The Dish, by Lavender Brown

It has always been well known amongst the Hogwarts Class of 1998 that Lavender Brown was a gossip. Decidedly less well known was that she was also an extremely gifted writer.

It was not surprising that her gift for words had gone unnoticed — after all, Hogwarts did not offers classes in Journalism, Writing or even Grammar — and while Lavender's essays were always exceptionally well written, her knowledge of schoolwork was only mediocre. Furthermore, Lavender's housemate Hermione Granger was in nearly all of her classes and while Hermione's work may have lacked Lavender's finesse, her arguments were brilliant. Really, that was all her professors had been looking for.

Divination, the sole class the girls did not share, could have been Lavender's chance to shine. Unfortunately, the class had been taught by one Professor Trelawney, who wouldn't recognize brilliant prose if it dressed up like the Grim and ate Harry Potter in front of her owlish gaze.

At some point during her fifth year of schooling, Lavender had met with Professor McGonagall, her Head of House, to discuss her career plans. Lavender, who had shown no exceptional aptitude for anything taught at Hogwarts, had been encouraged by her professor to consider further schooling beyond graduation. Perhaps a Muggle university, the professor had suggested. Lavender, a pureblood witch, had never considered the idea and merely filed it away in the recesses of her mind. It therefore surprised her as much as anyone when she found herself not only attending a rather prestigious Muggle university in Manchester, but graduating said uni with top marks in her chosen field of Journalism.

Degree in hand, it had been rather easy for her to secure a position with Witch Weekly, the British wizarding world's top magazine for witches (at least in her opinion). Her first post with the publication put her Divination skills to use as she began with astrological charts. However, when her editors happened to learn that she was not only regarded as Hogwarts best 'informed' alumna but a former housemate of the Boy-Who-Lived, they quickly promoted her to 'Information Columnist.'

"Which really is a nice way of referring to her as a gossip columnist," former classmate Pansy Parkinson told any and everyone who would listen with distaste. Truth be told, Pansy was jealous. She was also employed by Witch Weekly, and had her eye on Lavender's position. Not that she'd ever get it. Lavender was simply better informed.

For Lavender had known that Order of Merlin, First Class, recipients Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were engaged to be married two weeks before the announcement made The Daily Prophet. Her column informed the public that Puddlemere United's Keeper Oliver Wood was seen 'canoodling' around London with a famous Muggle actress nearly a month before pictures of the couple appeared in the Muggle magazine Hello! She always beat the competition when it came to reporting the romantic liaisons and scandals within the Ministry of Magic; she even managed to edge out top competitor Rita Skeeter. And only Lavender had the full story on the infamous triangle between the beautiful Patil twins and devastatingly handsome Blaise Zabini.

Then, of course, there were her endless tidbits about The-Boy-Who-Lived. What he was wearing, where he went, who he had been seen with. Now, Lavender had even broken the biggest story of all — the headline read 'The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Love… Men?!' — which was accompanied by a large photo of the man in question snogging a distinct older man with inky black hair and a rather large nose inside a dance hall just outside of Madrid.

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Auror Nymphadora Lupin, known simply as Tonks to anyone who chose to live save for her husband who refused to call her anything but Nymphadora, sat down at her desk in the Ministry of Magic. She removed the lid off of her steamy take-away cup of Earl Gray and unwrapped the pumpkin pastry her husband Remus had thrust into her hand before she Apparated to work. She checked to make sure no one else was nearby; seeing the office was clear, she pulled out the latest edition of Witch Weekly. The magazine was little more then a gossip rag, but it was Tonks' guilty pleasure. She took a big bite pastry and turned to her favorite column - 'The Dish' by Lavender Brown. She read the headline and glanced at the accompanying photo. Then read the headline again. She started to choke.

"Tonks, are you all right?" Ron Weasley, one of her fellow Aurors, was instantly at her side. Tonks panicked and tried desperately to cover her paper. Instead, she knocked over her paper cup spilling hot tea across her desk and into her lap.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed as the liquid seeped through her robes. She managed to dislodge the piece of pastry from her throat and threw off her robes; thankfully she had had the foresight to wear proper clothing beneath them. Well, perhaps not proper clothing, but at least a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt.

"What's a 'Metallica'?" Ron asked, reading her black concert tee. Remembering himself, he shook his head slightly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she gasped as leaned across her wet desk, still desperately trying to conceal the magazine. Ron gave her a funny look and cast a quick cleansing spell; the liquid promptly evaporated. He leaned over and caught sight of her magazine.

"Oi, Lavender's column Tonks?" he said, reading the byline. "Really? I can't believe I ever dated that vicious gossip." He was still a bit miffed because of the incriminating photos she had printed along with details of his bachelor party. His then fiancée, now wife, had been quite put out over it. Nonetheless he slipped the magazine out from under his co-worker and began to read aloud. "The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Love…Men?!" Ron's eyes flicked over to the accompanying photo of his best mate pressed up against the dark haired man. He winced when photo Harry moved his hand from the man's chest to his groin. He tossed the magazine back onto Tonk's desk and sighed.

"You know its one thing to know what he does, and that's fine, his cuppa and all," Ron mumbled. "It's another to have it dancing before your eyes in the morning post." Ron shook his head and pointed his wand toward the samovar across the room. "Accio tea," he commanded, and two cups of fresh tea shot across the room into his outstretched hands. He gave one to the still gaping Tonks. "What is it?"

"You… knew?" she asked, placing her tea on the desk.

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "That Harry likes blokes? Of course. He's been my best mate for fifteen years… wait a tick. You knew that too. He brought that Quidditch player, what was his name, Caffey or Cafferty, to the Burrow two Christmases ago."

"Cauffiel," Tonks replied. "And of course I knew Harry likes blokes. But did you happen to get a good look at the bloke in the photograph?"

Ron picked up the copy of Witch Weekly once more, his eyes judiciously ignoring Harry's roving hands. Instead he focused on the face of Harry's slender partner. "Bloody hell!"

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Blaise Zabini wasn't just handsome; he was brilliant and with his students quite lively. For these reasons he was one of the most popular professors at Hogwarts, where he taught Transfiguration.

Normally, Blaise had no problem controlling his class. Today however, no matter how hard he tried, his seventh year NEWT class would not settle down and complete their assignments — transfiguring Crups into chaise loungers.

The source of the problem appeared to be a newspaper — no, a magazine. Blaise tried to get closer but the knot of seventh years was quite thick about it. At the center was none other than Priya Patil. Blaise groaned. Priya was a quintessential troublesome Gryffindor.

"Miss Patil," Blaise said in his best scary professor voice. It was modeled after Professor Snape's and usually managed to subdue his students. Of course it didn't work on his sister-in-law.

"Yes Professor Zabini?" Priya said innocently. She flipped back her long dark hair over her shoulder with one hand while slipping the magazine under her Transfiguration text.

"May I inquire as to what is so fascinating that you and your classmates are gathered around your desk instead of attempting to complete today's assignment? Especially when your NEWTs are only a month away?"

"Nothing sir," Priya said, defiantly meeting his eyes. Blaise snorted and leaned close to her ear. "Give me the magazine Priya," he commanded.

Priya smirked at him. "Sure thing Professor." She placed extra emphasis on the final word. She removed the magazine from within the pages of her notebook and handed it to him. He rolled it into a cone and smacked it hard against his hand, causing several students to jump. "Back to work," he said. He pivoted on his heel and strode back to his desk. He watched his class as they resumed their assignments. When he was sure they were all greatly involved in their projects, he turned his back and opened the magazine. There were two pages folded down. He doubted the first, an article written by his former classmate Pansy Parkinson, was what had garnered their attention for it was a fluffy piece on this season's hottest robe designer. He flipped to the second folded page and read the headline. Then glanced at the accompanying photograph. And then back again.

An evil grin spread across his handsome face. He closed the magazine and slipped it into his briefcase.

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Hermione Granger-Weasley loved Thursdays. They were, essentially, her free day, for she only taught one class that day and it was in the morning. If NEWTs and OWLs were not fast approaching, she would have gone home early as was her tradition. However, they were and so she was sitting in the staff room, grading papers, when Blaise came in.

"Professor," he greeted her as he unceremoniously dumped himself into the seat across from her. Immersed in her work, she merely inclined her head ever so slightly.

Blaise was not to be deterred. "Have you read the paper this morning?" he asked, removing the confiscated copy of Witch Weekly from his satchel.

"You know I don't read The Daily Prophet," she answered without looking up.

"I wasn't referring to the Prophet," he said. He opened the magazine to 'The Dish' by Lavender Brown and slid it across the table, right under her nose. He watched with amusement as her eyes grew wide.

"Is that Harry?"

"Yup."

"With HIM?"

Blaise nodded. "So it would seem."

"Wow, she breathed. She pushed aside her papers and attacked the article. "In Madrid. When was Harry in Madrid?" she wondered aloud, tapping her temple with her quill.

"You'd know better then I," said Blaise enigmatically. "I do, however, know that the Professor went out of town two weekends ago. I filled in as head of house for him."

"Hmmm," Hermione tapped her lip with her quill. Two weeks ago. Come to think of it, Harry had gone out of town a couple of weekends ago. He had had an assignment in Lisbon and from there it was a hop skip and a jump to Spain. She scanned the article once more before returning to the picture. No buts about it, it was certainly them in the photo. Still… "It's rather unbelievable don't you think?"

Blaise shrugged. "I don't know. Something between them always seemed rather unfinished."

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Harry Potter rolled over and threw his arm out. His hand made a satisfying smack as it connected with the solid body beside him. He cracked one eye open and smiled sleepily at the dark haired man lying next to him.

"Hello," Harry said.

"Mister Potter is it quite necessary for you to smack me every morning I spend in your company?" his bed partner inquired.

Harry grinned and propped himself up on one elbow. He dropped several kisses on the chest he had just hit. "Is that better?" He mumbled into the small thatch of black hair.

His partner let out a small moan. "Oh, yes, much."

"How 'bout this, then?" Harry slid on top of his lover, straddling the other man's waist with his muscular thighs. He rubbed his groin gently against his man's, slowly bringing them to full hardness. "Severus," he moaned, relishing the feeling of their bodies against one another.

"Don't fall asleep again," Severus whispered in his ear. He flipped the smaller man over so he was now on top. He ravished him.

When they were both satiated, Severus collapsed onto Harry. They snuggled together enjoying the afterglow. Harry was starting to drift off when he heard an insistent tap on the window.

"You have an owl at the window Mister Potter," Severus said.

"Mmmm,"

"Harry. The bird is insistent."

"Okay, okay." Harry slid out from under Severus and went to the window. A tiny minute owl was dancing on the windowsill, a rolled up magazine tied to its leg. A note written on lavender stationary was wrapped around it. Harry untied the magazine and gave the owl a treat from the bowl he kept on the sill before sending it off.

"What's that?" Severus asked as Harry returned to the bed. He handed Severus the magazine and opened the letter. Severus flipped straight to 'The Dish.' He read the article and admired the photograph. "Well," he said, handing the magazine to Harry.

"How was it?"

"Rather well written," Severus answered. "Although the photograph is a bit vulgar.

Harry grinned boyishly. "I rather liked it — chose it myself."

Severus snorted ungraciously. "You would. What else did Ms. Brown send? I saw something wrapped around the magazine."

"You've an eagle eye, don't you love?" Harry remarked, kissing his boyfriend on the nose. "It was a thank-you for being allowed to break the story. And the copy of her article for next week."

"The engagement?"

Harry nodded. He entwined his fingers with Severus. Their matching engagement bands gleamed. "Excellent," Severus said. "That will save us the trouble of having to make announcements. Make sure you send Miss Brown a nice thank-you note."

fin