The Wedding Planner

Harry was forced to duck for cover as yet another Black family heirloom was launched at his head. The sound of the vase shattering against the wall was the final straw for his already-frayed temper. Scrambling to his feet, he appeared from behind the sofa, his wand arm extended in the direction of his irate girlfriend, who was already clutching her next missile.

“That’s enough, Ginny,” he stated firmly, trying to keep his tone calm.

“Enough?” she spat angrily. “I’ve not even got warmed up yet.”

Harry levelled his wand on her. “Don’t make me do it, Gin.”

“Oh, you’re such a brave hero. Pointing your wand at a defenceless woman.”

Harry ran his eyes meaningfully over the destruction littering his lounge floor. “There are many things that I would call you, but defenceless is certainly not one of them. Now put down that picture frame and get out.”

"You think you can just get rid of me that easily?" Ginny screamed, her shrill voice grating harshly.

"Easily?" Harry scoffed. "There's nothing easy about this. I've tried to be reasonable about this but you won't listen. It's over, Ginny. Just go, please."

"I'm not going anywhere. You can't just dump me for no reason and not expect me to get angry. I won't let you treat me like that."

Ginny's face was red with rage, and twisted into such a vicious expression that Harry could barely recognise her as the girl he had grown up with.

"We've been over and over this," Harry said wearily. "Why won't you just accept it?”

"There's someone else isn't there?" she demanded, the picture frame still clutched tightly in her hand. "You've been fucking someone behind my back, haven't you?"

"For Merlin's sake, no! There's no one else. I just don’t love you anymore."

Ginny let out a strangled cry at this and Harry felt a pang of guilt; he hadn't meant to blurt it out quite like that. The guilt vanished quickly as the picture of his parents’ wedding came sailing towards his head at high speed.

He watched as one of his most precious possessions shattered in pieces only inches from his feet. Bending down, he picked up the treasured photograph, dusted it off and then turned to face Ginny, rage blazing in his eyes.

"Get out, now. I don't ever want to see you again."

Ginny glared at him for a moment before a smug smirk settled on her face. "It's not going to be that easy, I'm afraid."

There was something about her expression and the tone of certainty in her voice that made Harry uneasy. "It's very easy, Gin. You just walk out that door and never come back."

"You can't just wipe me out of your life, Harry. Not now."

Harry was tired; he just wanted her to leave so he could clean up the mess and go to bed. "Why?" he asked, knowing the only way to get this over with was to play along. "What's changed?"

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, the smirk splitting her face in two. “I'm pregnant."

~~o0o~~

“A wiccaning?” Draco repeated slowly.

Theodore nodded reluctantly, already tensed as if in preparation for the explosion he expected.

“What the fuck?” Draco whirled round to Pansy for support.

“It’s some sort of Pagan ritual, I believe,” she offered helpfully, stirring absently at her coffee.

“I know what one is, thank you, Pansy,” Draco snapped with a glare. “What was wrong with the nice traditional christening that we had planned? It was good enough for Sophia.”

Theo shrugged helplessly. “Hermione read about it in some book or other.”

“A book! Why am I not surprised?”

“You know, Theo,” Pansy said lazily, “this is what you get for marrying outside of your own house. I doubt Daphne’s even looked at a book since the NEWTs.”

Ignoring his partner’s comments, Draco turned back to his friend. “Does your lovely wife understand that there are less than two weeks to go, and most of the plans are already in place?”

“I’m sorry, Draco. She sent this book and some ideas for the ceremony – if you want them?”

Draco glared at the offending articles and Theo placed them on his desk, before stepping back quickly. “I’ll cover any of the extra costs, of course,” he said, edging towards the fireplace.

“Yes, yes, whatever,” Draco replied dismissively. His fingers tapped impatiently on his office intercom.

“Astoria, I need you to stop what you’re doing and find me a Priestess.”

A muffled reply echoed through the office and had Draco rolling his eyes. “I have no idea; use your initiative. That is what we pay you for.”

He turned back to Theo. “Go back to your wife and tell her it will be done.”

Theo nodded gratefully before disappearing in a burst of green flames.

Draco rested his head in his hands. “We really need to stop working for our friends,” he complained. “I mean, a fucking wiccaning!”

“Poor Draco,” Pansy soothed. “C’mon, I’ll take you out for lunch. We’ll go to that new bistro on Knockturn Alley; that’ll cheer you up a bit.”

“We haven’t got time. I’ve got nine days to completely reorganise this disaster, which means that you are going to have to take over the Heyer wedding.” He pushed a thick folder across the desk to her. “It’s all in there. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t flirt with the bridegroom this time.”

Pansy took the folder and huffed. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? It was two years ago and he made a pass at me, not the other way round.”

“Hmmm. You’re just a regular man-trap, aren’t you?”

“You say the nicest things,” Pansy replied, fishing in her bag for her cigarettes.

“Now, if only you could hold onto them, once you’ve caught them.”

“Cruel, Draco, very cruel.” Pansy lit a cigarette and inhaled thoughtfully. “At least I’ve gotten laid some time in living memory.”

“I’m just picky.”

“Yes, and I suppose there are only so many Potter look-a-likes out there for you to shag.”

Draco spluttered, his coffee spraying over the desk. Casting a hasty Scourgify, he glared at his partner. “Pansy, we have been over this countless times.”

“Yes, and I still think you’re in denial.”

“I’m not in love with Harry fucking Potter.”

A discreet cough from the direction of the fireplace stopped his tirade. Draco took one look at the questioning face of Hermione Nott and let out a litany of curses that would have caused Pansy to blush, had she not been Slytherin.

“Don’t let me interrupt. That sounded quite the interesting conversation.”

Pansy smirked at this, while Draco flushed and headed towards the door, pausing only to pick up his cloak.

“Draco! Where are you going?” Pansy protested.

“To the devil,” was the somewhat melodramatic answer.

~~o0o~~


“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hermione muttered quietly, as she pulled Harry to one side.

Harry took one look at the determined expression on her face and felt his heart sink. “Why would I do that?” he protested weakly, while shooting a wary glance in the Ginny’s direction.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione replied, in that smooth tone that usually put the fear of god into most right-minded people. “Maybe because I seem to recall having a conversation with you, where we established that you were gay-”

“Bi,” Harry corrected.

But Hermione continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “That you were gay, not in love with Ginny, and going to break up with her. Then, imagine my surprise, when I opened up the Prophet yesterday and found you’d announced your engagement!”

Harry san down into a nearby chair, his hands cradling his head. He made such a picture of despair that Hermione forgot to be annoyed. She slowly ran her fingers through his tousled hair. Harry looked up, a bleak expression on his face.

“She’s pregnant; what was I supposed to do?”

“Use contraception would seem to be the obvious, if somewhat redundant answer.”

“Ah, there you are, darling. I’m sorry to drag my wife away, Harry, but the ceremony is about to start soon, and Draco is already wound tighter than...well, than usual. If that’s at all possible.”

Hermione smiled at her husband. “Well, no social event is entirely complete without a Malfoy hissy fit of some sort. What’s got him in a snit this time?”

Theo grinned. “Edward was sick all over his robes. This, as you can imagine, did not go down well.”

Even Harry managed a smile at that. The idea of Malfoy covered in baby sick was certainly an amusing thought.

“Oh, the poor dear,” Hermione mused. Then, seeing the surprised looks that her best friend and husband were shooting her, she clarified her meaning. “Edward, I meant. Not Draco.”

Theo smiled before speaking again. “There was some kind of argument with the florist over sending the wrong colour gardenias or something. And just to top things off, Weasley hasn’t arrived yet.”

Harry looked quickly at his watch. “The game should be finished by now. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” He held out his arms. “Let me take Sophia for a bit, while you two go and get Edward ready.”

Theodore passed his small daughter into her godfather’s outstretched arms. “Thanks, Harry.” Then, turning to his wife, he said, “Come on. Let’s go and rescue our son from the hordes of cooing women that are currently fawning over him.”

Hermione took hold of her husband's arm. “We’ll talk later,” she said, with a pointed look in Harry’s direction.

“Oh, congratulations on the engagement, by the way,” Theodore said cheerfully as they headed out of the room.

Harry murmured his thanks and then watched as his friend clearly admonished her husband.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Theo protested. “Just not mention it?”

Harry smiled to himself as he heard this. He had every sympathy with Theodore, having been on the receiving end of Hermione’s wrath on many an occasion.

He then turned his attention to the small child in his arms, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Hello, pumpkin,” he said, lightly tapping her nose. “Are you going to stay with your Uncle Harry today?”

Small chubby arms locked around his neck, and Harry found a wet kiss pressed to his cheek.

“Look sad,” his goddaughter said, and Harry inwardly cursed little girls who clearly inherited too much of their mother’s startlingly unnerving insight.

~~o0o~~

“Pansy,” Draco hissed. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

Pansy was standing, waiting patiently by the Apparition point in the grounds of Cedar Lodge, the Notts’ ancestral home. The ear-piece that Draco had insisted she wear, was carefully tucked into her handbag, along with her cigarettes.

Draco had watched far too much Muggle television, she decided. These bloody headsets were a nightmare. Just another way for him to badger her relentlessly.

Draco excelled at what he did. But in order to get to the perfection that was the end result, one had to live through, and tolerate the overly hysterical meltdowns that came with it. Usually Pansy savoured moments like this, where she had a valid excuse to slip away and take a few calming moments to herself – and have a fag, of course.

That had all ended when Draco had been seized with this new idea. He had noticed the headsets on the doormen at the Muggle club they frequented from time to time, and Pansy had been unable to persuade him that there weren’t absolutely essential to the success of their business.

Possibly, in the hands of someone else, they would have been an invaluable tool, but in Draco’s, they were just another form of torture for him to inflict on his long-suffering partner.

Pansy snapped the clasp on her bag shut, finally shutting out the faint drone of Draco’s increasingly irate ranting. The snarky git knew exactly where she was, seeing as he how he had sent her there himself. Although, after a quick glance at her watch, Pansy decided that, godfather or not, if the Weasel didn’t show in the next five minutes, he was on his own. She would leave him to Hermione's and Draco’s tender mercies.

Suddenly, a crack of Apparition sounded and Ron Weasley appeared a short distance away from her. In the time it took him to reach her, Pansy had already run her well-trained, appraising eye over him.

He was still wearing his full Quidditch robes, and clearly, from the hot, sweaty look to his face, he hadn’t even stopped to shower. It was a good thing, Pansy reflected, that he hadn’t accepted that transfer to the Cannons; an orange uniform with that hair would have been just too much.

She dropped her cigarette and crushed it underfoot. “You’re late,” she snapped as the redhead drew near.

“Nice to see you too, Parkinson,” he replied, completely unfazed by her tone.

And Pansy figured that anyone who had dated Hermione, however briefly, was unlikely to be affected by a forceful woman.

“Come on,” she instructed. “You have precisely ten minutes before the ceremony starts. If I don’t have you looking presentable and in position by then, Draco will have both our balls on a platter.”

Ron threw a sideways glance at her as they crossed the beautiful grounds. “You have balls?” he asked, grinning.

Pansy allowed a small smile to cross her lips. “Mine are metaphorical. It’s your literal ones I’d be worried about if I were you.” She allowed her gaze to lower to his crotch, which did not go unnoticed by the redhead, who mentally stored that knowledge away for later use.

“What’s that noise?” he asked suddenly.

Pansy strained for a moment, unable to hear anything other than the usual sounds of nature. Then her confusion cleared. She held up her handbag for illustrative purposes.

“It’s Draco.”

“You have Malfoy in your bag?” Ron asked incredulously, with a hint of glee in his blue eyes.

By way of explanation, Pansy snapped her bag open and allowed the irate shouts to echo around them.

“Shouldn’t you answer him?” Ron asked, wincing a little after one particularly colourful invective.

“He’ll tire himself out soon.”

Pansy looked slyly at her fellow godparent. “So, I see Potter’s finally marrying your sister,” she said as casually as she could. “Funny that.”

“Funny how?” Ron asked curiously.

Pansy gave a small shrug. “Just I’d always thought of Potter as gay.”

Ron stopped in his tracks and Pansy wondered if she’d gone too far. After a moment of staring intently, Ron finally relaxed and gave a small shrug.

“Me too,” he replied.

~~o0o~~

Harry settled his goddaughter comfortable on his lap and tried his best to concentrate on her baby brother’s christening. Not christening, he corrected himself, wiccaning – whatever the fuck that was!

The excitement of the day was proving too tiring for Sophia, and it was not many minutes before she was slumbering peacefully, snuggled against his chest.

Harry gazed at his sleeping goddaughter, a warm smile on his face. He shifted his gaze slightly to look at Ginny, who sat at his side, apparently engrossed in the ceremony.

His eyes slid down to rest on her stomach. Despite the fact that it was not visible to the world yet, the very idea that there was a baby, his baby, growing inside her, just blew his mind.

One of the reasons he had been so reluctant to accept his sexuality over the years was that it would mean the loss of the perfect family he had always dreamt of. After his conversation with Hermione, Harry had slowly been resigning himself to his childless state, and then...this.

Ginny had been so insistent, so determined to have this baby, regardless of their imploding relationship. Not that Harry would ever have suggested otherwise, but he was a little surprised by her vehemence.

Despite coming from a large family herself, Ginny had never really seemed that interested in motherhood. Except as some vague, far-off concept that she would eventually experience because...well, that’s what women do.

She even viewed Harry’s role in his goddaughter’s life as something of a burden. Although, Harry rather suspected that this was more to do with her lingering resentment at not being named co-godparent with him, than it was any particular reflection on Sophia herself.

From the moment that Ginny had told him about the baby, there hadn’t been a shadow of a doubt in his mind about what he had to do. Harry was realistic enough to see that this would likely be his only shot at fatherhood, and if that meant sacrifices had to be made, well, he was used to that.

Even with his doubts about Ginny’s maternal instincts, he knew that he would love the child enough to make up for any of her shortcomings. The idea that he was going to be a father just blew Harry away. And if Ginny came as part of that package, then so be it.

He wasn’t in love with Ginny, and over the last few months she had managed to erode much of the regard he had for her. But, deep down, Harry knew he did care for her, and as the mother of his child, he had certain obligations towards her.

She had been so happy when he had proposed that he had almost felt guilty at his deception. But then he reminded himself that Ginny had known the truth about his preferences since school. If she chose to delude herself, there wasn’t much he could do. It was hardly the time for him to come out of the closet.

So Harry had put the diamond on her finger. Not his mother’s engagement ring as he had always planned; that just didn’t feel right. Besides, he doubted Ginny would have understand how much more valuable it was, to him at least, than the gaudy bauble that she never stopped admiring.

Even now, as Harry glanced sideways at her, her left hand was splayed out on her knee, ensuring that the ring was visible to as many as possible. Harry shook his head slowly and turned his attention back to the remainder of the room.

He tried his best to ignore the faint twinge in his chest as he watched his friends. Hermione and Theo had never looked prouder, or more in love, as they held their newborn son. Blaise and Luna, who were still in that blissful honeymoon period, couldn’t bear to be apart from each other. Merlin! Even Greg and Millicent Goyle, trying their best to calm their boisterous two year old, looked a contented family.

He just had to keep reminding himself why he was doing this; he was going to be a father. And frankly, Harry thought, there wasn’t a price he wasn’t willing to pay for that.

His eyes trailed over to where Mr and Mrs Weasley sat. Molly had been ecstatic when that had told her the news, almost as much as Ginny had been. Arthur had taken him to one side and told him how proud he would be to finally be able to call him son.

Harry had felt guilty then. Not for Ginny, but for this couple who loved him as if he were their own, and were entrusting him with their only daughter’s happiness.

Bill, Percy and both of the twins were all happily married already, and had been quick to offer their congratulations. Charlie, understandably, was giving the newly-engaged couple a wide berth. Something that Harry was heartily thankful for.

Ron, well, Ron was simply bemused as to why anyone would want to tie themselves down so young. Since signing for the Falcons, the youngest male Weasley had embraced his fame and become something of a playboy. Molly despaired of him every having an actual relationship, never mind settling down.

Of course, once the Weasley matriarch got into wedding planning mode, Harry had been filled with something akin to horror.

He had been hoping for a small, simple service. Possible at the Burrow, like Bill and Fleur had had. When he had suggested this, however, both Weasley women had looked at him pityingly and then gone on with planning a wedding that befitted the occasion. After all, Molly had said, it wasn’t every day that the Minister of Magic’s daughter married the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had quickly left the room. He felt there was something innately dishonest in having such a lavish ceremony for, what was, in truth, a shotgun wedding. His thought had been that they would marry as quickly as possible, before Ginny started to show. It was bad enough that he was trapped into this marriage, without the entire guest list knowing it too; at least, not until it became unavoidable.

The wedding was turning into a farce, and Harry suppressed a small shudder at the memory of some of Ginny's and Molly’s more lurid ideas.

They needed reining in before it got out of control. And as Harry’s gaze fell on the composed figure of Draco Malfoy, he decided that maybe the efficient blond was just the man for the job.

~~o0o~~

Draco watched the ceremony with an air of smug satisfaction. Despite the tantrums and posturing he had done in face of the last minute change of plans, he knew full-well that he produced his best work when the pressure was on.

He knew he had hounded Pansy mercilessly in the last few days, but he was fairly sure that she understood it wasn’t anything personal. They had known each other since the cradle, and no one understood his quirks and foibles better than his partner.

Still, Draco resolved to make it up to her, as he always did. He would taker her for dinner and a show at the weekend; he was simply dying to see Mamma Mia!

Feeling eyes on him, Draco turned his head and saw Harry Potter staring in his direction. Resisting the impulse to stick out his tongue, Draco simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and then looked away.

A few moments later he found his gaze inexplicably drawn back to the other man. He watched Potter thoughtfully, mulling over the recent announcement of his engagement.

That news had come as something of a shock to most people who had come into contact with the volatile couple. Even Potter’s close circle of friends had been surprised, according to Theo.

Draco prided himself on being able to spot a bad relationship before even the participants were aware of it. After all, he had planned weddings for enough of them, and had had more than his fair share of them, as well.

Draco had never warmed to the Weaselette, and the feeling appeared completely mutual. Even after his dramatic change of sides mid-war had put him on friendlier terms with the Gryffindors, she had remained cold and aloof, never troubling to hide her disdain.

When Arthur Weasley had been made Minister after the war, Ginny Weasley had quickly assumed an air of self-importance, especially with Potter on her arm as the perfect trophy boyfriend. Delusions of grandeur, Pansy called it.

Draco wondered to himself whether Potter was aware, that while he was marrying Ginny Weasley, she was marrying the Boy Who Lived. Surely he couldn’t be that blind, even if those hideous glasses hinted otherwise.

Ever since the Prophet’s announcement, two days previous, Draco had been expecting, dreading the Weaselette contacting him. For as much as the bride-to-be never struggled to hide her dislike of either him, or Pansy, he doubted whether she would allow that to overcome her nouveau riche ambitions.

Draco shivered at the memory of the conversation he had had with her at Blaise’s wedding; the word tacky just didn’t do her ideas justice. It was true what they said, he reflected, money really couldn’t buy class.

As he watched the couple, he struggled to see what Potter saw in the woman that was compelling enough to tie himself to her for life.

She was pretty enough, Draco allowed. But Potter was not only good looking, but rich and famous to boot. He could take his pick of just about any woman he wanted, and men too, if the rumours about him and Justin Finch-Fletchley were to be believed.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Draco found that his Potter-watching spilled over into the after party. It had been his favourite pastime at Hogwarts, and it seemed he hadn’t lost the knack, even now.

Say what you liked about Potter, and Draco admitted he usually did, he certainly made for an interesting character study. The man would never have made a Slytherin, Draco thought to himself as he watched Potter engaged in a heated discussion with Hermione; every shift in his emotions was emblazoned across his face for the world to see.

Draco continued to watch as the Weaselette made her way over to the pair, draping herself over her fiancé proprietarily. Ever the observant one, Draco didn’t miss the sly glare that the redhead sent in the other women’s direction; clearly all was not peachy within Potter’s inner-circle.

He watched with a wry smile as a clearly pissed off Hermione huffed off, leaving Potter to the tender mercies of his future wife. As the future mother-in-law joined the discussion also, Draco found himself in the unique position of feeling sorry for Potter.

The Weasley girl alone was bad enough, but throw Mama Weasley into the mix, and Draco was shuddering at the thought of what their idea of a ‘classy’ wedding would be.

Eventually, Potter was left alone; obviously his input was neither needed nor desired. Draco went so far as to allow his sympathy to guide him in Potter’s direction. Or, at least, that was his excuse for Pansy, should she ask later.

He stood nonchalantly alongside Potter, as if his presence was a mere coincidence.

“Malfoy,” Potter acknowledged wearily. All the fight seemed to have been drained out of him by his bride to be; Draco felt cheated, somehow.

“Potter.” He nodded, snagging them drinks from a passing waitress. He handed one to the other man, who regarded him with a surprised expression.

“Don’t look so shocked, Potter. I have manners.”

“I never doubted that, Malfoy. I just didn’t realise they extended to me.”

Draco gave him a cool stare and Potter took the drink, murmuring a sheepish, “Thank you.”

“There. See, that wasn’t hard, was it. Now perhaps you’ll also accept this in the spirit it is intended also.”

Draco watched as Potter fingered the crisp, white card apprehensively. “What’s this?” he asked in some confusion.

Draco resisted the obligatory eye-roll. “It’s my business card. I saw the announcement in the Prophet, and I thought that you could probably use a little help.” He let his gaze wander in the direction of the Weasley women as he spoke, and clearly Potter understood what he had left unsaid, because he slipped the card into his pocked, an almost-grateful look crossing his face.

“I’ll call you first thing Monday.”

“Do that. Astoria will sort you with an appointment.”

“Astoria?”

Draco tried not to dwell on the potential cuteness in Potter’s face when he scrunched his nose up in confusion, just as he was doing now.

“Astoria,” Potter repeated. “That’s a hotel.”

And just like that, Draco felt the familiar, comfortable feeling of irritation wash away any misguided sense of attraction. “She’s our P.A.”

At this point Draco looked across the room and spotted Anthony Goldstein, and wife, clearly heading in Pansy’s direction. He knew that the break-up between them hadn’t been pleasant, but surely a Ravenclaw man would have more sense than to introduce his wife to his ex-mistress.

It was the look on Pansy’s face that spurred him into action.

“Here, take this.” Draco thrust his glass into a startled Potter’s hand. But before he had moved more than a few steps in her direction, Ron Weasley, of all people, had cut Goldstein up, and was currently squiring a relieved Pansy in the direction of the dance floor.

Slightly stunned by this development, Draco snatched his drink back and promptly drained it.

“Ron’s never liked Goldstein,” Potter said, in the tone of one making a confidence. “Not since he tried it on with Hermione in sixth year.”

Draco merely nodded, his eyes wide in horror as he watched his best friend pressed up against the Weasel, of all people.

As if that wasn’t enough of a shock for one day, Draco found himself passing rather a pleasant time in Potter’s company. The other man had a surprisingly keen sense of humour, or rather, he had laughed in appreciation at all of Draco’s sly observations about their fellow guests. Which basically amounted to the same thing in Draco’s book.

He was almost reluctant for it to end when the Weaselette elbowed her way between them, fixing Draco with the same glare that she had used on Hermione earlier. She affixed herself firmly to her fiancé’s arm and led him away without so much as a word.

Draco couldn’t resist a quick smirk in Potter’s direction, and he was gratified to see a genuine smile flash across the other man’s face.

“I think she likes you,” a sly voice whispered in his ear.

“What’s not to like?” Draco murmured, his eyes still tracking the couple’s movements across the room. “Really, I don’t know what her problem is. Apart from the obvious Weasley thing.” Draco turned to face Pansy. “Talking of all things ginger and freckly, where’s your very own Weasel?”

There was more than a hint of snark in Draco’s tone, but Pansy just smiled lazily. “He’s getting my cloak.” The glint in her eyes told just how much she knew this was going to shock him, but Draco couldn’t help but respond.

“Tell me you’re not?” he demanded in horror-struck tones.

“It’s just a drink, Draco. Relax. It’s just too full of happy couples here for my taste.”

Draco knew full well that, where Pansy was concerned, a drink rarely stopped there. It was usually followed by several more, then some drunken fumbling, casual sex, and Draco evicting the stray man from Pansy’s bed the next morning. The thought of seeing the Weasel in any state of undress made him feel faintly sick.

However, he saw Pansy’s nervous glance in the direction of that Goldstein prick, and relented, keeping his observations to himself.

Now, if he could just find that rather hot cousin of Theo’s. The one with the tight arse and extremely well-filled trousers...