If it's Remus and Sirius, then somehow it's okay.

Five things Albus Dumbledore could not bring himself to say to Gellert Grindelwald. (One of them is a lie.)

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.

He tells himself he’s healing because it sounds healthy and well-adjusted and like him, and James has stopped showing up to contradict him.

“Get up, John,” Sherlock says, in a tone that has John jerking upright in bed, immediately, and grappling for his gun in his bedside drawer, even as he says, “Sherlock, what is it?”

Incomprehensibly, Sherlock simply says, “Voldemort.”

"You've always been obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. That should probably tell you something."

It's terribly bad form, sleeping with your ex when you're still half in love with the bastard.

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.

He lights a cigarette across the pub, his hand cupped to his mouth as the tip sparks to life in a faint orange flare, and my breath catches.

It was always the same excuse.

Harry wished he didn't respond to Malfoy this way, wished his self-control wasn't reduced to nothing the second Malfoy touched him.

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.

Harry Potter has only ever had two goals in life: to defeat Voldemort and to bring his followers to justice. One, he's done. The other is in progress. It should be simple, except there's one former Death Eater who doesn't meet the right criteria.

NEED-

-e.l. icicles
-explo. snowb. globes (legal???)
-tenenbaum treacle
-HONEYDUKES, raid at
-Carol Card f/Mum
-tree? appro. trimmings? garland???
-green
-lights (candles, pixies, fire, etc.)
-exploding things in gen.

and also

-hairclips (sparkly kind, green, f/LE)

In which Sirius Black knows more than he ever wanted to.

"The bad news is that I think I might have fallen ridiculously, head-over-heels, Prongs-for-Lily, nauseatingly in love with you. The worse news is that it took Marlene McKinnon's lips to tell me that."

One brother: the one you love above all others. Two brothers: the ones you can never choose between.

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.

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.

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.

George returns to 93 Diagon Alley for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts.

She still carries a slight limp from the war, which makes it harder to get around Hogwarts. She spends most of her time in her office, marking student work and enjoying the occasional tea with Hooch. Sometimes someone sweeps past her office and she thinks she sees Severus, but there has been no sign of his ghost around the castle. She is sure that he, of anyone, would have gone gladly to death.

Walden Macnair lounged against the back wall, polishing his wand with a fold of his sleeve and looking rather bored. And sprawled on the floor at Macnair's feet, looking as if he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express, was Sirius Black.

Another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults.

There's no one else to blame, but it's easier to take out your frustration on Death Eaters, garden gnomes and Alice Longbottom. It's simply more comfortable.

"Oh MERLIN. STOP WRIGGLING OR I'LL HEX YOU! This is a rule. There is a KNICKERS RULE!"

Teddy Lupin never gets too close or feels too much; his godfather's son never does anything else.

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.

James Potter's luck was bound to run out. Who knew he'd take Remus Lupin's along with it?

There was visibility, and then there was invisibility. James Potter understood the difference between the two. When he decided to become invisible, no one was more surprised than he.

"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."

"I won't stay just because you think you'll be lonely."

"You spiked the tea again." Remus is grumbling the minute they get outside, peering into the depths of their flask with an expression of fast-impending doom that tea doesn't often warrant.

How Sirius saved Christmas and why Remus is actually illiterate.

"It's a chickenpox because of all the poxes in all the world, it's the weakest. Chicken-hearted blighter."

I mean, when the love of your best friend's life comes to you and says, oi, Sirius, your godson's got to get signed up for Hogwarts, of course you say yes, Lily, indeed he does.

It's the day before Remus' nineteenth birthday, and Sirius is at an utter gift-giving loss.

Sirius won't remember why he does it, or five gin and tonics, or the curve of her mouth when she laughs, just like he won't remember the dull, low ache theme:alcohol lends to the conversation, until Lily can't stop laughing and he can't stop things spilling from his mouth, like pearls and diamonds in one of those wretched fairy tales.

You don't know it yet, but this is the last time you will ever touch him like this.

Sirius comes back from the loo to find James snogging Remus. He sways drunkenly for a moment and considers the three things that are wrong with this scenario. One, that this is James’ stag night, which means that he is getting married next week. Two, that James is kissing Remus, who is a boy, as is James. Three, that James is kissing Remus, which is a thing Sirius has dreamed about many many times, but has never dared to put into action. All three of these things are troubling.

"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."

All men kill the thing they hate, too, unless, of course, it kills them first.

From the moment he saw her, Arthur knew there was something special about Molly Prewett.

Remus' hand was on Sirius' shoulder, and had been for too long. James stared at that, at the tight curve of long fingers against leather, and was torn between gratitude, that it saved him from looking at anyone's faces, and resentment of what it implied. Sirius had been dodging his questions, lately, and Remus had a way of looking at him, bland and watchful, which meant the questions stuck in his throat. They were his friends, and he didn't care if he was right: he didn't care what they did to or with each other. But they were his friends, and they shouldn't lie to him.

"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."

But then, realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, made her head ache and her stomach roll and her heart lurch inside her chest. She grabbed his wrist and yanked up his sleeve, ignoring his gasp of pain. The infamous Mark, the snake and skull that she’d caught her sister admiring on her own arm glared at her, black and charred on his white skin. It radiated heat, in spite of how cold he was. The raindrops that fell to touch it sizzled and evaporated as greenish smoke.

No matter how fast he runs, he can't run away from himself.

“I loved you once, you know.” James knew that things would be different. He just hadn’t known how much they had changed.

In which Hermione finds herself again following her divorce, becomes re-acquainted with old enemies, and nearly everyone takes their clothes off.

Kicked out of the house by a best mate who's about to propose, Sirius heads to the Leaky fully intending to drown his frustration in a of pint of beer, but the blonde woman across the bar seems like a much better outlet for it.

You know what, my little man? Mum’s going to step out for awhile, and dad is just going to have to watch you.

She freezes, looking up at Abraxas Malfoy's portrait. It--he--has always been civil to her, but not what she'd call friendly, certainly never paternal. Now he is smiling down at her, with more warmth and force than a swath of canvas has any right to project.

I’m not sure why I responded to the ginger-haired girl the way I did. I’d seen a hundred of her type before--pale and skittish at finding themselves here, but arrogant, too, never worked a day in their life, likely to look down on a woman like me who makes a honest living through trade. They pretend like they’ve been to Knockturn Alley before, like they know what they’re doing, like they know what they want. They rarely do. I take their gold anyway. I need it. We’ve all been screwed over by somebody--and I’m the first to admit it happened to me--but if they pay me enough, I’ll help them act like that’s not true.

I'll tell you a story, believe every word,
It's quite unique, nothing like you've ever heard,
In case you believed that, shame on you,
This rhymes, yes, but truthfully, it's nothing new.

"Gran!" Neville exclaimed. "Do you realize this means you're married?" He paused as the situation sank in. "To Professor McGonagall?" he added, just in case either was befuddled as he was. "Gran?"

After his father casts a mysterious curse on Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is forced to try to make things right.

Remus isn't a very good story teller, but there are things Harry wants to be told. Then again, there are some things Remus can never say, things that burn to think about. Betrayals and other things he keeps to himself. Secrets from when it all fell apart.

"There's no need for being so glum. Twenty-nine's the new nineteen, they say."

"Come on, Padfoot," James pleaded, grabbing him by the shoulders. "What does it matter if you see her before the wedding? Won't do anything to your future life and happiness."

The lives they settle for are not sufficient.

"What? Like girls don’t wonder about these things also?"

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

He wondered what it would taste like. Potter would know. Draco grimaced, still remembering so clearly the fury, confusion, and disappointment when Slughorn had handed Potter that small bottle, so similar to this one. What had Potter got on his perfect day? The Snitch? The front page of the Prophet? The entirety of the wizarding world falling down at his feet in worship? But then that was an average day for Potter, wasn't it?

Over the course of twenty years, Draco must find room to carry the things he loves best.

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.

You can tell a lot about a society by what it values.

Five years after taking his fifteen-year-old godbrother's virginity, Teddy has done everything he can to avoid James. He is definitely not supposed to look this good when Teddy finally runs into him again, but Teddy is pretty sure the kid will never forgive him for disappearing like that.

James always believed that Scrabble was what won Lily's heart.

When Harry finds out that the manager of James's Quidditch team is none other than Draco Malfoy, old memories begin to surface, threatening to take his attention away from the things that are supposed to matter.

Harry’s trying to get over the animosities of the past, but Draco wants nothing to do with it.

Lying next to the milk bottle was a dead sparrow.

"The same goes for you, Albus. This may not go to the Ministry, but I don't think it will show you best-placed to care for your sister - or your brother."

"Don't you ever wonder why it is you don't argue like this with anyone but me?"

James couldn’t deny the significance of giving Sirius a blowjob. There was far too much history between them for that.