Wizarding Euphemisms
Harry didn’t know how he got himself into these sort of situations. He really didn’t. He figured after the war, after defeating Voldemort, that the sort of fate-fucking luck he found himself with would settle and he could have a normal sort of life.
He should have figured his life would never be anything akin to normal and this conversation he found himself in seemed anything but.
It was their returning year to Hogwarts. And the so-dubbed ‘eighth years’ were holding a party in their joint common room. Harry had been doing his best to stray around the edges. Participating peripherally and helping himself to the odd cup of firewhiskey laced punch.
Which tasted terrible but produced fantastic smoke creatures for whatever reason.
Somehow he found himself leaning against a wall and chatting amicably with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini and they all seemed to notice at the exact same moment Hermione leading Draco away from the gathering and up the stairs toward their rooms.
“Finally,” Theo said. “The tension between those two has been so thick.”
“Tension?” Harry asked. “What tension?”
“The sexual tension.” Theo elaborated, and Harry coughed on a mouthful of punch. “You could cut it with a knife.”
“Excuse me?” He asked weakly. Sure that Theo was joking.
“It’s true.” Blaise confirmed. “Merlin, I hope she lets him at least bobbie the buttons. He’s been insufferable, constantly whining about does she, doesn’t she.” He sipped some of his punch.
Harry’s head jerked and he found himself staring wide-eyed at Blaise.
“Maybe she’ll dibble his bollocks.” Theo mused, “Salazar it’s been a while for me.”
Harry honestly had no clue what they were talking about, so he just took a swig from his glass instead. Oh, he got the context alright enough. But the lingo confused the hell out of him.
He choked slightly on his drink, having taken too big a mouthful and Blaise looked at him consideringly.
“You alright there, Potter?”
Harry just nodded.
Blaise nodded, and just as Harry was taking another sipped asked.
“So how long’s it been since you fuzzed a fanny?”
Before now, Harry thought spittakes were a thing of fiction. Of movies and films. Never before had he actually experienced one in real life.
“What?” he asked weakly, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve and trying to ignore the matching grins Theo and Blaise wore.
“Come on, tell us. We’re not going to say anything.” Theo said.
“Not that we could anyway.” Blaise added.
Which was true. After the first few weeks of bristling hostilities in the shared tower for the returned eighth years, Susan Bones had come up with an idea. They all scrawled their names on a piece of parchment and it would bind whatever they told one another into a confidence spell.
It was a sort of secret binding spell, one that wouldn’t allow them to say anything to anyone outside the parchment unless it involved breaking the law or physical harm to come to someone. It was based on the kind of pledge healers and lawyers took.
Harry looked down at his glass and swirled the last mouthful around the bottom as he looked for what to say.
“Ah, well… see… fuzzing the er, fanny… isn’t exactly up my alley.”
“Really?” Blaise purred. “Are you more about dinging the dong?”
“Yes, Harry.” Theo added, his voice suddenly low and velvety as he leant into Harry’s personal space. “Tell us, what would it take for you to join us in our bed?”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Is that another euphemism?”
Blaise shook his head and slid his hand through Harry’s hair. It tightened at the base of his skull and Harry tipped his head back to look Blaise in the eye properly.
“No. It’s an invitation.”