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.

Draco owns a café in the city. Harry's a MP who comes in every morning, newspapers in one hand, BlackBerry in the other, and orders a triple espresso macchiato.

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

When Harry starts to have erotic dreams about his godfather, he questions his sexual preference. The real issue turns out to be even more complicated and disruptive. Then there's Draco.

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.

After the eventful Christmas in Harry Potter's fifth year at Hogwarts, his godfather gave him a badly wrapped package. Inside was something Harry could use it to get in contact should the need arise, Sirius said. Harry resolved never to use whatever it was -- he would not put Sirius in danger. When later that year Harry was shown Sirius in terrible danger, he did not think of using Sirius's last-minute gift. Hermione, however, did. This is the story of what happened after that.

"I'd say it was the pot calling the kettle black, Granger. But I think you already know that."

Draco had touched it first. Potter's hand had reached out a second after his, and Potter's fingers had curled around it a second after his. Potter had pulled at it, trying to yank it away from him. Draco had tightened his hold on it, but Potter's fingers were longer, and he had had a better grip. As Potter had flown off with his arm raised, Draco had looked down to see the wing of the snitch, fluttering weakly in his hand.

"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."

The following morning he was awake when the news owl came, and opened the Daily Prophet right on his front porch, dressing gown and all. It was on the very first page: MALFOYS TO STAND TRIAL slathered in enormous black letters at the top, and below that a photograph of the family, standing on the steps of the Ministry. They were surrounded by Aurors, lawyers, and general bustle: every so often the picture would bleach white from a news camera's flash.

"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."

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

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.

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

The lives they settle for are not sufficient.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?