Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written purely for fun.

Author's Notes: This will make a hell of a lot more sense if you've read Champions. Also absolutely NOT canon compliant as in this 'verse Snape survived. I began this ridiculousness way before the end of the series, and I'd like to think that in some world Snape is having verbal fights with Draco over punctuation.

"Draco Malfoy!"

"From the use of both my names, I am in dire shit. As usual. First things first. Can we please refrain from having a Potteresque meltdown? I ask because Granger still hasn't forgiven me for your last whing-ding. Which shattered her wedding china. And, since you're calling from work, I forbid you from getting your knickers in a twist. Remember the last Howler Shacklebolt sent us, complaining that you mucked up the lifts again with one of your magical hissy fits? As if that were my fault—"

"It was bloody well too your fault. You used my credit card to buy yourself a pair of leather pants that cost over a thousand pounds—"

"My cards were maxed out. I told you that. And it was Italian leather. Which is not cheap. You weren't complaining until you found out what they cost. Need I remind you of the hard-on that wouldn't die? You always get bogged down in minor details."

"A thousand pounds is not a minor detail."

"Neither is my arse in those pants. Harry, I'm in conference here. Can't this wait? Some of us work for a living. Severus and I are at the point in our weekly meetings where we bloody each other's noses. Usually it's over capitalization, but today we're going hammer and tongs over the misuse—"

A faint voice in the background shouted, "Proper use, you complete imbecile—"

"The gross misuse—"

A faint voice in the background screamed, "Completely valid use, you grammar-challenged toad—"

"Of commas."

"No, it cannot wait!"

"No need to shout."

"You'd shout too if you went to retrieve the tax bill for the flat out of the rubbish—"

"Harry, Malfoys do not pay taxes. Why do we go through this every year?"

"Because every year we get fined for non-payment of taxes. Malfoys do not pay taxes because Potters pay the taxes and the fines because Malfoys are selfish arses who pull that noblesse oblige shit about never paying taxes. Which is utter balls, because it comes out of our joint account and… That's not the point, you tosser. What is under discussion is what I found in the rubbish—"

"Severus, I am trying to save your comma-challenged arse from complete humiliation. I hope you realize that. Mark my words; if you put a comma there you will never be able to show your face in Diagon Alley again. This is American usage? Savvy? Harry, I am in a professional meeting. We have yet to get through Chapter Four. Yes, Sev, Harry hates you, too. I'll call you after lunch."


"I'm home. Finally! And drinking a large glass of that Bordeaux I ordered last week. Are you Flooing home soon? Shall I pour you a glass? It's got the most lovely legs—"

"Bollocks the legs. The rubbish, Draco, the rubbish—"

"Don't you even care that I survived another meeting with Severus? This revision of his textbook is turning me into a complete alcoholic."

"Balls. You drink the same amount as you always have."

"Perhaps. But I'd really like to charge him for this Bordeaux, and I can't do that willy nilly without some decent excuse. Like him driving me to drink. He claims I drive him to drink."

"You're driving all of us to drink, Draco."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Misery loves company comes to mind."

"Well, you'll certainly be miserable when the bill comes, because this wine was hellishly expensive. And Brenda, the woman at your credit card company, gave me a tiny bit of grief about the charges. Before you start in, I've fixed it. I set her up with Finnigan. She's conveniently waved our interest charges for this month. I'm celebrating. My commas prevailed. This was a particularly nasty session. I'm seriously considering bringing in an arbitrator—"

"Draco, you're an editor. This is not Yalta. You are not Churchill. Snape is not Stalin."

"Yalta? Stalin? Churchill? What in god's name on you on about? What in the hell do I have in common with a dead man, whom, when he was alive, had three chins—"

"That's my point—"

"You've lost me. The bottom-line is I'd kill Severus if I thought our bank account could stand it."

"Don't let a trivial little detail like that stop you. See? I'm not getting bogged down in minor details. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Fuck yourself, Harry. It's always the minor details that count that you ignore. Per the usual, we are not to answer any owls for the next five days."

"Over commas."

"Of course over commas. You never take my work seriously. I am now suitably numb from the wine. Scream away."

"I'm at still work, unfortunately, so I'll have to restrain myself."

"That doesn't sound like any fun. Or, conversely, it sounds like lots of fun if I'm the one doing the restraining."

"On task, Draco, I intend to keep on task. What sort of perverted—"

"Harry, are you trying to wind me up? You know what that sort of talk does to me. I'm rubbing a thumb up and down my zip—"

"Stop that!"

"Stop that?"

"Yes, stop that. Are you writing about our sex lives and posting it on the Internet?"




"Draco, you and I both know that 'perhaps' is Malfoy code for yes. It means you want to lie, but know that if I catch you in a lie, you won't get sex for a week."



"Now before you get all hot and bothered, and not in the ways that I like, what story are you talking about?"

"The one where you're rimming me at Ron and Hermione's wedding."

"Did it get you hot?"

"Not as hot as I was WHEN IT HAPPENED!"

"I changed the details. Why are you getting so upset?"

"One detail. You changed one. The fact that your tie was red, not silver. Everything else was identical. Our NAMES! Draco, you used our names."

"Oh, pish-posh, no one knows that it's really us."


"Harry, you're making quite a bizarre noise. If you're choking, rap the phone three times."

"It's the sound of my eyeballs hitting the wall opposite me."

"People write about us all the time. They don't know it's me. The real Draco."

"Write about us. People write pornographic stories about us."

"Acres and acres of it. It's quite flattering. And not just a little hot. They take Jo's stories and then…embellish them."

"And you write them too?"

"Well, you're away a lot. And I can only read so many textbooks without going crazy. So I started writing porn. It's just a hobby."

"Draco, I'm getting a migraine. You write porn about us, except it's not porn. It really what every filthy thing you've ever convinced me to do, but people think it's porn. Except it's reality."

"Harry, you're being dense just to irritate me. It's us, but they don't know that. The other writers just think I write really good smut. Little do they know that I do really good smut. And then write about it."

"Is this why our Internet bill is so high? Are you online all the time, giving out real but not real details about our sex life?"

"You could put it that way. If you wanted to."

"Yet another Malfoyesque way of saying yes, but giving yourself enough wiggle-room in case you need wiggle-room."

"Minor details. What's really important here is that we have to get rid of this tiresome dial-up. I want digital or cable."

"Can't load that porn fast enough, huh?"

"It's so sloooooowwww, Harry. Can I please have digital for my birthday?"

"You just had your birthday. No. I'm not making myself clear. Draco, please stop writing about us."

"Look, you're away. A lot. And I've made some pretty good friends online. They don't know it's us. Besides, it's not like I'm some BNF or anything like that. Just a smalltime fangirl."

"BNF? Fangirl?"

"Right. BNF. Big Name Fan. Someone who is acknowledged as one of the major writers of fanfiction. A fangirl is someone who reads or writes fanfiction."

"Jo's okay with this?"

"Sure. She has her own LJ name. She writes killer fem slash. If you like that sort of thing."

"Fem slash?"

"Not that it's our cup of tea, since we're dick central. She's also written a couple of stories about you and Ron, but that's such a major squick that I couldn't read them."

"Squick? Wait a minute. RON??????????"

"I know. It's enough to make you take a fork to your brain to stop the visuals. You know how I feel about freckles and sex in the same room. Relax. It's all anonymous. I have a fangirl name that's nothing like my real name. No one will guess."

"The 'girl' part fits. What's your fangirl name?"

"Ocard Yoflam."


"Harry, are you doing that head banging against your desk thing again?"

"Don't mind me. You're right. Subtle as a hippogriff having sex with Snape."

"I thought it was clever. Look, some of this stuff is really hot. If you plan on getting your arse home sometime this century, I'll printout some of my favorite authors and we can read them together. There's threesomes—"

"Threesomes. With us?"

"Yes. With Snape. Stop that choking thing. I'd thought you'd outgrown that. One of my favorites is a hysterical story about me hosting a contest to see who has the biggest dick in Hogwarts."

"That sounds like something you'd do."

"Yes, I thought so too. It's so funny and hot! There's this description of using chocolate as a lube… Are you allergic to chocolate?"

"Not that I know of why?"

"No reason."

"More Malfoy code for I'm not telling you now but you're going to hate it before you love it."

"Nonsense. You'll love it right off the bat. I do have a few complaints. This Draco is so whiny."


"And selfish."


"Annoying and petulant."

"Do tell?"

"But he has a killer arse."

"Apparently this is nonfiction."

"I'm ignoring your snide remarks. In addition, she does get a few other details all wrong. Get this! She gives Longbottom a dick down to his knees."

"Uh, Draco? Neville does have a dick down to his knees."

"No way! He can't be bigger than Blaise. It wouldn't be human. And she also gave Weasley a decent-sized dick."

"Draco, I know this offends your ridiculous Slytherin sensibilities, but I bet you that Neville makes Zabini's dick look like a licorice whip in comparison. And Ron is hung."


"You're not saying anything. Which means you're shredding my underwear."


"If you don't stop, I'll charm all your custom-made black silk boxers into plaid wool y-fronts. I took showers with both of them for seven years. They're packing. Especially Neville."

"Bollocks. There's only one way to end this debate. I've checked the calendar and next Saturday is free. We're throwing a wanking party. I'm sending out a barrage of owls and getting everyone over here to pull out their dicks and prove it."

"Draco, our ex-classmates know we're gay. They might think it strange that we're inviting them over to pull down their shorts, jerk off, and then measure their dicks."

"You're letting those minor details bog you down again, Harry. We'll offer prizes. People can't resist prizes. Floo home soon, lover. I've poured you a glass of wine and the printer is going mad. If we get a wink of sleep tonight, I'll eat my modem. Oh… Damn."


"I told Brenda at the credit card company that Finnigan was hung."

"No one's coming."

"Um, no, I don't think so."

"I don't understand. I even said in my owls, underlined it twice, that were there going to be prizes."

"Might have something to do with jacking off in front of the gay guys thing."

"I don't see why. We do it all the time in front of each other."

"Yeah, well, some people have hang-ups."

"I bought really cute individual bottles of hand lotion."

"We'll use it, don't worry."

"Not the pineapple-kiwi shit. That has the most nasty smell, and if you get anywhere near me with it I'll hex you. I was going to give it to Weasley."

"Got it. No pineapple-kiwi shit."

"Bought personalized flannels too. For after. Monogrammed them even. You know what a whore I am for monogramming."

"Yes, Draco. I know."

"And wee leather-bound notebooks for recording the stats. With matching pens."

"Well, that's most of our Christmas shopping taken care of."

"And party berets. Party hats are so middle class."


"You're doing that back of the throat thing when you're trying not to laugh at me."

"No. No, I'm not. You look very sexy in a beret."

"I'd better. I now have fifteen of them. Good thing one size fits all."

"What was the grand prize?"

"A two-year subscription to Gay Wizard. My subscription ran out. Do you think my Little Bo Pervert costume at Weasley's Halloween party might have had something to do with it?"


"That costume was brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant."

"I agree. It was. You were. I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

"Sheep were a bit much."

"No sheep next time."

"Smelly buggers. You don't think Weasley's getting back at me for the garden thing? It wasn't really my fault that they ate a few plants. Who knew that sheep had such voracious appetites."

"Draco, they ate the entire garden. There wasn't anything green left. Nothing. They even nibbled on the brick. And we won't even talk about the mounds of sheep shit all over the place."

"Fertilizer. Besides it was the end of October. Nothing was blooming anyway."

"They ate the stalks, too. Down to the ground."

"I hate sheep."

"So do Hermione and Ron. At least now they do."


"You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. You know I love parties. I love giving parties. I love pouring champagne and handing out party favor thingees. And I really love jerking off. Remind me never to speak to that fucking traitor Blaise Zabini ever again. He didn't even have the courtesy to owl me and tell me he wasn't coming. He has no excuse. B is for Blaise. B is for bi."

"Uh, Draco? Pansy owled and sent his regrets."

"Pansy never regretted a single thing in her fucking life. What did she really say?"

"That it would be a cold day in hell before she let Blaise and Neville whip out their dicks in front of you because she knows what a size queen you are."

"God, that's SO pot kettle. Bitch. I knew that story about Longbottom being the live-in gardener was a bunch of shit. Not even you and I have a live-in gardener."

"Sure we do. That scruffy chap with the dark hair and the scar. The one who mows the lawn and trims the hedges every Saturday while you have your morning espresso and read the Prophet."

"Oh him… He's rather fit. Mind if I have a go at him?"

"I think he'd like that. He's got a thing for slender blonds with pointy chins and wicked mouths."

"That feels nice. Do it again. Harry?"


"I spent five hundred pounds. Eight hundred if you count the champagne."

"Look at it this way. We have a big leg up on our Christmas shopping. And we both like champagne. No great loss. Come on. Get your cloak. We're Apparating to Paris. We have reservations at the George V for the night. We have just enough time to check in, have a fuck, and then make our dinner reservations."

Oh. Oh! Really?"

"Yes, really."

"You knew this would happen."

"Thought I'd better have a contingency plan. Come on, get your cloak. If we're any later we'll have to choose between a round of 'fucking the gardener senseless' and dinner."


"I don't like the tone of that 'harry'."

"Brenda, the beotch at the credit card company, called while you were out getting the caviar. I gather the date with Finnigan was not a success. I couldn't really hear her properly because she was really tearing strips off of me, something about not even Commodore Perry could have found it and where's a Hubble telescope when you need it. And for some odd reason she's not only reapplied our interest charges but slapped a fine on us as well. Like it's my fault Finnigan's got a weenie dick."

"Oh well. Get your cloak."

"Um, Harry."

"Yes, Draco."

"I've been thinking about that story. Am I irritating?"

"All the time."


"Only three times a day on average."




"Twice a day. On average."


"Twenty-four seven."


"You're also adorable, brilliant, saucy, sexy, articulate, and all mine. Accio Draco's cloak. Draco, put this on. I've packed for you. And before you ask, yes, there are ten pairs of socks, five pairs of black silk boxers, five sets of trousers, gray flannel, ten white—since it's June—button-down shirts. We'll spend the night in Paris. On Sunday morning, we'll have breakfast in the little cafe you love so much, get the kitchen to pack us a lunch, Apparate to Versailles, picnic in the gardens, and you can pretend to be French royalty. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? Draco, what's wrong?"

"Harry, why does this work?"

"What? Your kink about pretending you're French royalty?"

"No, you and me. This."

"Aside the fact that when we touch each other it's like nuclear fusion? Silly bugger. You need me and I need you to need me. It's that simple."

"When did you become so smart?"

"I'm not. I asked Hermione. She explained it to me when I handed her the check to cover the cost of replanting their garden."


"I know… I do too. Now come on! I packed your Little Bo Pervert costume because the gardener needs to be punished for letting all those sheep into the garden. In fact, I know he's dying to get punished. Thank Merlin for Silencing charms."

"You know, Potter, it's very unfair. Everyone thinks I'm the really filthy and perverted one—"

"Which you are."

"When you're just as filthy and perverted as I am except you hide it behind my depraved coattails."

"Perhaps. Grab my arm. Just so you know, I've registered us under the name 'Yrrah Rettop."

After the publication of the last Harry Potter book—

"Well, that is it. Draco, stop kicking the sofa."

"She killed Snape!"

"You knew that was going to happen, she told you."

"She made me bald!"

"Come on, not bald really, just missing a few…"

"I can't wait for Severus to get a hold of her. She will rue the day she killed him off in such a pathetic display. A fucking snake bite. He's going to tear strips off of her and I want to hear every syllable. May I borrow your cloak so I can hear him?"

"No, this is between Jo and Snape."

"I don't see why I can't get some enjoyment out of this. I'm going to be in a bad mood for the next decade. I'm bald and I have a no-name wife—bet she's a Squib—and I have a son with an atrocious first name. Sounds like a bug with pinchers. You know how I feel about bugs. Especially with pinchers. And, she partnered you up with the She—"


"That sister of Weasley. You kiss her. It was disgusting. Girl lips. I'd rather die. Who also has freckles, by the way."

"Might I point out to you, yet again, that no one else in the entire world has a freckle phobia but you."

"Proof positive that Jo is still really mad at me, having you… you know, with her."

"Why would Jo be mad at you? Stop raising your eyebrows at me like that. You do all kinds of crap behind my back on a regular basis and then when the shit hits the fan, I'm usually clueless. And then writing lots of checks. So what did you do this time that you're not telling me?"

"I didn't invite her to the wanking party and she's getting back at me."

"Oh for God's sake!"

"Do you have any other explanation?"

"That was a blokes' party and no one showed up because you invited a bunch of straight guys who would sooner go to a Death Eater membership drive than pull out their dicks in front of us."

"You say that, but why did she ignore me? Went on and on about the terrible trio setting up the tent in God-forsaken spots all over Britain… You are on notice. I don't do tents. Room service and vacations are one word as far as I am concerned."

"Explains why our vacations cost an arm and a leg."

"You even say the word 'tent' and I'm leaving you."


"Fuck you, Potter. I'm really upset. I just sort of stand there and let you take my wand. Even Vince or Greg are better wizards than me, which is completely fucked, and I'm never, ever forgiving her. One of them, can't be arsed to remember who, does that cool spell—"

"You mean the one where we nearly get completely burnt to a crisp?"

"That one. And you save me? Just one of many indignities."

"Look, it's just fiction. Stop getting your knickers in a twist over stuff… Draco?"

"I don't think she likes me."

"Stop being ridiculous."

"Or Severus."

"No one likes Severus except for you and Dumbledore. Honestly, Draco do you think he cares?"


"Come here. Come on, climb on up. You're still so skinny. Even after all these years. Which is ridiculous because you have the appetite of ten people."

"That's because I'm a passive, inarticulate git who needs saving all the time."

"No, it's because you are a sex maniac and burn off all those calories jumping my bones."

"They're still sort of nice bones."

"Sort of nice?"

"Well, very nice actually. Play your cards right and you might get a blow job out of this."

"What the fen doing?"

"Half are squeeing, half are gnashing their teeth. The brilliant, intelligent half are gnashing their teeth."

"Stop it. I'm sure that the people who liked it have very good reasons for liking it."

"Did you like it?"

"Sure. I get the girl."

Where Draco's day as a fangirl come to an end


"Sigh. In fact, sigh squared. What have I done this time? Why are you waving that magazine in my— Oh, the photo shoot. Doesn't yours truly look good enough—"

"Why didn't you tell me you were modeling? What happened to the editing gig?"

"Oh, I still do that, but ever since Jo brought that lawsuit against me, I have all this free time. When some Muggle photographer started taking snaps of me in Giorgio a few months ago, I thought I might as well get paid for looking like a fucking god."

"What lawsuit?"

"I mentioned it, I know I did."

"When I was asleep? That's what you usually do."

"Maybe that snorting could have been snoring. I don't remember. The room was a tad dark…"


"Remember that silly little non-disclosure thingee we signed. Who knew those things were legal? I certainly didn't."

"That why we hired, sorry, that's why I hired a lawyer to check out the agreement. It seemed fair. Why would Jo, who is—"


"Our friend bring a lawsuit against you?"

"Well, it's not a lawsuit yet. Merely threatening phone calls at this point. Seems that my pseud as Ocard Yoflam wasn't as clever as I thought. Wipe that smug smile off your face, Harry Potter. She's the only one who figured it out. And that's because she knows us and it was—"

"Hermione. Ron. Seamus. Pansy. Neville, and Blaise also figured it out. When I go into work and Ron blushes non-stop for hours on end, I know you've posted something."

"Lucky guesses!"

"So are your fangirling days over? No more writing about our sex life in lurid detail?"

"No more. That bitch even kicked me out of Pottermore. Seems like there's a flag on our ISP address."

"Imagine that."

"You don't seem very sympathetic."

"You know what a prude I am—"

"NOT! You match me kink for kink every single time. I am so sick of being labeled as the most perverse wanker ever to set foot in Diagon Alley—"


"Pot fucking kettle. Besides, Snape is way kinkier than me."

"TMI! Anyway, Draco, look, don't, I mean, the photos. The way you look. I mean, it's the way you look at me, and I, well, I don't want to share that. The way, you know, when we…"

"Of course I know. Whose dick do you think I'm envisioning when I have my mouth pursed like that? Who do you think I'm imagining doing the most filthy, wonderful things to every inch of my body when that camera is clicking away? Harry, look. They are just photographs. I can't play on LJ anymore because Jo has some bee up her arse—"

"A legitimate bee."

"That's debatable. Come on, Harry. The photo shoots make me feel sexy and fuckable. Plus, it proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not bald. That woman holds a grudge like nobody's business."

"Unlike other people I could name. Draco, why do all conversations about my insecurities always end up focusing on your insecurities and your hand down my pants?"

"Strange that. Are you complaining?"

"Uh. What?"

"Besides, now that we've paid off our credit card bills, we can use all that extra cash every month to buy a time share in the Turks and Caicos. Imagine me with a tan. I'm getting a hard-on just thinking about it."

"Draco, you're the only person I know who gets a hard on fantasizing about himself."

"I beg your pardon. I was thinking about my tan arse being fucked by your lovely cock. Or my hand, all brown from all that lovely sun, stripping your dick just like I'm doing now."

"Oh. Oh. OH!"

"You're so beautiful right after you've come, Harry. All flushed, with a wicked looking smile on your face. Accio camera."


"Draco, don't you dare take my—"

"Too late."

Fin for now.