Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Draco has convinced the Auror department to test his new messaging charm for secure communications. Harry really would have preferred that he not find out through messages like, 'Yeah, tonight you're going to beg me for it,' that the system wasn't as secure as they thought.

The owner of the elite BDSM club M. had not gained his reputation as the most coveted Dominant on the scene by taking on just any riff-raff submissive who asked. It would take an unexpected letter to convince him to accept a new client, but it might turn out to be the biggest mistake he ever made.

The affair starts on a Thursday.

In the course of Harry's job, numerous reports and files come across his desk. He's never adapted to the paperwork in this job and delegates to his secretary as much as possible, but some things have to be reviewed and signed by him personally.

So, one Wednesday, he gets a form requesting permission for a former known Death Eater to leave the country for a holiday.

It was always the same excuse.

Harry returns from vacation with an unfortunate case of vampirism and must learn to cope with blood, Malfoy, and recalcitrant secretaries. And if that doesn't tell you everything about the plot you need to know, you haven't read enough badfic.

The new Muggle Prime Minister meets the Minister for Magic.

Remus was really astoundingly drunk. Impressively, astonishingly drunk, with a side of bastard to go with the mix. He'd gotten himself tossed out of the bar approximately half an hour prior and he'd set himself at walking toward his flat immediately thereafter.

It wasn't always like that. Because when Dumbledore had paused before the cluster of four boys--and they were still boys, Sirius knew now--on their last day at Hogwarts, and told them that they were bound for extraordinary things, he'd been right.

James wasn't stupid, and he was mostly quick. Four weeks, he'd counted. It'd taken him four weeks total to realize what exactly had happened and manage not to yell, "You bloody tart!" at Sirius.

The war had given them all new and unexpected skills: Neville had learned how to break a man’s arm in three places, and Draco had learned kindness, and Ron, himself, had learned not to take unconsidered action. Almost.

"I understand your father likes the Muggles. Do you know anything about their blasted copy papering machines? Every time I put a roll of parchment in the tray it tells me I'm making jam."

"There is only one truly effective and permanent love potion, Miss Black. You won't find it in books, because it is difficult, deeply personal, and useless."

"I realise this may come as a shock to you, but our investigations have been going on for some time, and we’re quite sure. Your mother Lily Evans was not, as we had all previously believed, of pure Muggle stock. One of her ancestors was a Veela."

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

It takes a few years for the magic to settle in. It's a complicated process, this replication of life, and when Harry Potter finally blinks for the first time he has been dead for six years.