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Anything goes today, so stretch that imagination and prompt away.

Please remember the rules:

No more than three prompts in a fandom
No more than five prompts in a row
NO SPOILERS IN PROMPTS
If your fill has spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space

Keep the codemonkeys in mind when formatting your prompts. Examples:

Grimm, Nick/Monroe, hat trick
Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, something wicked this way comes
Sarah Connor Chronicles, Derek/John, heat wave

Have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

amandachafin.livejournal.com

"Albus Severus Potter!"

Albus' entire apartment building shakes and, what's worse, soot flies up his nose.

Albus sneezes.

"Lor', Dad, what've I done this time?" he asks. He attempts to puff up his chest in a manly display of indignation, but that's the thing about Floo Powder... it's rather itchy. Even the most grown up bloke looks childish when he's down on his knees with his head up a chimney.

Albus sneezes again.

"Merlin, Harry!" Ginny cries out in the background.

"Mum?"

The green flames flicker, and then Ginny's face floats where Harry's had been. Hers is lined with worry, her pert lips drawn downward into a halfhearted scowl. She coughs lightly, settling wide, earnest eyes upon her son.

"Albus. We know you're an adult."

"...bloody well *not*... namesake... death eater!"

Ginny winces. "Shh, Harry!"

The flames billow and shift again, growing an angry red while his parents jostle for a place at the hearth. Eventually, Harry wins out. His face contains no worry whatsoever. Behind his massive black beard, thin pink lips spit out every blunt word. His brow furrows, pulling his scar down into sharp focus. Even Harry's nose looks angry. The nostrils are all... pinched-like.

"He's gone bald you know!" Harry fumes.

"Dad, who's gone bald? And what's it got to do with me?"

"Draco bloody Malfoy, that's who!" Harry explodes with another rattle of the foundations.

Albus gives into the temptation to scratch his nose.

"Oh. Him. Been bald as long as I've known 'im, yeah?"

"It's nice that you don't judge people on their outward appearances, dear!" Ginny calls over Harry's shoulder.

"But what about inward appearances? Merlin's balls, son, he was a death eater!"

Albus grips the bridge of his nose -- it helps to keep him from sneezing.

"Thanks for the ancient history lesson, but I still don't understand why you're trying to huff and puff and blow me' whole house down," Albus snarks.

"Because you're in bed with the devil - literally!" Harry roars.

A green hand reaches out through the flames. Were it possible, Albus thinks his father might actually try to throttle him through the floo network. As it is, the green hand merely hovers ineffectually near his neck.

"We're not judging!" Ginny yells. In the corner of the fireplace, he can see the top of her head trying to nudge Harry's shoulder out of the way.

"Yes I am judging. That's exactly what I'm doing right now: judging!" Harry sniffs peevishly.

Albus shrinks back from the flames, pulling his head back into the safety of his house like a turtle snapping back into his shell. He gawps.

In an instant, Harry effing Potter - hero of the wizarding world and quite possibly the scariest man therein - floos into the room without so much as a by your leave. From behind the rims of his coke-bottle thick glasses, he squints at his son.

Harry presents Albus with the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. On Page 1, in bold print and an even bolder moving photograph, Albus reclines upon a Roman-style lectus with a thin, bald man. Said man is clearly older than Albus. A pair of crows' feet nest at the corners of his eyes. Laugh and sneer lines frame his thin lips in equal proportions. But there is a certain elegant grace in the ease with which he moves toward the younger man. Draco trails his hand down the fabric of Albus' robe and off the edge of the photograph before Albus' back arches obscenely. His eyes glaze over as he sucks in tiny panting breaths.

Off the page, Albus smirks at his father.

"Umm... Dad? Did you bother to read the article?"

Harry merely scowls.

"Malfoy an' I are performing in a play. Hogwarts' alumni are puttin' it on. Didn't you get the flying bloody memo?"

Harry raises the furry eyebrow beneath his scar.

"Flying mem - no. What?" He flicks the paper with his wrist, quickly scanning the article's contents. Sure enough, it consists of a rather scathing Rita Skeeter review of a rather second-rate performance.

Albus clears his throat.

"Y'know, Dad, sometimes a picture really needs those thousand words."