Warnings: ALBUS AND SCORPIUS ARE GAY. TOGETHER. If that bugs you, turn back now.

There is a copious amount of swearing in this fic. If that bugs you, turn back now.

…NO SEX…!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

In one word, James Sirius Potter was screwed. In two words, James Sirius Potter was royally screwed. And if we were to screw the word limit thing and go all out, James Sirius Potter was royally fucked, deep-shit, screwed. And everything James Sirius Potter was at this particular moment in time could be summed up in three immaculate words: Isolde Aphrodite Finnegan. Who was, at present time, standing in James Sirius Potter’s “office” (a term which, here, can be roughly translated to mean “spacious room into eh Puddlemere United Headquarter Building with a desk and chair in which James Sirius Potter, Chaser, pretended to take calls when really all he did was practice his shooting skills”) with her hands placed firmly on her hips and a look on her face that told James Sirius Potter, in no uncertain terms, that he had fucked up. Big time. Forgot the “One Year Anniversary and Birthday” big. Even bigger than that. Forgot the cat’s name and her deepest darkest secret as a child big. Both of those put together big. Bigger. And, to make the situation worse, James Sirius Potter hadn't even an inkling of an inkling of what he’d done. He wracked his memory. Glanced down at his calendar. Issy’s birthday was still a safe six months away. He had gotten through their two-year anniversary unscathed five weeks ago. Her cat’s name was Fitzgerald, in honor of some crazy Muggle whom Issy adored. Her deepest darkest secret as a child was that she sucked her thumb until she was eight…James Sirius Potter was drawing a blank. So he tried for the innocent and unsuspecting act.

“Er, hello, Issy, love,” he managed, shuffling some papers around on his desk (he had no idea what the papers actually said—they were, however, prime Quaffle practice candidates). “Can I help you?”

James Sirius Potter’s girlfriend of two years (and five weeks), Isolde Aphrodite Finnegan, was gorgeous. She modeled for big name magazines that James Sirius didn’t read. He did, however, enjoy the pictures. Especially the pictures of his girlfriend. Especially the pictures of his girlfriend that had her in significantly less clothing than was strictly necessary. He liked those pictures a lot.

She was the daughter of Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnegan, a fact which made both of his parents shudder (more at the Lavender part, James suspected, based off of his Uncle Ron’s reaction). And she was currently pissed at her boyfriend for reasons yet unknown.

“James Sirius,” Isolde said in a deadly tone, “You are in trouble.”

James gulped, for at that moment, Isolde, despite her perfectly highlighted brunette hair, and sharp green eyes, looked terrifyingly like his Grandmum Weasley.

“For-for what, love?”

Isolde's eyes narrowed and she swelled. James Sirius shrank back in his seat, wondering how long it’d take for him to build a paper wall.

Isolde whipped out at copy of the Prophet from this morning (James Sirius flinched and she rolled her eyes) and slammed it on his desk, jabbing with an imperious finger at a story and a picture.

And then it dawned on James Sirius.

Annual Victory Ball Biggest Celebrity Turnout Since End of War, the Prophet screamed. In a subhead, a slightly less obnoxious, but still conspicuous print, it was announced that: Newly engaged James Sirius and Isolde Aphrodite make appearance, stealing Golden Trio’s thunder.

“Why didn’t you tell me we were engaged?” Isolde demanded. “And where the hell is my ring, you…you…you IDIOT?!”

James Sirius gulped. “I-I-I—”

Isolde drew herself up to full height and despite being only five foot two, glared down at James Sirius. “I had better have a ring at lunch today, James Sirius, or you will regret this for the rest of your life.” And with that ominous statement, Isolde Aphrodite Finnegan swept out of James Sirius’s office.

James Sirius pulled the Prophet towards him in disbelief, looked down at the picture of him and Isolde dancing, and, in about of insecurity, put his head down, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a plea for help.

Maybe both. At the same time.

At that particular moment, his brother, Asp, who was, in fact, flagrantly gay, strutted into his brother’s office, wearing a headache-inducing pink t-shirt with the legend GAY written in black sprawling letters across the chest. James Sirius looked up, saw Asp (and Asp’s shirt), and promptly put his head back down with a pitiful whimper.

Ignoring his brother, Asp smirked. “When were you going to tell us the news?” he asked. “And when were you going to ask Scorp to do the wedding?”

James Sirius suppressed another whimper at the mention of his brother’s even gayer boyfriend, who was a wedding planner.

“Ring,” James Sirius managed, for if anyone could help him, it would undoubtedly be Asp. The boy might be a fairy, but fairies were good at finding rings. Right? Besides, Asp was dating (James had to suppress another whimper) a wedding planner. Which meant he was a genius at this kind of thing. “Asp. Ring. Lunch. Issy.”

Asp, bless his poor little gay, fairy heart, looked confused. “Er, what was that, James?”

“Ring. Must have ring. Engagement. For Issy. By lunch. Or…bad things will happen.”

Asp, bless him, must have understood this time, for his face lit up. James couldn’t help the whimper this time.

“Ohhhhhh, I see. You and Isolde are engaged, then.”

James Sirius shook his head very rapidly. “Mad. Very mad. Sex-boycott mad about the subhead. Came in and blamed me. Told me if I didn’t have a ring on her finger by lunch, I would be in deeper shit.” James Sirius shuddered.

Asp tilted his head to the side. “What does she do to you, James?” Little prick had the nerve to look amused.

James closed his eyes in horror. “Celibacy,” he whispered as though it were a dirty word. “Enforced celibacy. With a wand.”

Asp frowned. “You mean she…?” James nodded. “With her…?” Again, James nodded. Asp hissed in sympathy and then clapped his hands together, business-like. “Well, we haven’t a moment to lose, then. What time are you meeting Issy for lunch?”

James Sirius glanced down at his calendar. “One,” he announced proudly, and then glanced down at his watch. “Holy fucking Christ! It’s eleven-thirty!”

Asp grimaced. “Quite. Let me just Floo Scorp, see if he can’t pull a few strings here and there…just tell me, James, what size ring does Issy wear?”

James Sirius looked at Asp as if he’d asked him to explain the exact usage and steps of use of a telephone.

Asp rolled his eyes. “Never mind, we’ll put an automatic sizing charm on it.” This he said very irritably, as if James had just made life very difficult for him. “Does she like big diamonds or small ones?”

James Sirius thought a moment. “Big, but not flashy, Classy. But expensive.”

Asp nodded. “Money?”

“How much?”

“Give me a thousand—that’ll cover the ring and our working cost.”

James choked. “A thousand?!”

Asp rolled his eyes, irritated. “Rush order, brother. Do you want the ring for lunch or not?”

James Sighed and wrote a money order for his Gringotts account and handed it to Asp. “Twelve-thirty,” he warned.

Asp grinned as he took the money order. “You’re in good hands, brother.” He spun on his heel and took off for the door. “Oh,” he added, looking over his shoulder. “Gold or silver?”

“Gold,” James answered immediately.

“White or yellow?”

James sighed. “Whichever.”

“White, I think,” Asp muttered to himself as he walked out. “Have to see what Scorp says…”

James Sirius pulled parchment toward him, intending to write the Prophet and tell them just how much trouble their little assumption had caused. Unfortunately, he was rather rudely interrupted by an owl from his mother. James sighed and put his head on his desk again.

James Sirius,

Allow your father and I do offer our congratulations on your recent engagement. Finding out form you instead of the journalists would have been wonderful, but you take what you can get, I suppose. Do tell us about the wedding so we can attend that, darling.

Love,

Mum.

Mum,

Actually, I haven’t proposed yet. You should’ve seen Isolde this morning. Actually thought I’d told the Prophet to print that. Anyway, I'm proposing at lunch today.

Of course we’ll tell you about the wedding. What do you think we are? American?

Love,

James

At precisely twelve-fifty, ten minutes until he was to meet Isolde for lunch, Asp strolled back though his door, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like a Celestina Warbeck song. James Sirius had to suppress another whimper. “Do you have it?” he asked.

Asp grinned and tossed a small velvet box to James. James caught it deftly and cracked it open.

Nestled in a bed of red silk, a white gold ring set with a large diamond and three smaller ones on each side rested. It was gorgeous, a real work of art. James Sirius whistled. “Wow.”

“Yep. Scorp designed this one himself. There’s a dress and wedding design to go with it, but that’s more Isolde’s area than it is yours.”

James nodded. “Too right. After today, all I have to do is show up.”

Asp grinned. “Think I’ll let you think that. You’d better get going. You have three minutes.”

James Sirius cursed, thanked his brother, and Apparated out without a goodbye. Asp grinned and strolled out of his brother’s office.

Isolde was, of course, already waiting. She was standing outside the Muggle Italian restaurant tapping an impatient foot. Dressed impeccably from head to toe, Isolde was bedecked in super dark super skinny jeans, a halter top the color of a radioactive banana, and heels to match, Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail and a monstrous purse was eating her arm.

She glared at him haughtily and James Sirius sighed. “Hey, Issy. How was work?”

Isolde deigned not to reply, sweeping into the restaurant ahead of James and giving the maitre d’ his last name. They were led to a small, private corner table.

His girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée opened the menu and her mouth twisted as she took in the times. James Sirius smiled, imagining Isolde adding up the calories and carbohydrates of each entrée. She sighed and set the menu down, rubbing her face. Her makeup, a new line from Patil Powder, remained flawless. “There’s nothing I can eat here,” she mumbled through her fingertips.

James grinned. “There’s plenty you can eat here. You’re what, a size 22?”

Isolde made a small sound of impatience in the back of her throat. “Yes.”

James scoffed. “You’ve got room to spare.”

Isolde gave a long suffering sigh and folded her arms. “If I start telling myself that, I’ll eat whatever I want and end up weighing a hundred billion stone and I’ll lose my job and you’ll dump me and I’ll be one of those pathetic Madam Malkin losers.”

James smiled, used to Isolde’s dramatics concerning food. “First of all, one pasta dish is not going to make you weigh a hundred billion stone. And your self-control is of the caliber that you wouldn’t just keep eating. You won’t lose your job—you’re gorgeous. You’d still be gorgeous, even if you weighed a hundred billion stone. And I will love you no matter what. We’ll hit the treadmill thing when we get home, if it’ll make you feel better. Now. What wine?”

Isolde waved him off. “I don't want any wine. Mother will smell it on my breath and that’ll give her something else to nag about. She’s already upset at you.”

James grinned. Pissing Lavender Brown-Finnegan off was one of his favorite pastimes, something that, in turn, pissed Asp and Scorp off, because Lavender Brown-Finnegan was their idol. “Please tell me you told her it was my entire fault. That I dragged you into it.”

Isolde chuckled. “Only for you.”

“And to cover your own arse, right?”

Isolde beamed at him.

It was over Isolde’s chicken linguine and James Sirius’s spaghetti with extra meatballs that James Sirius wiped his mouth, tugged the ring out of his pocket, and presented it to Isolde.

Her lips quirked up as she accepted the box. “I wonder what this could be?” she asked, cracking it open. She gasped. “James!”

“What?!” he asked, alarmed, already planning Asp and Scorpius’s double homicide.

Isolde’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s gorgeous,” she whispered. “Perfect. Put it on me?”

James, relived and mentally swearing got hold the pissing off of his brother and his brother’s boyfriend for awhile, grinned and slid the delicate ring on Isolde’s finger. It automatically sized itself almost imperceptibly. Isolde, if she noticed, didn’t say anything. James was going to give them his account number and let them loose on Paris.

“I think it might even make my mother happy.”

James grinned. “Well, that won’t do. We might have to change it just to piss of Lady Lavender.”

Isolde laughed airily and smacked him playfully on the arm. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, shall we wrap this up and get back to our jobs?”

Isolde smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Brace yourself. You’re about to find yourself in mother’s good graces.”

James clapped his hands to his face in mock shock. “Oh no!” Internally, James was plotting to use his good graces to obtain two VIP passes to Lavender’s next show.

Isolde laughed as they strolled out of the eatery and into a convenient alley.

“I’ll see you at the flat,” he told her, pecking her on the cheek. Isolde beamed at him, waved, and with a crack, was gone.

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