Chapter 1
Phantasmagoria!
Part One
‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’
1
“This is Harry Potter,” murmured a voice beside him.
Harry ignored him. It was a hot day; the stupid tie was choking him to death.
“This is Harry Potter standing in a church. This is Harry Potter standing in a church trying to scratch his butt and adjust his g-string at the same…”
“Fuck the shut up, ok.”
“This is Harry Potter, who likes to say fuck, whom I used to fuck, who is standing in a church, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here on holy Sabbath, tsk tsk.”
Harry leaned over and whispered back into Draco’s ears. “If you actually manage to irritate me more than this fucking monkey suit, which will be a record, even for you, I’ll dismantle that cross and push it so far up your ass it’ll come out of your mouth, and that’s a sin I’d rather not have on my hands on your father’s death anniversary.”
“Ardent you hear to provide me with emotional support? It’s a terrible day for me, you know.”
“I’d offer to fuck you to oblivion behind yon pillar, but I don’t think dear, departed Lucius would approve.”
Draco giggled and hid it behind his hand as some elderly old aunt swished past and glared at them. “Why Harry, are you suggestion we give our relationship another go? If so, this is a dreadful place for a proposition.”
“Draco, I’m lucky to have escaped you in this lifetime. Bloody Voldemort didn’t give me half as much trouble as you did this past half decade.”
“How else do you think I’m supposed to deal with this? I’m in a muggle church. Decked in muggle clothes. Paying respects to my closeted-for-merlin-knows-how-many-years, muggle-loving, church-going, dearly departed dad.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “So he’s always been a fucking Christian. You’ve known that for a year now. Get over it. Fuck, I hate this place.”
Draco sighed, shuffled, and looked bored. The priest droned on, waxing and remodelling Lucius’ life to heroic proportions of devoutness and sacrifice, now returned to God’s blossom, ad nauseam. To everyone’s misfortune, the speech was far longer and more vigorously pious than usual, owing to the fact that the contribution to the church coffers was far more generous than Draco- being above vulgarities of economics- had intended them to be. Not for the first time that day, Harry cursed himself for having omitted to inform the blond that the gold bars that Draco had paid the priest with were something of a rarity in muggle London.
Outside, despite the sweltering heat, ominous portends of impending bad weather were beginning to gather over the little whitewashed church.
*