A/N: This is dedicated to all the journalists, reporters and faithful paparazzi, who are seriously underestimated.
And of course, to readers who don't mind me placing Harry in Slytherin, for the sake of a little Harry/Draco.
Flicking her slick blonde hair with an elegant hint of self-consciousness, Lavender sighed and looked at Creevey down her nose. "What do you want, you little stalker?"
"Tell me all the dirty details you know about Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter?" the blonde Gryffindor huffed irately. "Like you can't read enough in those stupid history books. What dirty details, love? I don't sleep with him."
Colin's shoulders sagged slightly. "Anything you know - a girl so dashing must know some gossip!"
Lavender examined her nails for a few moments, her small nose scrunching in concentration."Nothing to lose, is there?" she asked nobody in particular and sighed in surrender. "I once saw him naked in the Quidditch changing rooms. It was when Parvati and I tried to catch some players showering." She rolled her eyes at Creevey's gasp. "What, Creevey, haven't you hit puberty yet?"
Blink. "What, Miss Brown?"
"Nothing, sweetie. But Potter has an amazing body. Apparently he also has a magical-moving tattoo in a shape of a snake slithering around a black rose, right above his…you know, where his cockshies is. Oh, and apparently he isn't a virgin ever since he asked Isobel Turner to the Triwizard Tournament and then broke her heart the morning after. Did you know he slept with her best friend – that pretty little curly thing… what's her name… oh, right, Carolina Trois? And then he broke her heart. Of course, when he asked me out on a date, I politely refused. You know, I didn't want to get burned. And good gracious, is he hot as fire!"
"He asked you out?" Creevey licked his lips excitedly.
Lavender flipped her hair onto her back and smiled. "My dear, you asked for dirty details. I'm providing you with the purest facts you'll ever find at Hogwarts. Now go, scamper off like a good little boy. And don't forget to listen to mommy and daddy when they kiss you goodnight," she cooed sweetly as he scurried out of the portrait hole, his camera glimmering joyfully in the morning sunbeams. The image of the Fat Lady swung back in place and Lavender sat back, smiling.
Ah, there was nothing as crisp and juicy as newly found gossip.
"Miss Parkinson! Miss Parkinson, wait a second!" Creevey stopped right before her, clutching at his ribs and wheezing, out of breath. The short black-haired girl glared down at him with suspicion. Finally the boy straightened and looked up at her, flushed. "Miss Parkinson, tell me everything you know about Harry Potter."
Pansy's grimace-like smile twitched. "What?"
"Tell me about Harry-"
"No, I heard you." She licked her glossy lips and dropped her hands onto her slim hips. "What?"
"I…asked you to tell me-"
"No, I heard you, you worthless snot. Why the hell? Why the hell now and why the hell me?"
"Well, if you don't want to answer…"
Pansy narrowed her eyes and sniffed, "Let me tell you something about Potter, Creevey, you little poncy Gryffindor – he's got no style in fashion, no taste in women, no stunning blond hair or deep grey eyes-"
Colin lifted his hand timidly, "Miss, you've gone cross-eyed."
"-he's not a pureblooded Godly creature and has no Malfoy inheritance." She grasped his shoulders in a deathly grip, her long manicured fingers digging into his skin as she shook him thoroughly. Colin trembled in terror and gazed at her, wide-eyed. His look averted upward, where Theodore Nott stood, glaring down at the scene with infinite mirth.
"Pansy, pray tell, do useless little boys make good forcemeat? I'm terribly hungry for something…Gryffindor." Theodore snarled evilly.
Colin only squeaked before bolting down the corridor, as fast as his little poncy Gryffindor legs could carry him.
Ron massaged his nape, as a little recording microphone was thrust up to his nose. The red-head looked down at its carrier, at his fan tee-shirt with something about a lightning-bolt shaped scar and a suspicious-looking broom hovering above a green daisy field. He frowned. "Why would you need information on Harry?"
Colin licked his lips. "Well…he is the celebrity, isn't he?"
"If you publish this anywhere, Kevin-"
"I'm Colin," the boy suggested shyly.
"Well, if you do, we'll transform you into a helpless bug and lock you in a bottle."
"Oh. You can do that?"
Ron scratched his nape again. "Well, Hermione can, so…"
"Mr. Weasley, I often witness you around Harry and we all know how distant and unsociable he can seem. How does he act when he's around his close friends?"
"If you wanted to know that, you should have asked Fred and George, they were his…uh, how can I put it – well, mates. You know. But since they left last year, he's taken to hanging out with me and Hermione, a bit. You know. Otherwise, he's been almost always attached to the hip with Malfoy, either fighting or sniping… you know. Ever since he shook hands with the prick before the Sorting Ceremony six years ago. Apparently their friendship ended sometime after Malfoy's father attempted to kill him in Second Year. Rumor has it they fight all the time now, over everything. And bloody hell, I understand Harry - I always had the desire to bash his albino brains out."
"Mr. Weasley, does Harry tell you about his private life?"
"What? Of course not - no!"
"A tinsy-bitsy bit? I mean, he's got it going on with your sister, I hear…"
Ron flushed a deep scarlet and frowned. "Alright, you, sod off. I don't know why I even told you - whatever I told you."
Ron's left eye convulsed twitchingly, "Bug, Kevin. In a bottle. Big ugly bug."
"Harry Potter. Tell me about Harry Potter."
"Colin, there's no need to shout. And I'm sorry I cannot possibly help you, I'm busy."
"Well, do you often see him in the library? Maybe he's reading illegal material?"
"As a matter of fact, he does read illegal material, but that, young man, is none of your business. You should try to maintain control over your curiosity."
"Miss Granger," Colin shifted in his seat and looked around the library, lowering his voice a degree. "We all know you and Harry have some mutual…history."
"Excuse me, Mister Creevey?" Hermione finally lifted her indignant eyes from her dusty tome. "Are you implying that Harry James Potter and I have a relationship?"
Colin looked up, intrigued. "Well, it wouldn't matter if you did."
Hermione's mouth formed a polite shape of 'o'. Her bushy chest-nut hair floated above her in an imminent frizz and her eyes flared a furious dark brown. "Colin, I don't believe in gossip and very much advice you to do the same. Now I have no time for your silly interrogations, I have Arithmacy in five minutes."
"Is it true that Harry has a portfolio published by Witches Weekly in the United States, where he posed half-naked?"
Hermione slammed her volume shut and sighed impatiently. "Colin, get out before I use my tome for other purposes. And I promise, it's heavy."
Somewhere in the depths of the dungeons, under layers of stone and cement - somewhere in the pits of Hogwarts' absurd architecture, blazed a fireplace. Its light danced along silk sheets of a royal divan, where lay two figures. One was engrossed in a heavy tome of Dark magic and the other was scrawling notes on a scroll of parchment. Both were shamelessly nude against the chill of the night.
"Baby, I confronted Blaise and Greengrass about their positions in the war today. Greengrass ran away crying. Blaise promised to convert once the Dark Lord released his brand of underwear, so I smashed him against the wall and spooned his brains off with his wand."
Harry grinned into his crystal mug of tea and flicked another page of his tome. It showed a picture of the kind of corporal torture Voldemort used on his followers – something to note later on. He'll need protection against that one.
"I'll have to write another explanation to his mother," muttered Draco, with the tip of his quill tracing his lips. "He'll need another wand too, I suppose."
Harry folded the page and memorized one of the counter-spells silently, with the blonde's voice a harmonious lull in the back of his mind.
"You know, Nott tried to hit on me again," Draco uttered teasingly, glancing at his boyfriend from beneath a set of blond lashes.
Harry's thoughtful trance was interrupted by a snarl, "And did you tell him to bugger off?"
"Well… He did use his hands rather convincingly."
Harry's eyes caught a fiery spark and color rose to his cheeks. "Draco?"
"I love it when you're jealous," snickered the blond, tickling Harry behind the ear with his ostrich feather, which he used as a quill. Incidentally, never call it an ostrich feather, he'll most likely bite your head off.
But he quickly lost his sly intentions when he saw signs of anger darken in Harry's scowl. "Baby, of course I told him to bugger off; in fact, with the response he received I doubt he'll ever be able to consummate sexual intercourse ever again."
"Good. I'll rip his testicles off if he ever approaches you again."
Draco chuckled and leaned closer to the other, "I'm a big boy, Harry, I can take care of my stalkers."
"You wouldn't have as many problems if we just came out…" Harry murmured under his breath.
Draco froze for a second, before retreating from Harry's side. "I believe we've been over this."
"And our opinions remain unaltered. You're satisfied with being stalked, hit on and fawned. I'm tired of finding j-strings in your mail, as well as reading complete bullshit in the papers about my sexual life. Hell, I don't even have a stupid tattoo on my arse!"
Draco lifted the covers to stare at his arse. "You don't?"
Harry slapped his hands away and slammed his tome shut. "And you're still not serious about this! Or me, as a matter of fact."
"Harry, damnit, we've been over this! I am bloody serious, just - I'm not ready!"
Harry nodded as he slipped on his boxers, his feet searching for his sandals under the bed. "Yeah, I believe you. Now if you don't mind, I think I have my own fan club to visit. Actually, I might give one of the girls there a try, since they all think I'm single. Isobel seemed pretty content after Yule Ball couple of years ago."
Draco's mouth hung open. "Fuck you, Harry!" he whispered, completely unbelieving.
"Yeah, you have."
And Harry walked out of the door, bristling with anger.
After several seconds, he returned for his book, glared at the blond and slammed the door shut again.
Fred nudged his brother in the ribs, nodding his head at the boy lingering by the entrance to their store. "We can see you, dunderhead!"
"Stop pretending you're interested in our products and come in!"
Colin edged in cautiously, eyeing the two with obvious distrust. He offered a feeble nod to each of them. "Fred. George."
"And I'm George."
"Yeah, sorry. George, Fred. Hello."
George snickered gleefully, clapping his brother on the back. "Works every time, mate."
Fred leaned against the counter. "So, Creevey. What's eating you up?"
"You have this little green monster eating at your gut-"
"I call it curiosity."
"So it's not your homemade pumpkin juice? Sorry, Fred, but - disgusting shit!"
Fred snorted. Colin blinked. He lost their thread of conversation about one and a half minutes ago.
"Spill it, wonder boy."
Colin fidgeted, wiping the front of his camera screen. His little head was filled with doubts. Ron had threatened to transform him into a house plant with Hermione's help and send him to Siberia if he didn't quit stalking the raven-haired. But it was worth it. Wasn't it?
Colin took a decisive breath. "Well, it's about Harry… I have several questions… about him."
"You want us to sell information?"
"Because we'd rather sell a kidney."
George raised a brow. "That was profound. Want to write it down?"
Colin raised a brow. "Um, no?"
"See, sweetie-buns, we're not going to share information on Harry. He's family."
Colin's eyes rounded in a silent plea. "Oh, pretty please?"
"Damn you! I bribed Filch with ten new mops to get here and you're telling me you're saying nothing? I climbed fifty thousand and two steps up and down to Dumbledore's office because the damned staircases kept taking me to Ravenclaw Tower – which should have been a sign," Colin looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, tapping his temples. "Anyway. I've even been to McGonagall to ask her about Dumbeldore's favorite sort of sweet, which happened to be dungbomb-flavored Bertie Botts – which should have been another sign, you know. I've bought four boxes of the damned candy and tasted vomit, saliva, cockroach and ear-wax flavors only to arrive to a conclusion that dung bomb flavor doesn't exist! Then I stole Neville Longbottom's broom to fly here, but on the way to London I've been attacked by a hoard of owls carrying a package to Sadam Ali Mohamed – which should have been another sign… Merlin, I'm insightful. And now you're telling me that you're not telling me?!"
"Yeah. That's pretty much right."
"Ah, bloody brilliant! Do you sell suicide potions?"
"Harry Potter?" The Ravenclaw girl sniffed, wiping her eyes. "You want to hear about Harry Potter?"
Colin rubbed his nose, then his front. "Well, as much as you know, Miss Chang…"
She sniffed dramatically, snorting in the process. "He was perfect."
A long silence ensued and Colin fidgeted nervously. "Anything else?"
The girl suppressed a desperate wail. "He was so perfect! I loved everything about him. He was handsome and brave and l-loving and caring and – oh!" The Chinese girl gave out a sob and sighed. "He told me he had to leave b-because…because…because I was in danger…a-and told me he loved-"
"Loved you passionately?"
"Yeah, he said it was the first time he's ever said it aloud to anybody…"
"Uh," Colin grimaced, "I beg to differ?"
Cho dabbed at her nose obliviously. Then her eyes rounded, briskly turning sober, and she grabbed his hand, "Do you have any pictures of him left? I know you run around the castle, snapping shots - I buy half of your yearly Harry Potter calendar collections – and by the way, Creevey, your photographic skills are nasty! – but please, please, please sell me your stock of pictures! Anything! Even the ones where you can only see a tad of his nape! I'll pay you."
Blink. "How much?"
Colin smile soured, like the elves's milk in the dungeon kitchens.
"Alright, thirty galleons!"
Colin grinned and rubbed his hands instinctively. "Excellent."
Parvati made her way down the girls' dormitory before stopping at Ginny's door. She knocked and poked her head in. "Ginny?"
"Hello, Patil. I have news."
A raised brow. "Tell me."
"Well," the redhead smirked down at the deck of cards lying on her linen bed sheets. "You can keep your hands off Potter, my dear. Forecasted prophecies foresee that he'll be mine."
Parvati bent over the cards, "Since when is Harry a Spades King? He's more of a Clubs Knave if you ask me - I'd say the King of Spades is Snape. And you're definitely not a Clubs Queen - a Heart's one, for sure. And more of a petty eight than a Queen-"
Ginny's face darkened. "You can go off and marry old Snape or a troll if you wish! And I'll marry Harry!"
She opened her bedside drawer and revealed a leather-bound tome; its cover said "How to differentiate a Boy from a Girl, Tome Twenty". She shook her head slightly and pulled out another, whose cover stated "Love Android-Enchantments, Technology of Potion-induced Seducement or How to Marry in five minutes". Her face shone with smugness - so much that she looked like a sample from a Muggle atomic reactor.
Parvati flicked the deck of cards in her hands thoughtfully, "This forecast says you'll marry on the next time the Moon Eclipse and Saturn's Holiday collide. In seventy years, Weasley."
"Acceptable time for true love," the redhead shrugged. "But at least Harry's not gay or in a secret relationship – so I still have a chance. Marriage can be postponed."
Fate laughed hard at that one.
Harry looked across the Slytherin table to glare at his boyfriend. He was surrounded by his cronies again, laughing at some stupid heartless joke. His head was thrown back, with a smile so brilliantly white – it would have Wizardwood's most prominent dentists green with jealousy. Harry scowled and twisted a spoon into the soupy depths of his mashed vegetables. Across the Hall, Ginny Weasley waved at him flirtatiously.
Harry smiled back and returned his undivided attention to his dinner. He knew Draco wouldn't survive several days without sex and it's already been three nights since their row. At least he was proud to say that Draco couldn't survive without sex ever after they'd gotten together – which, explaining to the most gifted, meant that Harry was simply irresistible. He nudged his porridge smugly. His smile fell when his dinner plopped off his fork and into his goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking about," purred a voice beside his ear.
Harry lifted a brow daringly, as a blond head appeared in sight. "Then go find an arse to pound."
"I have. Though, on second thought, I'd much rather have you fucking me tonight."
Harry choked on his bite and reddened. His body had found a way of ignoring his mind's virtuous protests and reacted rather violently to Draco's suggestion. He only had time to stand up and clutch the blonde's robes. "Malfoy, my room, now."
Draco flung him a triumphant glance and together they walked out of the Great Hall. Seconds later, he was pinned to the dungeon wall with Harry's tongue down his throat and a knee between his legs. His arms fastened securely above his head as Harry's mouth lowered to lick his neck.
"You're a fucking sex-addicted brat, you really are."
"Oh, yeah," Draco breathed in response, rubbing against Harry's leg. Their lips crushed and tongues twined and a hand had slithered past the first layer of school robes and into the confines of his uniform pants, unzipping the fly with fierce urgency. It found its prize and seized it victoriously, giving his cock several forceful strokes. His own hands flew to Harry's fly. He moaned as Harry's hands handled him so skillfully, caressing his leaking cock with a mixture of fluttering touches and vigorous strokes.
Draco groaned as Harry dropped to his knees faithfully. Very soon, he was enveloped in absolutely unbelievable, wet heat. It had his head spinning.
How he loved when Harry's voice turned so husky, so deep and so incredibly tantalizing, how he loved that wild hair in which he dug his hands and tugged until he heard moans of delight - how he loved that adorable flush on his beautifully composed face, his sparkling, sly eyes and breathtaking, mischievous grins-
How he loved – loved-
"Harry!" Draco choked on his mewls and sunk his hands into Harry's rowdy black mane, as he rode out his orgasm, with Harry close in tow, shooting into his own hand on the dungeon floor.
Ron frowned as he saw a flash of light flicker in the midst of the common room. The source of the commotion was soon detected, as his perusal fell onto a small scruffy boy with a camera. He growled and pushed back his Quidditch catalogue.
The scruffy rat sniffed for danger and shrunk its head into bony shoulders. "Ronald?"
"How would you feel in the form of cabbage salad?"
Hermione rolled her eyes from the red couches. "Ron, as much as you want to play hero and as much as Colin would make a pretty martyr, I told you I can't turn people into edible things."
Colin piped up cheerfully, "Hey, I'm pretty!"
"You're squalid," muttered Ron and flopped beside Hermione.
"And I can turn you into a houseplant nonetheless," warned the bushy-haired girl.
Colin shrunk into his bony refuge again. "Sorry."
"Hey," Ron turned to his girlfriend smilingly, "you do approve of the houseplant idea!"
"Well, great minds think alike, hmm?" she asked, and planted a peck on his lips.
"Then were you also thinking of turning him into a shrimp from the Ceasar salad my mom made for Easter last year?"
Hermione pulled back indignantly. "Yeah, okay, no. Don't push it."
Draco paced in the Entrance Hall nervously, trying to quell his ambiguous emotions. He planned to do it once and for all. He's lost about ninety five percent of his doubts along those incredibly romantic two weeks with Harry locked up in his private rooms for the entire Winter break. But the remaining five percent, which included a probable ticket to agony lane and the return of his father from hell, as well as Skeeter's renewed passion in his boyfriend's love life…well, they were bothersome.
He looked over at Harry, who stood with Granger and Weasel next to the Great Hall, discussing something important. Something about the Order, Draco thought smugly. Harry had trusted him enough to confide in lots of information concerning the war. And in turn Draco had been a right arse and ignored all his complaints about their secrecy.
He grimaced and tried to quash his inner shame.
"Plotting on conquering the world again?"
Draco twirled and came face to face with Theodore. "Not really, Nott."
The brunette smirked obnoxiously. "Thinking of me, then?"
"Yeah. Thinking of where I could file a restraining order on you. Or how wonderful it would be if my boyfriend actually ripped your balls out and fed them to Ginny Weasley."
Theodore's smirk slid off his face gradually. His mind was ripped between settling on the 'balls' part, or the "Boyfriend?"
"Yeah, Nott, boyfriend. You're not deaf, even though incredibly stupid. I have a boyfriend."
Draco finally saw what he was looking for and pounced on his chance, grasping it by the collar. Creevey dangled from his hands helplessly.
"Draco Malfoy, I presume," he gurgled, suffocating. "How may I he-he-khe!"
"By shutting up," the blond eyed Harry with an air of finality and, looking onto his beautiful face, made his final decision. Well, of course the ninety five percent of certainty helped a bit. "Creevey, I need you to look carefully and never forget this in your pitiful life. You may, with my official consent, take lots of pictures."
And leaving a bewildered crowd behind him, he stalked towards the info-stands by the Great Hall, pushing through throngs of students and breaking threads of conversation as he stalked onto his prey – alike a Bengal tiger on the prowl. When he arrived before Harry, he was so out of breath from anxiety that he promptly forgot to insult Weasel or call Granger Mudblood. He took a shallow breath and connected his lips with Harry's.
He ignored Harry's strangled protest and drowned in his sweetness, as he kissed and kissed and kissed him like he had never kissed before. And only after minutes of breathless moans, with their hands entangled in each other's hair and necks, did their feet land onto the tiled floor of the Entrance Hall again, into a room full of deadly silence.
"What…Draco, what was that?" Harry whispered with bated breath, his hands caressing his blond forelocks tenderly.
The blond brushed a hand across his spotless cheeks, across his infamous scar and the perfect ridge of his nose and the angelic fold of his perfect lips and smiled. Damn the gossip, damn the social principles, damn the press and his father's ideals – he wanted to bathe in his boyfriend's loving smile for an eternity to come. It was all worth it.
So he took a breath and formed the four words he thought he never would.
"I love you, Harry."
Flash Flash Flash
"Fuck, Creevey, when I said take pictures I meant do so appropriately!"
"Don't worry, Malfoy," Ron snarled, his grin becoming maniacal, just as Colin cringed away behind his camera. "I'll take care of Kevin."