Potter's exclusive lignerie ch.1

Harry was running late. Again.

He burst through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron with Teddy bouncing in his arms, the eighteen-month-old giggling at the sudden movement while Harry tried to catch his breath. The morning had been a disaster from start to finish—Teddy had refused to get dressed, then had a complete meltdown over his socks, then decided he didn't want to eat breakfast after Harry had already made it.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry panted as he spotted Andromeda at their usual table in the back corner. "Teddy had opinions about everything this morning."

Andromeda looked up from her coffee with an amused smile. She was dressed more casually than usual—still expensive, but the black wool suit was softer somehow, less armor-like than her typical courtroom attire. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail rather than the severe bun she usually wore for work.

"Toddlers are tiny dictators," she said, reaching for Teddy with practiced ease. "Aren't you, sweetheart? Yes, you are."

The transfer was smooth, automatic. They'd been doing this dance for months now—Harry taking care of Teddy when both Andromeda and Nymphadora were working. What had started as a favor had somehow become routine, these regular meetings where they coordinated schedules and shared the burden of raising a child who belonged to all of them and none of them.

"How's Dora?" Harry asked, settling into his chair and immediately reaching for the coffee Andromeda had already ordered for him. She knew how he liked it—black, strong, with just enough sugar to take the edge off.

"Throwing herself into Auror training like it's going to solve all her problems," Andromeda said with the particular exasperation of someone who had watched a loved one make the same mistakes repeatedly. "She thinks if she works hard enough, she can outrun her grief."

Harry nodded. He understood that impulse better than most. After the war, he'd tried the same thing—throwing himself into cleanup efforts, into helping rebuild, into anything that would keep his mind occupied and his hands busy.

"Speaking of work," Andromeda said, pulling a leather briefcase onto the table with a soft thud. "I have some interesting news about your inheritance."

Harry groaned. "More paperwork? I thought we'd finished with all the Gringotts nonsense."

"Not paperwork. Property." She opened the briefcase with a satisfied click, the sound crisp in the morning air. "Apparently your godfather left you more than just money."

"More?" Harry blinked, trying to process this. He'd thought they'd catalogued everything—the Black family vault, the house on Grimmauld Place, various investments and properties scattered across magical Britain.

"A business. In Godric's Hollow." She pulled out a set of keys that looked old and tarnished, the metal worn smooth by years of use. "A shop."

"What kind of shop?" Harry asked, though something in Andromeda's expression suggested he wasn't going to like the answer.

Her smile turned wicked, the kind of expression that had probably gotten her into trouble as a young woman. "Lingerie."

Harry nearly choked on his coffee. "What?"

"Intimate apparel. Ladies' undergarments. Silk and lace and all the delicate things that make women feel beautiful and men lose their minds." She was clearly enjoying his reaction, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Sirius owned a lingerie shop?" Harry's voice cracked slightly on the last word, making him sound like he was fifteen again.

"Owned and operated, quite successfully from what I can tell." Andromeda leaned back in her chair, clearly savoring the moment. "Apparently it started as a joke—he lost some ridiculous bet to your father about Quidditch scores."

"A bet?"

"Something about whether the Chudley Cannons would win a single match that season. Your father said they wouldn't, Sirius said they would. When the Cannons lost every single game, Sirius had to follow through on the dare."

Harry tried to picture his godfather selling bras and panties to respectable witches. The image was so absurd it was almost believable—Sirius had never been one to back down from a challenge, no matter how ridiculous.

"What was the dare exactly?"

"James dared him to open a women's clothing shop, thinking Sirius would find some way to weasel out of it. Your godfather never could resist proving people wrong." Andromeda's expression softened slightly. "What started as a joke became his main occupation. He never called it work, though—said it was too much fun to be work."

Teddy chose that moment to grab for the keys, his sticky fingers leaving prints on the tarnished metal. Harry caught the boy's hand before he could put them in his mouth, a reflex born of months of practice.

"He needs changing," Andromeda said, noticing Teddy's increasingly restless squirming. "There's a family room in the back."

The changing process had become routine over the months, but today felt different somehow. Maybe it was the lingerie conversation, or maybe it was the way Andromeda's skirt rode up when she leaned over the changing table, but Harry found himself hyperaware of every movement, every accidental touch.

The family room was small and functional, designed for quick changes rather than comfort. Andromeda spread a changing mat on the narrow counter while Harry held Teddy, who had begun to squirm with increasing urgency.

"Support his head like this," she murmured, moving to stand beside Harry. The space was cramped, forcing them into closer proximity than usual. Her hands covered his, guiding his fingers to the proper position, and the contact sent awareness shooting up his arms.

She smelled expensive—jasmine and sandalwood, the kind of perfume that spoke of careful choices and refined taste. When she leaned across him to reach for wipes, her body pressed against his side, and he could feel the warmth of her through the expensive fabric of her suit.

"You're getting good at this," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that suggested she was talking about more than just baby care. "He trusts you completely."

The changing process required coordination, two sets of hands working in harmony to manage a squirming toddler. When Andromeda leaned across him to reach for clean clothes, her breast brushed against his arm, and neither of them acknowledged it even though the contact sent heat racing through his veins.

"There," she said finally, lifting Teddy and settling him against her hip. "Much better."

She was so close he could smell the perfume on her skin, see the faint line of her pulse jumping in her throat. Her breath brushed his cheek, warm and sweet with coffee. For a heartbeat he thought she might lean in, close that tiny gap.

Voices from the main room cut through the tension. Andromeda stepped back quickly, tugging her skirt into place — but her fingers trembled.

They returned to their table to find an elderly wizard hovering nearby, his eyes bright with recognition and the kind of aggressive friendliness that Harry had learned to dread.

"Harry Potter!" the man exclaimed, his voice carrying across the pub and drawing unwanted attention from other patrons. "I knew it was you! Couldn't mistake that scar anywhere!"

The man launched into an enthusiastic recounting of Harry's wartime exploits, each detail more embellished than the last. Other customers began to turn in their seats, craning their necks for a better look at the famous Boy Who Lived.

Harry felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped in someone else's narrative of his life. He opened his mouth to make polite excuses, but Andromeda was faster.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice carrying the kind of authority that came from years of dealing with difficult clients and bureaucratic obstacles. "Mr. Potter is trying to have a private lunch with his family."

The word 'family' hung in the air, creating an instant barrier between Harry and the unwanted attention. The elderly wizard blinked, suddenly uncertain, as if he had stumbled into a private moment he wasn't meant to witness.

"Of course, of course," he mumbled, backing away with the awkward shuffle of someone who had overstepped social boundaries. "Didn't mean to intrude on family time."

Andromeda settled back into her seat with the satisfied air of someone who had successfully navigated a minor crisis. "You looked like you needed rescuing," she said simply.

"Thank you." The words carried more weight than they should have, acknowledging not just her intervention but her understanding of what it meant to be constantly on display. "I hate when that happens."

"I know what it's like to be stared at," she said quietly. "Black family scandal, remember? I've had my share of unwanted attention."

They finished lunch quickly after that, the lingerie shop keys sitting on the table between them like a challenge. Harry found himself stealing glances at Andromeda, wondering what she would look like surrounded by silk and lace, wondering if she had any idea what thoughts were running through his head.

"Want to see it?" she asked finally, her voice carefully casual. "The shop?"

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

The Floo journey to Godric's Hollow was mercifully brief. Harry had never been comfortable with magical transport, and carrying Teddy made it worse. They stumbled out of the fireplace at the Griffin & Thistle, Harry's hair even messier than usual and Teddy giggling at the adventure.

"Afternoon," said the barman, a weathered man with kind eyes who nodded to them as they emerged from the green flames. "Nice day for a walk."

His gaze lingered on Harry with the kind of recognition that didn't demand acknowledgment—the look of someone who knew exactly who he was but had the courtesy not to make a fuss about it.

"This way," Andromeda said, leading them through narrow village streets that wound between shops catering to both magical and mundane needs.

Godric's Hollow was smaller than Harry remembered, more intimate. The buildings were old but well-maintained, speaking of a community that valued tradition and quality over flash. It was the kind of place where people knew their neighbors and minded their own business—perfect for a discreet lingerie shop.

"Tell me more about Sirius and this business," Harry said as they walked, Andromeda's heels clicking against cobblestones in a rhythm that spoke of confidence and purpose. "How did he go from a joke bet to actually running the place?"

"He threw himself into it with typical Black intensity," Andromeda explained, adjusting Teddy's position in her arms. "Once he realized he could actually make money at it, he became obsessed with quality. He traveled to France to find the best lace makers, to Italy for silk suppliers. He studied construction techniques, learned about fit and support and all the technical aspects that most men never think about."

"That sounds like Sirius," Harry muttered. "All or nothing."

Andromeda’s mouth curved. "He liked women, and he knew exactly what made them feel dangerous in their own skin. Silk, lace, the right cut… it changes everything." She slid him a look from under her lashes. "That eye for beauty runs in the family."

The words hit harder than they should have. Harry’s gut tightened, his cock already stirring before he could stop it.

"There," Andromeda said, stopping in front of a narrow building wedged between a bookshop and an apothecary.

The shop looked abandoned. The windows were grimy with months of neglect, the paint was peeling from the door frame, and there was a general air of decay that spoke of a business that had died with its owner. A brass nameplate read "Black's Intimate Apparel" in script that had once been elegant but was now tarnished and barely legible.

"The shop never reopened after Sirius was sent to Azkaban," Andromeda explained, fishing the keys from her briefcase. "They locked it up, and it’s been gathering dust ever since."

The first key stuck in the lock, corroded with age and disuse. Harry moved closer to help, close enough to smell Andromeda's perfume mixing with the crisp autumn air.

"Let me try," he said, his fingers brushing hers as he took the keys. The contact was electric, sending awareness shooting up his arm.

The lock finally yielded with a grinding protest that spoke of mechanisms long unused, and the door swung open to reveal darkness and the musty smell of abandonment.

Harry stepped inside first, wand already in hand. The air was thick and stale, heavy with dust and the lingering scent of old silk and lavender sachets. Something scurried in the shadows—mice, probably, or worse.

"Lumos," he muttered, but the light was weak and flickering. The magical systems in the building were clearly failing, probably had been for months.

"The lights don't work," Andromeda said, trying the switches with no result. "Complete magical failure."

Harry examined the runic sequences carved into the walls near the ceiling, his eyes tracing the complex patterns that should have powered lighting and ventilation systems. Several of the connecting lines had faded to illegibility, and others showed signs of deliberate damage.

"I can fix this," he said, pulling out his wand with more confidence than he felt. "Learned a lot about runes during seventh year."

He didn't mention the horcrux hunt specifically, but Andromeda seemed to understand. She watched with interest as he traced new connecting lines with his wand tip, muttering incantations under his breath that he'd learned in abandoned buildings and hidden camps across magical Britain.

The runes flared to life one by one, ancient magic responding to his touch. Suddenly the shop was bathed in warm, steady light that revealed both the beauty and the devastation within.

"Impressive," Andromeda said, genuine admiration in her voice. "Where exactly did you learn to do that?"

"Necessity," Harry said simply. "When you're camping in the wilderness for months, hunting for pieces of a madman's soul, you learn to fix things. Or you die in the dark."

The shop, now properly lit, was both a revelation and a disaster.

Dust covered every surface in thick layers that spoke of months of neglect. Cobwebs draped the corners like abandoned party decorations, and the wooden floors were warped and stained, creaking ominously under their feet with sounds that suggested structural problems. Display cases that had once showcased expensive lingerie now held only dust and the occasional dead spider.

But underneath the neglect, Harry could see what the shop had once been. The bones were good—high ceilings that created an sense of space and elegance, proportions that spoke of careful design, quality fixtures that had cost serious money. It just needed work. A lot of work.

"Christ," Andromeda breathed, looking around at the devastation with wide eyes. "It's worse than I thought it would be."

Something chittered in the shadows near the back of the shop, followed by the sound of tiny claws on wood. Harry raised his wand, but Andromeda caught his arm before he could cast anything.

"Careful," she said, her grip firm on his wrist. "Sirius had protective wards on everything valuable. After he was attacked by Death Eater sympathizers who tried to vandalize the place, he went completely paranoid about security."

"What kind of wards?"

"The kind that make cleaning impossible. Any spell that touches the merchandise will trigger defensive responses that could bring down the building." She sighed, looking around at the mess with the expression of someone calculating a very large bill. "We'll have to do this the hard way."

"The hard way?"

"By hand. Every surface, every piece of fabric, every display case. All of it has to be cleaned manually until we can get a goblin curse-breaker in here to disable the protections."