure and snorted into his wine.
“Were you trying to keep that a secret?” Mr.Potter teased, and Scorpius grinned at his friend’s misery.
“Do you fancy older women, Albus?” Hermione asked with a tease from behind the rim of her glass.
The question sent an unexpected stir through Scorpius’s gut. For one dangerous second, he wished she’d turned that question on him. His answer would’ve been a resounding yes — though mainly for you, Ms. Granger.
Ginny snapped her fingers. “Enough of that. Stay away from Pansy, and perhaps from women altogether, or at least don’t let me hear about it.”
Hermione took another sip of wine before glancing across the table. “Padma, did Rose ask if it was alright for her to bring her new boyfriend over this weekend? I meant to check earlier, but she said you’d already agreed.”
“What boyfriend?” Ron barked.
Scorpius exchanged a grimace with Albus. They both knew Rose was dating Michael Pucey — who, in their joint opinion, was complete rubbish.
“Yes,” Padma said patiently, “I did allow it. Ron, I told you last night, you were half-asleep on the couch.”
“Oh, right,” Ron grumbled.
“Just making sure. You know how she likes to twist our words sometimes.” Hermione huffed and flipped her hair back, and as she did, a wafting trail of vanilla drifted toward Scorpius.
“I think it’s really nice how you two co-parent,” he said absently, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “My parents could never. When they separated for that bit a few years back, that was torture enough.”
The table went quiet — painfully quiet — except for the sound of Albus chewing.
Ginny was the first to break the silence. “Where are your parents this holiday, Scorpius? I would’ve invited them if I’d known.”
“Would you have?” Ron muttered, earning a swift kick under the table. Judging by his wince, it was likely from his wife.
Scorpius coughed. “It’s alright. They’re in Italy. I’ll likely meet up with them after the holiday. Uncle Theo’s calling it a ‘rekindling trip.’”
The sudden scrape of metal on porcelain drew his attention back to Hermione. Her fork clattered against her plate, and her face went the same hue as the Pinot Noir she’d been drinking. Her lips pursed tightly together, her expression cascading with irritation. Perhaps she still harboured a grudge against his father all these years later.
“Oh, well, that’s ah, good for them, I guess. Regardless, we’re happy to have you,” Ginny continued, and Scorpius wasn’t so oblivious as not to catch the glance that passed between her and Hermione. They carried on as if there were some secret about his family he wasn’t privy to, though it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been kept in the dark. It was the very reason he wore his signet ring on a chain around his neck rather than his finger; there were times he didn’t feel like the embodiment of a Malfoy at all.
“Ginny says you’re both starting your travels in Egypt. If you find yourselves in Cairo, let me know,” Hermione interjected. “I can arrange for you to meet Professor Zain; he’d be delighted to give you a private tour of the Library of Alexandria.”
Scorpius opened his mouth to respond, but Albus got there first.
“We’re not exactly interested in reading old tomes again,” Albus leaned back. “We just spent two bloody years doing that.”
“Albie speaks for himself,” Scorpius cut in. “It’s been on my list for ages. My father once promised to take me, but the trip fell through. I’d give anything to spend a few hours studying Thoth’s works on Alchemy. I’ve only ever seen fragments, copied from older translations.”
Hermione was gulping, setting her glass down as a reverent grin crept across her face. “I’ve seen those works first-hand,” she replied. “They’re nothing short of spectacular. Please, let me connect you with Professor Zain. He’ll make sure you’re properly guided. And Albus—” she added, “there’s a hookah café around the corner if you’d prefer to while away the time there.”
“Ugh, no,” Albus groaned. “Obviously, I’ll go. Can’t have Malfoy getting a head start on the shortlist of alchemists accepted into Dorcrest’s program before me.”
“Apologies for the delay!” Pansy Parkinson clipped as she strode in an hour late in six-inch heels. “But no offense, Weasley, my diet these days consists strictly of gin and fresh greens, and all I see on these plates are mountains of starch and carbs.”
“It sounds like you meant offense,” Professor Longbottom muttered.
“Don’t be sour, Nev,” Pansy waved him off, dropping her satin satchel of gifts onto the floor.
“I can make you a martini, and you can call it dinner,” Ginny replied, already heading toward the counter.
“Hi, uh, hi, Ms. Parkinson. You can sit here, Scorp, and I can shove over,” Albus offered, scooting to the side.
“I brought a few gifts for you all,” Pansy announced, reaching into her oversized bag and setting down a collection of artfully wrapped parcels at each place setting. Ron uncorked a bottle of Firewhisky while Padma unfolded a silk scarf from one of the packages.
“Pansy, this is the engagement ring I gave you,” Neville said, brow furrowing as he opened a velvet black box.
“Yes, and I’m gifting it back to you,” she replied. “Found it at the bottom of my jewellery box and, well, I’ve no use for it anymore.” She finished airy, but the twitch in Neville’s jaw suggested he might crush the crystal tumbler in his hand.
“And don’t think I forgot you boys,” Pansy added, reaching out to pinch Albus’s cheek, squeezing it before setting two boxes in front of them.
“You really didn’t have to,” Albus sputtered.
“Just something for your travels,” she leaned against the counter as Ginny passed her a martini.
Scorpius and Albus unwrapped two intricately designed golden compasses, each engraved with their names and Latin inscriptions along the edges — virtus, moralitas, principia.
“Morality Compasses,” Pansy announced. “If you ever find yourself uncertain about what to do, open the compass. It will point you in the direction you ought to go.”
Scorpius clicked his open. The needle spun rapidly before clicking to a stop — pointing directly to his right. His eyes followed it: straight to Hermione, who was currently unwrapping a bottle of perfume. Above the dial, an inscription glowed: Ill-Advised.
Beside him, Albus’s compass had landed on Pansy, the same words shimmering above the needle. Both boys exchanged a look, then snapped their compasses shut at once.
“Thank you, Aunt Pansy,”
“Yeah, yeah, thank you, this is… this is awesome,” Albus added, the last word sounding forced.
Scorpius leaned closer. “Awesome?”
“Shut it,” Albus scoffed, eyes still darting to Pansy. “Fuck, I should’ve gotten her something,” Albus hissed, as the rest of the room fell into overlapping chatter.
“What would you possibly have gotten her?” Scorpius asked incredulously.
“I don’t know, jewellery, maybe. A necklace or something nice like that. Doesn’t your father always say jewellery for women is either for courting or apologising?”
Scorpius snorted. “And which are you doing? Courting a woman twenty years your senior or apologising for being a moron?”
Albus elbowed him. “Ha-ha. Don’t act like you haven’t been drooling over my Aunt Hermione all night.”
“Alright, sure,” Scorpius replied, a heat creeping up his neck. “But I’m not delusional enough to think that would ever happen.”
“Alright, kids, we’re heading into the drawing room for a few drinks,” Ron announced, stretching back in his chair. “You’re old enough to join if you’d like.”
“Nah, we’ll head downstairs,” Albus said, already rising from his seat. “Watch some telly, have a few pints.” Scorpius followed suit. He knew that if they lingered much longer, they’d be trapped listening to one of Ron Weasley’s war stories, and there’d be no polite escape.
“You don’t think your parents are fun enough company?” Mr.Potter teased as he began stacking plates.
“No, Dad, unfortunately, we don’t,” Albus replied with mock solemnity. “But do let us know when the cheese puffs come out, I love those.”
Harry shook his head as the boys darted for the basement door, leaving behind the clatter and clinking glasses from the drawing room. Raucous laughter followed them as they disappeared down the steps.
“Gods, she’s fit,” Albus continued on about Pansy, clearly unable to help himself.
“Do you still talk to Melanie Burwick, the witch from Ilvermorny who was in our program?” Scorpius asked, desperate to redirect Albus’s attention from his aunt. Even if Pansy wasn’t a blood relative, he’d known her since childhood, and though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought the same thing once or twice himself, it wasn’t exactly a mental image he was proud of.
“Nah, that sort of fizzled out after the summer,” Albus replied.
Scorpius dropped onto the lopsided sofa. He liked the Potters’ basement; it was obvious Mr. and Mrs. Potter had put effort into updating it for the kids. A wide Muggle television dominated the wall, a chipped coffee table sat in the center, and shelves of dusty board games and kids' books lined the sides. Near the cellar door stood an always stocked fridge.
“Nice girl, though,” Scorpius added, popping the cap off a lager that Albus had tossed his way.
“Speaking of girls,” Albus said, throwing his legs up on the coffee table, “I wanted to ask you about this coming year, and what we’re supposed to do if we bring a girl back to our room.” He set the remote toward a football match.
“There are a few places we’re staying where we’ve got separate rooms,” Scorpius quipped, recalling their travel itinerary nearly by heart.
“Yeah, but not in Greece, or Croatia, or anywhere else in the Med. We’ve got doubles in all those. I’m thinking we go with the Muggle way, a sock on the door, or something, and the other just keeps busy at a pub or a club for a bit,” Albus shrugged.
“I mean, that or a ward,” Scorpius mused. “I’m sure the other would get the hint. Although… can I ask you something?”
Albus turned his head. “What?”
“How can you tell if a woman… er—ah—cums?” Scorpius lowered his voice. “Alice told me she did, but I couldn’t feel it. Or see it. So I wasn’t sure if…”
He trailed off as he thought back to his handful of encounters: Ophelia Scamander in a broom closet after the Yule Ball, Isabella Zabini on the Potions classroom desk during prefect rounds, and twice with Alice MacDonald during their alchemy program at Ilvermorny. Each time he’d felt like he’d done alright, but the moans and kittenish whimpers hadn’t exactly felt… conclusive.
“Alright, I’ve had this thought too,” Albus admitted. “You know, they say they do, but I heard from James it’s like, well, this tightening, then a sort of quiver, and you can actually feel it around your, you know…”
“Cock?” Scorpius finished for him.
“Yeah, and sometimes, apparently, a few of them… squirt,” Albus added.
“And James has made a girl squirt?”
“Well, according to him, Lizzie MacMillan’s a bloody gushing fountain,” Albus rolled his eyes.
“Shite. Did he, ah, tell you how?” Scorpius probed, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
“No. He’s a prat like that. But, alright, I was going to do this alone, but since we’re on the topic…” Albus stood and went to the bookshelf. He reached up and pulled down a VHS tape labelled Titanic in faded peeling print. “I may have nicked this off Uncle George’s shelf while I was in the back of the shop.”
“What’s that?” Scorpius asked warily as Albus slid the tape into the player.
The screen zipped to life with a grainy image of a bleached blonde woman, oversized lips, fake tan, and breasts that looked far too buoyant to be real, scolding a young man with a ruler in hand.
“Porn,” Albus said matter-of-factly. “It’s called Naughty Mummies.” He quickly came to sit back down as the woman began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Naughty Mummies?” Scorpius balked under his breath, glancing nervously toward the stairs. “What if someone comes down?”
“We’ll hear them, the stairs are ancient,” Albus replied, eyes glued to the screen. “I just thought… we could, you know, make some notes. See how these blokes do it.”
On screen, the man’s trousers were yanked down, and the woman leaned in, spit glistening as she worked her mouth over him. Scorpius felt the unmistakable rush of blood to his cock and silently thanked Merlin that Albus was sitting on the other side of the sofa.
“Oh, there, baby, right there…” the woman moaned as the film advanced. She was sprawled across a desk, legs draped over the man’s shoulders, his mouth working between her thighs, tongue flicking over her clit in fast, serpentine strokes while three fingers pumped inside her.
“Alright, three fingers, good to note,” Albus nodded, pointing a little too eagerly for Scorpius’s liking, just as the man on screen slid a finger into the woman’s puckered arsehole, drawing an inhaled gasp from her lips.
“You do know these sorts of films are made for blokes, right?” Scorpius exhaled dryly. “You think women actually like a thumb up the arse?”
“Fuck, mate, I like it. I hope they do too. Doesn’t hurt to try, yeah?” Albus grinned as the man began thrusting, the sound of wet claps volumizing the room, the woman kept moaning praise while the man's hand stayed rolling on her clit.
“See that? That right there, I’ve tried that. Melanie always pushed my hand away and did it herself,” Albus went on.
Scorpius thought back to Isabella and Alice, each one giving him different directions: a little left, no right, no—not that right. It had nearly convinced him the clit was some sort of mythical creature no man would ever truly find.
“Cum on my cock, baby, yeah, that’s it, good little naughty mummy,” the man on screen grunted—
and then—
“What are we watching, boys?”
Both Scorpius and Albus nearly leapt out of their skins. They turned to see Hermione Granger standing behind the couch, smirk wide enough to crinkle her eyes, an uncorked bottle of Pinot Noir dangling from her hand.
“Bloody hell! Aunt Hermione! Where did you—” Albus scrambled for the remote, mashing buttons until the TV went black. Scorpius felt his face drain of all colour, mortification rooting him to the spot.
“I took the back steps from the kitchen to the cellar,” Hermione laughed, “Heard some rather… interesting noises.”
“It’s, uh, it’s educational!” Albus cracked. “Purely educational, right, Scorp?”
Scorpius nodded rapidly. “Educational. Furthering our… ah… knowledge… of…”
“Furthering your knowledge of Naughty Mummies?” she joked.
“Oh, gods, don’t tell Mum and Dad,” Albus buried his face in his hands. “We’ll just put the footie back on.”
“Oh no, please, don’t let me interrupt your education,” Hermione drawled, turning toward the stairs. “Just… behave down here…”
She winked, actually winked, and as she disappeared up the steps, Scorpius felt his stomach twist and his half-hard cock spring to full attention. He grabbed a throw pillow, adjusting it over his lap, watching the sway of her hips vanish up the staircase.
“You absolute twat! You made me look like a bloody loser in front of her!” Scorpius smacked Albus hard on the arm.
“Oh right, because I knew she was going to sneak down and catch us watching that!” Albus shot back, rubbing his shoulder.
“I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again,” Scorpius dropped his head into his hands. “She’s going to think of me sitting here with tented trousers watching Naughty Mummies.”
“I just hope she doesn’t tell Dad,” Albus sighed. “I can’t survive another lecture about proper contraceptive charms.”
“Do you even know how to cast a proper contraceptive charm? You ought to be careful, you come from a dangerously large family,” Scorpius teased. “I imagine it’s hard when every fit witch is your cousin.”
“Shut it, not every fit witch is my cousin. And I know how to cast it, or at least I ask if she’s on the potion,” Albus scowled.
A fit of giggling drifted down from the top of the basement steps, followed by a hushed, “No, stop that,” before both boys spun around again.
A leggy Pansy descended the stairs, gripping the banister for balance, a coupe glass of something sparkling in hand, while an amused Hermione followed closely behind.
“Oh no,” Pansy drawled, glancing at the blank television. “Don’t tell me you two changed the channel.” She sipped leisurely, one hand resting on her hip, and both boys froze like deer in headlights.
“You told her?!” Albus turned on Hermione.
“Don’t worry,” Pansy flipped, “we find it endearing. Hermione mentioned you two were seeking a bit of education… and what sort of education would that be, exactly?”
She sauntered around the couch, then draped herself across the chaise where Albus sat, one hand resting near his foot, her body stretched out like a seductive cat wanting a pet.
“Pans,” Hermione warned from the other side of the room. “Leave them be.”
“Oh, come now, Hermione,” Pansy crooned. “You and I are academic women, are we not? We do so love imparting wisdom to the younger generations.”
Albus was dumbfounded, and Scorpius had completely lost his ability to speak for the second time that night. Somehow, Albus found a minuscule bit of courage from somewhere inside him, one Scorpius could only assume came from being born into a bloodline full of Gryffindors.
“We wanted to learn how to make a woman cum,”
“You haven’t before?” Pansy smiled so wide she showed teeth. Scorpius could see the dagger points of her canines; she looked like she was about to eat them alive.
“We’re not sure, which makes us think maybe not,” Albus glanced at Scorpius as if to back up his point. Scorpius only gave a stiff little nod.
“Did you ask your partners?” Hermione chimed in, settling onto the cushion beside Scorpius. Her skirt hitched up, revealing a smooth expanse of caramelized skin.
“Yeah, they said they did, but we heard there’s… a tell, like a sort of tightening,” Albus went on. Scorpius watched Hermione, who looked genuinely curious, while Pansy bit her lip, fighting a gleam.
“Mmhmm, yes, a tightening of sorts,” Pansy said, throwing Hermione a look that made her snigger. “And you boys want to learn how to make that happen? With your cocks or your tongues?”
Scorpius looked over just in time to see Albus’s jaw drop, a dribble of drool running down his chin.
“Fuck, ah, both. Honestly, both would be grand,” Albus blurted out. Hermione’s eyes flashed to Scorpius, whose hands were now a bit unsteady.
“And you?”
Scorpius swallowed. “Yeah… both. I’d love to be able to lick a clit until her legs shake on my shoulders.”
He had no idea where the hell that came from: the words just fell out. Hermione’s eyes widened; she set her drink down, clearly startled by the admission. She was sitting too close; the seduction of her perfume and the spark of her interest let recklessness overtake reason. Scorpius was struck by a brazen thought: why not?
“Alright…” Pansy rose. She crossed the room and lowered herself onto the coffee table directly in front of them, legs spreading until her skirt hit the rim of her stockings, the lace trim resting mid-thigh, then a flash of a red thong that barely covered anything.
Albus made a strangulated whine in his throat as Pansy began to unbutton her blouse, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the tops of her breasts.
“Pansyyy…” Hermione warned, yet the sight of Pansy’s legs parted had colour flooding her own cheeks.
“What?” Pansy purred as her nails trailed down her sternum. “I’m going to teach them something useful. You boys want to learn?”
Albus looked as though he might fall to his knees right there and began to worship at Pansys' altar. “Fuck yes,” he managed, his cadence leaden with disbelief.
“You’ve seen a cunt before, I take it?” Pansy slid her thong aside to reveal a lovely, ripe pussy. Scorpius’s hand gripped his thigh, his knuckles whitening, as he caught Hermione watching him watch Pansy; his chest constricted, his breath was shallow, as he fought to keep restrained.
“Not one as pretty as yours, fucking hell, Ms. Parkinson,” Albus breathed.
Hermione exhaled and crawled on the floor until she was kneeling beside Pansy, the ravel of her skirt pooling as she reached out. “Perhaps you’re right,” she ushered, her tone instructional. “We should be teaching them.” Her fingers glided through the intoxicating slick that was illuminating Pansy's cunt. “You see her lips? Puffy. That means she’s getting aroused…”
Scorpius shut his eyes for a heartbeat, willing his body to behave. But the sound of Hermione’s analytical tone, combined with the wet squish of her touch, had Scorpius on the verge of taking out his cock and beginning to wank. His brain was trapped somewhere between awe and delirium.
“Let Hermione show you,” Pansy gasped.
“You hear her breathing? That’s how you know you’re close,” Hermione coached, demonstrating with thoughtful movements that kept Pansy’s lips spread. “Tight, gentle circles,” Hermione looked toward Scorpius now and again, as though daring him to get on his knees and practice.
“Can I?” Albus broke the spell.
Hermione smiled and took his hand, guiding it between Pansy’s thighs. She laced her fingers over Albus’s, helping him move through Pansy’s folds. Her head tipped back as she moaned in encouragement. When Hermione's stare found Scorpius again, her eyes were sparkling and glassy, and she refused to look away, not even as she held his best mate’s hand and showed him exactly how to rub Pansy’s clit.
“Oh, good boy,” Pansy squeaked.
“You’re so fucking fit, godsdamnit,” Albus rasped, as he situated himself between her legs and began truly toying with her. Hermione let go of his hand and quietly rose, stepping back toward the couch where Scorpius sat.
She looked down at him, fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. “Curious?”
“Yes, gods yes,” Scorpius groaned, unable to disguise the blood in his groin.
Hermione lifted one leg, letting her skirt ride up over her hips, the flash of her thigh framed between the smackable curve of her arse. Scorpius glanced over; Albus was still entranced, his fingers now plunging into Pansy as she guided him on. “Where your thumb is,” Pansy breathed, “put your tongue there and lick.”
Hermione mimicked what his aunt had done and pushed her white lace thong to the side. Scorpius sank lower on the couch until he was beneath her propped leg. The scent of her decadent cunt was drowning him. “Fuckkk….you smell so good…” he groaned, as his hands slid up her calves, tracing the dip and flex of toned muscles.
“Do you want me to help you fi—” Hermione began, but her words broke off into a gasp as Scorpius slid his hand upward into her warm wet, exploring hesitantly at first before finding that swollen bundle that made her body jolt.
“There?” he panted. “There, right? Can I use my mouth?”
Before she could answer, Pansy huffed through the lust. “Albus is a fast learner,” her fingers were tangled in his hair. Her head hung back, her mouth forming a doughy ‘o’ as Albus had her splayed open on the glass of the table.
“You can use your mouth,” Hermione nodded. He looped one hand to grip her thigh while he let his head lull back against his shoulder before licking a torrid strip straight through the middle of her. It was as though his taste buds exploded, an immediate rush that had him salivating at the flavour, the musk clouding his head as his nose burrowed into her mound. He kept licking, sucking on what he knew now to be her clit while she chanted above him.
“Doing so good… look at you… so dedicated…” Hermione ground her pelvis down onto his face, and Scorpius gripped her calf to keep her sturdy.
“Do you feel that pulse, Albus? Keep circling like that and curl your fingers upward, and I’ll be cumming in minutes…” Pansy panted. Scorpius’s eyes flicked over to where Albus was holding her open, her blouse pushed aside, small cherry-tipped tits exposed, as his Aunt Pansy thumbed over her nipples. The sight made his pulse stutter, and he moved the hand that was currently on Hermione’s thigh up to knead her breasts.
“Oh yessss, nipple play, very intuitive,” Hermione helped him tug her blouse open until she was released from the cups of her bra. He growled into her, tongue lapping through her cunt as his hands massaged her juicy, full tits. Her freckles dotted against bronzed skin, and he desperately wanted to have her nipples between his teeth and suck them until she cried.
Scorpius pinched one between his pinky and forefinger, and Hermione keened. “That’s it… Keep going,” she urged. Scorpius doubled down; his brain was rewiring from the chorus of Pansy and Hermione’s praises, oscillating with the obscene laps of tongues working through folds. Albus kept grunting and rubbing himself subtly against the leg of the coffee table, likely trying to stave off the pressure gathering in his trousers, a feeling Scorpius knew all too well, as his own cock fought against him.
“How’s he doing, Granger?” Pansy asked. Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair and between his ears. When he looked up, he was met with the most gorgeous sight: her lips parted, rosy cheeks, head tipped back in rapture.
“Wonderful… absolutely wonderful,” she sighed, letting her hair spill over her shoulders.
“I’m close,” Pansy bucked against Albus’s hand. “When a woman’s—oh, fuck—close like this, you need to keep the pressure steady.”
“Mhmmmuhmmm…” Albus hummed in concentration, and Scorpius matched him, sliding three fingers into Hermione.
“ThereThereThereThere—” Hermione was falling forward, and Scorpius used every ounce of strength in his arms to keep her upright. He only registered the vibration of Pansy's orgasms through the filthy chorus of Albus’s cursing and grunting that followed.
“Gods, dedicated like your fathers, huh?” Pansy managed to laugh between gasps, but Hermione only shushed her. Scorpius didn’t care what any of it meant; he was too lost to dwell on whatever it was. Hermione began to tremble as she constricted around his hand. He finally felt it—her release, a quivering pulse gripping him, and he mimed her name as his tongue drank everything she was giving him as though he were dying of thirst.
“Oh gods…” Hermione’s words were a broken whisper as she keeled over, and he caught her, pulling her into his lap as if she were already his and they did this daily. Their mouths met in these messy, hungry kisses. Scorpius’s hands locked around her waist as he sucked on her lower lip her as though he’d been waiting years to do so.
Pansy was dragging Albus back onto the couch, the two of them a blur of black hair and frantic snogging at the periphery of his vision. Hermione thrust against him, her bare cunt rolling over the hard bar of his cock.
“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” he gasped between kisses, “but do you have any idea how long I’ve had a crush on you? Since the first time you lectured at Hogwarts.” He laughed breathlessly. The confession was unguarded as his forehead met to her.
“You shouldn’t be telling me that…” she whispered, as she licked up the last trace of herself from his mouth.
Pansy had gone down to her knees between Albus’s legs, working at his belt. Scorpius held a transfixed glance, and Hermione must have noticed, because she, too, sank to the floor opposite Pansy. Her Christmas skirt twisted around her ribs, her tits bouncing with the movement, just as Pansy freed Albus’s cock from his briefs with an appreciative hum.
“How long have you fancied me, Albus? I know it’s been a while…” Pansy poked as she began to pump. Albus’s head thunked back against the couch. “Forever, I think… forever, Ms. Parkinson,”
“Mmmmm, what a nice cock you’ve got,” Pansy leaned forward to lick a line from his bollocks up to the head. “More than adequate to have me cumming on it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, fuck, yeah… do that again, lick my balls again,” Scorpius noticed how much Albus was already a fucking mess; as Pansy’s tongue traced his ridged veins once more, his mate was blubbering out words that had no business being shoved together.
Scorpius liked to think he was keeping it together better than Albus, but the moment Hermione’s fingers hooked into his waistband, those big doe eyes batting up at him, every ounce of composure vanished. She pressed against his calves, and for a dizzing second, he thought his heart might give out.
“Oh wow… Pans, look at this,” Hermione awed as she pulled out his cock, watching it throb and twitch in her palm. She gripped the base, tugging at it as if showing him off to her friend.
“Big and thick,” Pansy oozed. “You’ll need to put your mouth on that, see how it measures up.”
Hermione turned her head, eyes meeting Scorpius’s with a curious glint. “Do you like having your cock sucked, Scorpius? How far have other girls been able to take it?”
“Yeah, yeah, I really like getting my cock sucked…” Scorpius admitted. Hermione’s tongue darted out to lick the drooling pre-cum from the tip. He was in a full body sweat, every nerve alive, as she wrapped her lips around the head and suckled all the way down, while making little wet pops.
Her tongue slid down his length, while her eyes stayed intently on his, and she began to moan around him. Scopius watched as Albus’s hand guided Pansy’s head up and down as the basement filled with the glorious symphony of both women’s deepthroating, the slurps and gasps drumming off the walls.
Scorpius thrust up instinctively, meeting Hermione’s gag as she took him to a place no girl ever had. He was starting to truly appreciate, with growing, delirious certainty, the vivacity of an older woman.
“Oh, what a fucking mouth, gods, fucking hell—Scorp, Scorp, how’s that?” Albus groaned over toward him.
Scorpius’s eyes had rolled back into his skull, every muscle in his body taut as a bowstring. When he managed to look over, Albus was sprawled in a manspread with Pansy bobbing wildly. The high points of his face, the colour of the Weasley gene's hair. His biceps flexed as he gripped the couch cushions, and all Scorpius could manage in response was a gutty whimper.
Albus caught it and grinned. “Yeah mate, same.”
“I nearly forgot how much fun they are when they’re young,” Pansy pulled off with a gasp, and began to straddle Albus. She stripped off what little clothing she had left, her pilates-toned arse giving a slutty little wiggle as Albus kicked free of his trousers and shrugged off his shirt.
Across from them, Hermione followed suit, peeling off her clothing until she was completely nude, and Scorpius couldn’t stop himself from touching her, his hands following every curve as she motioned for him to undress. He lifted his shirt over his head and shook away what remained until there was nothing left between them.
Hermione’s finger ran along his abs like a washboard. “And fit,” she said with a sly grin.
“Quidditch,” Scorpius managed to grunt as she swung one thigh over his knee and the other over the opposite.
“Seeker?” she questioned against his ear, her dainty hand palming his cock.
“Nrghhhhh, Beater,” he groaned, barely able to get the word out as the cacophony across the room grew louder with wet, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin. Pansy was already bouncing on Albus’s cock while his hands spread open her arse cheeks to guide her movements.
“That’s it, stretch me out like that, stretch me out,” Pansy bucked.
Hermione notched him at her welcoming entrance, and all Scorpius could do was stare, completely bewildered by the sight of her. She smelled like vanilla and fermented grapes, and he knew he’d remember that aroma for the rest of his life.
She guided his hands to her chest, encouraging him to palm her tits, fingertips circling her nipples, until his fingers encased hers to take over. Hermione began to lower herself onto his cock until her eyes snagged on the silver chain around his neck, where his signet ring hung.
“You don’t wear it on your hand?”
“Argh—no, it feels, ugh, fuck—silly,” he stammered between gasps. She was wrapped around him so snug it was suffocating, her cunt clenching like a silk glove as he tried to focus on anything but the overwhelming sensation of her body.
Albus was thrusting up into Pansy with full control. Scorpius’s eyes lingered long enough to catch the tight draw of his friend’s balls, the way his sac pulled in; he knew Albus wasn’t far from cumming.
“Can you try something for me?” Hermione brushed at his ear. She reached for the chain at his neck, unclasping it before rocking herself forward. She was sealed and perfect, a fit unlike any other, and Scorpius would’ve agreed to anything she asked.
“Anything,” he gulped.
She took his hand and began to rock her hips, each lift bringing her fully seated onto him, her tits swaying within reach of his lips as she slid his ring onto his finger.
“Want to make a woman cum?” She gripped his shoulder as she started to ride him in earnest. Scorpius, through clenched teeth, panted a shattered, “Yes,”
Beside them, Albus kept frantically slamming up into Pansy with debauched grunts. “So fucking fit, so fucking wet—gorgeous tight little pussy,” It was almost distracting until Hermione laced the signet ring over her clit.
“Press and roll as I bounce,” she mewled. Scorpius caught both her wrists in one hand, pulling her back as he did exactly as told—branding the metal against her clit. She clenched, taking him higher, his balls drawing just as Albus’s had as the pressure built into a blinding eruption.
“Malfoy,” Hermione screamed, and Scorpius felt a strange passing at hearing her call him that, but quickly his thoughts scattered as he caught Albus, now standing with Pansy in his arms, her laughter breaking into a squeal as he tossed her back down onto the couch. Albus turned her over, dragging her hips up before driving his cock back into her with a slap to her cheeks.
“Can I put my thumb in your arse?” Albus roughed.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Pansy chanted.
“Please, Merlin, please cum for me,” Scorpius begged, as Hermione kept riding him, her thighs shaking with every drop and lift. He kept his ring in bound circles, the motion making her shudder. A corruption of possessiveness swelled through him. He hoped when he finally pulled away, there’d be an ‘M’ imprinted in her cushioned flesh.
“I’m cumming for you, oh, Malfoy, I’m cumming for you…” Hermione gasped, impaling herself on him harder. Scorpius felt his jaw liquefy and the inevitable rush coiling hot in his gut, ready to combust
“Scorpius,” he rasped. “Call me Scorpius.”
Her eyes snapped open, a startle of recognition washing across her face. He drove the ring more forcefully against her nub, and she broke. Her frame convulsed in waves that mirrored Pansy’s beside her. “Scorpiusss,” she moaned, and as she did, he reached up, gripping the back of her neck and yanking her down to him. Her cries were swallowed by his mouth as he pounded up into her limp, shaking body, eyes squeezed shut, silently thanking every god for letting him be here tonight.
Albus broke. “Immaabouttocum.”
Scorpius realized he was teetering too, and couldn’t be careless enough to empty inside her. Albus pulled out, flopping Pansy unceremoniously onto her back, and Scorpius tore his mouth from Hermione’s to grunt. “Shite, so am I,” He tossed Hermione beside Pansy.
Their heads lay inches apart as Albus and Scorpius crouched over them, bodies taut, muscles and veins straining down their arms and torsos, mouths slack with ragged breaths and primal grunts, as they fisted their cocks. Black hair tangled with brown curls as Albus and Scopius sprayed cum across the stunning swell of their tits and the bows of their necks. The boys' bodies twitched in the aftershocks, and Scorpius couldn’t tell anymore if the broken curses were Albus’s or his own.
Panting, Scorpius dipped down and caught Hermione’s lips between his teeth, tasting her wine-stained breath as Albus leaned in to claim Pansy’s mouth in return. Hermione broke away, dotting kisses up Scorpius’s throat, her hand tracing the beaded path of his spine.
“Rose and Hugo are away all weekend, come over Christmas morning,” she whispered. “Oh, and do you like red or green ribbon?”
Fucking hell, Scorpius was in love.
“Red. I like red,” He licked a kiss on her neck.
“Mhmm, interesting choice, would have thought green,” she joked as she fondled a strand of his blonde hair, just as Albus drew back from Pansy, who sat up at the same time Hermione did.
“Well, you boys catch on quick,” Pansy smoothed her hair back into place and cleaned herself up. “But we should get back to the party. Both our ex-husbands are upstairs, and I imagine explaining how we ended up fucking you two in the basement would be complicated.”
She stood, slipping elegantly back into her clothing, while Albus sat there, staring at Pansy as though she’d hung the bloody stars. Scorpius helped Hermione refasten her skirt and button her blouse, her lips curved in a secretive little smile as she reached up to cup his chin. Behind them, Pansy’s heels clicked across the floor, the unfortunate sound of reality setting back in.
“Albus, you can Owl me anytime to do that again, but let’s keep this between us, alright? Your mother would have my arse” Pansy winked as she started up the stairs.
Hermione grabbed Scorpius’s face one last time, kissing him before pulling away to follow Pansy. Both boys sat there, still completely naked, their cocks half hard and now marred by the evidence of both women. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hermione whispered, glancing back with that same smile before disappearing up the steps.
Scorpius turned to find Albus staring at him, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. “Fucking Christ,” Albus ran a hand through his hair. “Did we die or something?” He blinked a few times, then added, quite seriously, “Do you think we should… postpone the trip?”
Scorpius was thinking the exact same thing. Honestly, tonight was the best night of his short-lived life. Hermione Granger's lips parted as she milked every drop from his soul. Greece, Croatia, the whole bloody Mediterranean could wait a few months. But waiting a year to touch her again? Impossible.
“Yeah… ah, maybe a few months,” he cleared his throat as he stood and reached for his briefs. Albus followed suit, both of them avoiding eye contact, as they tried not to stare at each other's bare arses.
A week later, Scorpius sat in a sun-drenched villa in Tuscany, the smell of roasted herbs and olive oil drifting in from the kitchen as his parents did a “re-do” of Christmas dinner. He was still riding a high that wouldn’t fade. In just seven days, he’d slept with Hermione Granger nine times, five times in her London flat under her Christmas tree, three times in her sheets, and once at the Manor, on his father’s desk, when the house was empty. He was convinced that it was the wettest she’d been so far.
He speared a forkful of julienned carrots, trying to appear normal as he casually mentioned that he and Albus had decided to postpone their travels for a few months.
“Scorpius, dear, are you wearing your signet ring on your finger?” his mother tilted her head. “You never wear it on your hand.”
Scorpius glanced down, caught off guard. Truthfully, ever since he’d discovered how much Hermione liked the feel of his ring rubbing up against her clit, he hadn’t been able to put it back on the chain where it belonged.
“Women like it,” he quipped, trying to brush it off with a light shrug.
His father snapped up from his plate. Scorpius cleared his throat and stabbed another carrot, pretending not to notice the glare firing into the side of his head.
“Who was all at Potters for Christmas?” His father questioned.
“Ah, well, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Professor Longbottom, Mr. Weasley and his wife, and… Aunt Parkinson,” Scorpius managed, suddenly swallowing felt as though he were gulping molasses, as he tried to keep the reverence out of his voice when he said her name. “And Hermione Granger.”
His mother’s fork paused midair. “Hermione Granger?”
“Yeah,” Scorpius nodded. “She’s, uh, taking me to the Library of Alexandria. We bonded a bit over Thoth’s works; she knows a professor there and offered to show me around.”
He could already picture it: Hermione splayed out on a smooth white sheet in a five-star hotel, the Cairo heat sticking to her ribs, sweat trickling between her breasts, giggling while he licked it up. Just a week more, and they’d be there, learning, exploring, and fucking like they had all the time in the world.
“Excuse me,” his mother said crisply, placing her napkin neatly on her plate before rising from the table. She didn’t look at either of them as she walked out, heels clanking against the marble. Scorpius watched her go, feeling a heed of unease.
“Huh…” Draco sliced through the tension. “Scorpius, what is that behind your ear?”
Scorpius’s hand instinctively went to his neck, rubbing at the tender spot where Hermione’s mouth had left a constellation of bruises. Anxiety rushed to his face immediately.
“Alright, fine, I’m seeing someone,” he admitted, fingers worrying the cut of his signet ring as if it could cool the panic itching at his skin.
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking Granger?” He choked out her name like it was poison.
“Dad, don’t overreact. This has nothing to do with you.” Scorpius bit back in defense. He knew his father would lose it; he likely still despised her from their Hogwarts years or their time at the Ministry together as competitive colleagues.
His father laughed a cruel, maniacal cackle that didn’t reach his eyes. He pushed his chair back so forcefully it took some hunks of wood with it, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped the table.
“Nothing to do with me?” he repeated, voice rising. “You think this has nothing to do with me?!”
He shoved the chair aside and stormed toward the fireplace.
“Dad! Dad, where are you going?!” Scorpius called, stumbling after him as Draco reached for the Floo powder, fury radiating off him like heat from a forge.
“I’m going to wish Hermione Granger a Happy Christmas from the Malfoys,” Draco snarled, and before Scorpius could even process the oddness of the statement, his father vanished in a riot of viridian flames.
Scorpius stared at the empty hearth, anger clawing its way up his throat. Fuck. His father was going to ruin everything. He wanted to scream that he loved her, that nothing his father said or did would change that.
He felt a drumbeat of dread, and an object buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it free: the golden morality compass Pansy had gifted him. He flipped it open, praying it might somehow tell him what to do.
Should he chase after his father? Demand he leave Hermione out of it? Declare his love and stand his ground like a man who meant every word he’d said to her? It was the only course of action that made sense in his head.
But the dial spun once before clicking decisively toward the still-smoking Floo. The inscription illuminated starkly across its face in mocking script, a single damning phrase in silver light: Ill-Advised.