Everybody Wants Me (so what the fuck's wrong with you by Luvscharlie

Warnings: tittyfuck, hero complex, inflated ego, mild violence, sexual harassment in the workplace, things Kingsley should never be subjected to seeing again,

A/N: Originally written for the 2012 Wizard_love prompt fest on Live Journal where the prompt was what is listed below from the movie Harry Met Sally. The requirements were more than 1000 words and nothing less than an R rating with smut included.

"Harry, you may not believe this, but I never considered not sleeping with you a sacrifice." – When Harry Met Sally

Being a hero was hard work. No, really, it was. You couldn't allow yourself those regular niceties that normal people did. You couldn't go into the office with your hair a mess (you know, more a messed than his shaggy, endearing mop normally was), and you couldn't just throw something on from the wardrobe. Harry had to always look his best. As the Minister's right-hand man and background boy hero (and paparazzi magnet), certain things were expected of him.

Harry had really become a bit full of himself of late... well, that was if you believed what Hermione said, which Harry no longer did. She'd gone and got a little jealous of his status of late. Hermione had also called his new broomstick an overpriced disgrace, so his barb about her being jealous may well have stemmed from his anger over her outrageous comment. There was no broomstick too expensive if it had 'Firebolt' in the title. And so what if he'd sort of used his hero title to get the first two for himself and Ron before they were even distributed to the public? That hero title had certainly never been anything more than a pain in the bum, so why not get a little bit for himself when he could, now that a certain someone who shall not be named was no longer around to make threats on his life and destroy the world? Really, a bloke deserved a break every once in a while.

Not that Hermione ever gave Ron a break. Harry sometimes thought that he and Ginny ending things was the best thing that had ever happened to him, though he'd been devastated at the time to discover that her eye had been caught by his arch nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

Also, saying that he had an arch nemesis made Harry seem far cooler than he actually was. If he'd learned anything over the years, being the Prophet's favourite subject, it was that sometimes the only thing that mattered was the turn of a phrase. Of course, Hermione said his grammar was terrible, but again, he was rather certain she was losing her mind.

Of course, Harry did have reason to be a little full of himself. He'd gone through about fourteen secretaries in the past two months, and each of those young ladies (and one man; Kingsley had hired one bloke thinking that might cure Harry's little problem of bedding the staff) had ended up in his bed… and he hadn't had to do a single thing to get them there. Hell, he hadn't even needed to buy them dinner. They had just thrown themselves at him. Apparently, sleeping with boy-heroes was on a lot of girls' bucket lists. Who knew? Certainly not Harry; if he had, his Hogwarts days would have gone far differently.

But today, things were going to be different. Minister Shacklebolt had laid down the law. If Harry continued to use his position at the Ministry like the barkeep at the local pub—a place to do nothing more than pick up women and take them home for a nice shag, he'd be looking for another job. It wouldn't be hard to find another job; Harry was a hot commodity, but he really rather liked working at the Ministry, so he was going to have to do his best not to be so charming so that women's knickers fell off in his presence.

It would be hard.

He walked into the office with a bit of trepidation. He had worn his ugliest shirt and a hideous tie, and refrained from wearing a wizard's robe to cover his Muggle clothing. No woman could resist him in a wizard's robe; it would be cruel to tempt this new secretary in such a manner. It would be like setting the poor girl up to fail before she ever had a chance to succeed. Harry wasn't nearly so cruel.

He looked toward the desk where his new assistant sat and nearly fell over. This was going to be too easy. She would be crawling across his lap and begging to be fucked by lunch time. Lavender Brown looked up at him with fluttering eyelashes and batted her eyes coquettishly.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Uh." He couldn't really form words. He thought Kingsley might be looking for an easy way to sack him. After all, Lavender Brown had been desperate enough to fuck Ron back in their days at school… she'd fall onto Harry's cock with no effort at all. He did the only thing he could—he headed her off at the pass. "I can't have sex with you."

Lavender put down her quill, and lowered the reading glasses on her nose so that she could look over them. The movement made Harry notice the new accessory on her face and he had to admit they were rather sexy. Oh Merlin! Stop that, self. You're not supposed to be noticing these things. This is a professional environment. Act professionally! He reiterated the statement. "I can not have sex with you." He was rather proud of his authoritative tone.

"You realise that most people begin with hello, right?"

"I think we should get this settled first." Harry was standing firm.

"What exactly are we settling again?"

Lavender's face was perplexed, but Harry had seen this attempt at coy behaviour before. He wasn't fooled. "You know. This!" He pointed at his willy.

"This being the part where you're not going to grant me the esteemed honour of riding your golden boy cock?" Lavender leaned back in her chair, shoving back from the desk and tucking a quill behind her ear.

"Well, it just sounds silly when you say it like that."

"You think?"

"Well… yeah. I mean, when I say it, it sounds, you know, normal. When you do it—well, I don't even know what that's about. You just sound like you've lost your mind." Harry scratched his head. Lavender Brown hadn't been in his presence for a full five minutes and his brain was already hurting. He shook his head in an attempt to take the conversation in hand. "Look, I just want to get this out—we're not going to have sex." He waited a moment for affect and then said, "And that's final!"

Lavender didn't respond; Harry thought he detected a bit of a smirk, which was a very weird way to express how upset she must have been to hear her plans of carving his hero's name into her bedpost were thwarted. Poor girl, she was quite good at masking her disappointment.

"Give me your hand," Lavender said.

Harry jumped back from the desk and held his arms away from her. "No! Did you hear anything I said to you? Holding my hand is only going to make this harder for you."

She snorted, stood and took his hand forcefully. Then, she broke into laughter upon examination.

"Oh God! Did Ron do that Nail Polish Charm again?" He looked down and was surprised to see that his hands looked perfectly normal; there were no pink fingernails to be seen. "What's so funny?" he demanded. Then he softened his tone. "Is that laughter to hide the pain?" She ignored the question, obviously a ploy to hide her embarrassment at being rejected and Harry gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder. He couldn't fuck her, but that didn't mean he was a heartless cad.

"You have the tiniest hands I've ever seen." She was laughing so hard that little tears were beginning to leak from her eyes.

Harry wasn't sure when small hands became so comedic.

"Oh the women you must have disappointed."

"Lavender, I'm sorry that you're so upset. I'm sure you only took this job to—WAIT! What the hell did you just say?"

Tutting her tongue, Lavender said, "Well, you know what they say."

"What? Who's this 'they'?" Harry demanded. "And what do these lying 'they people' say about my disappointing women?"

"Well, you know. Small hands, small—you do know, right?"

Harry took a wild guess. "Small hands, small feet?" Somehow that sounded wrong, despite the fact that hands and feet did typically go together. He never really thought that women were all that interested in feet. Maybe he was wrong.

Shaking her head with sympathy at Harry's lack of knowledge, Lavender waggled a finger to indicate that Harry should lean in closer. He did and she whispered, "Small hands, small willy."

Harry's jaw dropped. "My willy is not small!" he protested.

She didn't agree or disagree, which was probably the worst thing ever. Lavender just looked at Harry's groin area with a sceptical smirk. At least if she'd said something he could argue his case. He did his best to argue anyway. "I DON'T!"

She took the bait. "Oh, sweetie, you are a bit, well—"

"Well, what?"

"Weedy. Scrawny. Erm," she whispered the final hateful, horrible, disgusting word, "Little."

"You take that back!" Harry demanded at once.

"Sorry. Can't do it. I call them as I see them." Lavender sat back down at her desk, bent over a parchment and began to apply ink to it. "Now, if you'll just let me get back to my work…"

Harry wasn't tolerating this any longer. There was only one way to dispel this ridiculous notion of hers. He unzipped his trouser, pushed both trousers and pants down to his thighs and let non-little Harry bounce in the wind. "Just look. Here's proof that I'm not little. I am perfectly proportioned, probably even larger than most men."

"Oh, sweetie, I wouldn't go that far. I mean, I don't need a magnifying glass or anything, but, well—I don't want to hurt your feelings. You are my boss, after all."

And it was as Non-little Harry was flapping in the wind, that the door opened and Minister Shacklebolt came in, saying, "I just wanted to check and see how—Oh my!"

Harry opened the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place to find Ron on his doorstep. "Hey."

Stepping across the threshold, Ron closed the door behind him. "Hey. I went by your office, but Lavender said you were home today. I didn't know she was working with you now. You sick?"

Harry considered lying, but Ron would find out sooner or later. He hung his head and 'fessed up. "I'm on administrative leave until further notice."

Ron gasped. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't fuck your ex-girlfriend."

"Boy, Kingsley's rules are getting ridiculous." Ron seemed to think on this some more. "Are you sure you didn't fuck her? Because I don't think there's a policy on not-fucking co-workers."

"I don't think it was the not-fucking part that got me thrown out. I think it was the unzipping my trousers and letting my cock dance all over her desk."

"Yeah, that seems like a more reasonable rule. At least if you've gone round the bend, Kingsley hasn't."

"Thanks. A lot."

With a snort, Ron flopped down on the sofa and Harry took the chair across from him. "So, did Lav throw herself at you?"

"Strangely, no. It was really weird. You know, she didn't seem interested in me at all."

"Well, when you've had the best—" Ron didn't finish the sentence because he was cut of by a pillow hitting him in the face.

"This is sort of embarrassing, but she came in ignored me completely and when she was talking to me, all she was doing was telling my willy was tiny."

"She did fuck a Weasley, you know. I've just set the bar in which she judges all other men too high."

Harry let the barb pass. "Then, I decided I'd show her and whipped it out so she could see that Little Harry wasn't little at all, and Kingsley walked in."

"Ouch. Embarrassing."

"Yeah. Humiliating. It was nice of you to come by and see if I was sick when I wasn't at work though." Harry was actually touched by his friend's kindness.

Ron looked at the ground. "Yeah, about that."

"Yeah, what?"

"I mean, I'm glad you're not sick—well, sick in the head maybe, since you think it's okay to go flapping your willy in girls' faces and all—you know, whatever. Still, that's not why I came by."

Harry looked at him sceptically. "Then why did you come by? And for the record, I was not flapping my…" His words died off. In fact, despite how bad it sounded, that was exactly what he had been doing.

"Er, to borrow your new broom."

"What's wrong with yours? It's the same as mine."

"Yeah, Hermione hid it. There was some nattering on about how it wasn't right for us to have them… yadda, yadda, yadda… exploiting our celebrity status… yadda, yadda,.. principles… yadda, yadda, yadda, not telling you where it is… and I think I tuned out somewhere about then and just started nodding every few minutes. It was just easier, you know?"

Harry did know. Hermione, when she got on a roll like this one, could not be swayed and it was useless to even attempt talking sense into her. And if you did attempt it, you didn't want to do it for something minor; save it for the big stuff. You know, like when she threw a fit because they got special tickets to a VIP-only Quidditch match or something.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "Charlie's in town and I want to show it to him."

"You mean, you want to show him you have one and he doesn't?" Harry smirked and went to retrieve his broom with Ron close at his heels.

"Of course."

Harry handed off the broom to Ron and walked him to the door. He opened it to find Lavender standing there poised to knock. They both squealed a little in surprise, and Harry was disturbed to discover that his squeal sounded more girlish than Lavender's. Her eyes widened in a way that Harry recognised as flirtation when she noted Ron standing beside him, broom in hand, and a surge of unflattering envy shot through Harry to the point that he considered pushing Ron down the stairs to get rid of him.

"Ron!" she said the name with excited glee evident and batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

The words 'Weasley', 'bar' and 'too high' were all jumbling together in Harry's mind, and he looked at Ron pointedly. "Ron was just leaving. He came to borrow my broom. Another of my attributes that is bigger and better than his." Harry congratulated himself silently on his quip.

"Um, okay, whatever." Lavender shook her head.

Ron grunted, "You wish," near Harry's ear, said goodbye to Lavender with a flirtatious wink, and Apparated away with a sharp pop.

Harry tried to forget the way she tittered like Ron was the best thing since the invention of the Long-last Lipstick Charm. It wasn't too hard to forget her infatuation with Ron since she'd clearly come by Harry's home because she was about to throw herself at him… but she probably wasn't going to do it on the front steps. He stepped out of the doorway and invited her inside.

She stepped across the threshold and Harry leaned against the wall, looking as sexy as possible, running his hand rakishly through his hair and pursing his lips in a way that women found to be pouty and irresistible.

"Are you okay?"

"Yesh." It was hard to talk when looking all pouty-sexy.

"Are you sure? You're making a weird face. I mean if you're constipated or something, they make potions for that. I could pop down to Diagon Alley and pick you up something if you don't feel like going out."

Harry was exasperated. This girl knew nothing about throwing herself at a man. And it was a bit disappointing too. He had it on good authority that Lavender knew her way around the bedroom, and that she was quite skilled at flirting. It was just further proof that rumours were not the best judge of a person's skills or character. "Look, if you just want to get this over with, my bedroom's in there." He pointed down the hallway. "And if you're not all that interested in foreplay, we could be done in a half hour."

"Done with what?"

She sounded angry. Boy, she was really pants at this flirting thing. Didn't she know men didn't fancy that angry voice? The hands on the hips was a good touch though; it made her tits stick out rather nicely.

"You know, you coming here and begging me to fuck you. Totally fuckable boy hero, girl who wants a notch on her bedpost, and all that stuff. We can just skip the niceties and get on with it." Harry started towards his bedroom, unfastening his trousers as he went, and was surprised to find that Lavender wasn't following him. He walked back to the foyer. "Oh, I get it. You're one of those girls who wants all the kissing stuff to start out with, right? Well, okay, but I'm expected at the Burrow for dinner, so we'd better get started."

Lavender picked up an ashtray from the nearest table and hurled it at Harry's head. It was only his quick reflexes that saved him from a crowning.

"Oh! That's how it is then? You like it rough. Ron never told me that about you. I'll need to stretch a bit." Harry did a couple of deep knee bends, twisted at the waist and he was just bending over to touch his toes when the world went black.

He woke up lying on his floor. He wasn't certain how much time had passed, but there was a note on the floor beside him, it was covered in girlish swirls, and Molly Weasley's face was looking down into his… and she did not look happy.

"I came to check on you when you never came round for dinner." She grabbed the note and shook it in Harry's face. "And I found this. Is this the way you treat young ladies, now? Is this the way I raised you?"

From the look on her face, 'yes' was definitely not the correct answer. Not to either question. He gave his best, 'I'm Harry and you love me' smile, but her face never cracked. It was going to be a long night and his head was really pounding.

The next day, just outside Lavender Brown's flat…

Harry raised his hand for what must have been the fourth time, trying to get up the nerve to knock. The door flew open and Lavender Brown came flying through too quick to stop herself and knocked him backwards into the hallway, landing him on his bum. Harry was just thankful it wasn't one of the buildings with an outside entrance for each flat. It wasn't nearly so humiliating with an empty hallway, and at least the carpeting was soft for his landing. "We really have to stop meeting this way," he said, and turned on his most charming and winsome smile.

Lavender looked at her watch.

"You late for something?" Harry asked, standing and brushing himself off.

"No, it's just usually it takes less than five minutes before you go unzipping something. This time I thought I'd time you."

"Look, about that. I'm sorry if I misjudged you."

"If you misjudged me."

This wasn't going very well. "Can I come in? It's kind of hard to eat crow in the hallway. If you'd offer me a drink, I wouldn't choke on the feathers."

She gave him a sideways glance. "The first time you go for a zipper, I'm calling the Minister and getting you sacked… after I put you in St Mungo's with a big lump on your head."

"Fair enough. I came to apologise. I'll keep everything zipped." Lavender stepped aside and Harry walked into the pinkest flat he'd ever seen. It looked like someone had taken that stomach medicine Mrs Weasley would give him for a tummy ache and used it as paint. Even the carpets were pink.

"So the boy hero has come to apologise. That's surprising."

"I'm not allowed to go to the Burrow for dinner and Mrs Weasley won't pack my lunch for work tomorrow until I apologise. And she won't believe me, so you'll need to write me a note." The words were out before he could take them back.

"You know, for an orphan, you're quite the mummy's boy. Does she darn your socks as well?"

Harry didn't answer because it would only be further fodder to mock him with; she did, in fact, fix his socks when he pushed a toe through the ends. "The Minister sent me an owl yesterday. He said you'd asked to be transferred out of my department. You could have told me yourself."

"I tried. It went well. You insulted me; I laid you out. You ended up here with a note from your mummy."

"Well, not to part hairs, but I actually need a note for my non-mummy. The Ministry cafeteria is disgusting, and she puts little pies in my lunch with little wet wipes to get the sticky off my fingers. I can't give that up."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're unique." Harry flopped down on the pink sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. He quickly put them down on the carpet when Lavender glared the glare of death in his direction.

"I'm certain the word you're looking for is magnificent, rather than unique."

He smiled. She really was unique… and magnificent wasn't too far off the mark either. She was certainly pretty. "I like you." Harry found that the truthfulness of his admission was rather startling. He really did like her. She didn't throw herself at him like most girls did; in fact, she seemed to run the opposite direction whenever he waved his willy in her face. Sadly, that was a literal waving, which was really embarrassing in hindsight.

"I find you repulsive," Lavender retorted.

"Yeah, about that. I really am sorry."

"Oh, knock it off, Potter! I'll give you your note, and you can have your dinner and lunches back from Ron's mum. Merlin knows you're scrawny enough. I can't live with myself if you're ribs become any more prominent. All of those ridiculous groupies of yours would start a 'Feed the Hero' campaign."

"Not you though. You're not even a little bit star struck by my hero status, are you?"

"The only thing I find heroic about you is the fact that your skinny little neck is able to hold up that inflated head of yours."

Harry might not have been able to win her over to the point that she'd be volunteering as president of his fan club, but he could certainly engage her in a fun bit of verbal foreplay. Besides, he wasn't ready to leave. The more he was around Lavender Brown, the more she intrigued him. Also, that little jibe about his skinny neck kind of stung and he wanted to return the barb. "Well, the only thing heroic about you is that your tiny little spinal column doesn't tip you right over with those saggy, melon boobs of yours."

"What did you just say?"

There was a fire in her eyes that made Harry wish the sofa he was sitting upon would open up and he could hide inside it. He had gone too far. "Erm… nothing," he squeaked. He noted that she had also balled up her fists and she was wearing a ring on one hand that would make for a fairly lethal weapon.

Then Lavender did the very last thing that Harry expected. She began to angrily unbutton her blouse.

"What are you—"

"SHUT UP!" she screamed.

Harry meeped and closed his eyes. He was used to girls throwing themselves at him, but not like this. Not with murder in their eyes.

"You open your eyes this instant, Harry Potter!"

Harry cracked an eyelid to find a bare-chested Lavender standing mere inches from him.

"I pay a lot of Sickles for the Perk'em Up Potion that I take daily to make my tits look this fabulous. You look at them, and see they're not saggy. Not in the least."

Harry gave a quick darting glance and looked away. "Yeah, they're great. Really, really great."

"Oh no you don't. Stand up and feel them. These are quality tits. Not that you'd know quality if it hit you in your spotty little face."

If Lavender stepped any closer, Harry thought the chances of them hitting him in the face were quite probable. "You want me to feel them?" Harry was sceptical. "You just want me to feel them so you can clock me again."

"If you don't feel them, I'm going to clock you again. You don't get to insult a girl's boobs and then refuse to feel them. Get your hands over here and squeeze my nipples."

"Erm… there's this thing called Multiple Personality Disorder. I think you might have it."

Lavender had had enough of Harry's hesitating shyness. "You say you're such a ladies' man, but you're too scared to give a girl's titties a good squeeze!" She lifted both breasts with her hands and shoved Harry's face between them as she straddled his lap.

"Wat aw you doing?" Harry's voice was muffled by the most perfectly wonderful boobs he'd ever had in his face. He might not have cared so much about her motives if he hadn't noticed that there was a very heavy looking ashtray on Lavender's coffee table. Because of that, he was being cautious. Then she brushed her nipple across his lips and all thoughts of the ashtray left Harry's mind.

He grabbed Lavender by the wrists and flipped her on her back on the sofa. His cock was straining at his trousers and with her earlier warning about his unzipping things echoing in his mind, Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Lavender reached for the zip and tugged it down, using her deft fingers to pop the button and shove down his trousers and pants. Lavender was quick as a cat. Before Harry knew what had happened, he was bottomless and straddling her midsection.

"Would you like to give that potion a test run?" Harry asked.

Lavender winked up at him, and Harry slid his cock between her tits. She squeezed her breasts together, rubbing her thumbs across her nipples so that they stood as erect, hard pebbles. Harry began to rock his hips, sliding his cock in and out of the warmth of Lavender's tits. He came in a few strokes and quickly found himself dumped out of Lavender's flat, with the door slammed firmly in his face, holding his trousers in hand, bare-bummed as the day he was born.

In honesty, he walked away from the building feeling a bit used.

The next morning, in the Minister's Office…

Harry poked his head around the doorway to find Lavender straightening parchments and quills on her desk. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispered.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Do I need to report you to the Minister… again?"

Harry was perplexed. "What?"

"Harry, I asked to be transferred out of your department, and now you follow me here to my new position to harass me again."

"Harass you?"

"Yes, harass me. Look, I don't appreciate your advances." She shook her finger in warning. "And you keep your willy in your pants!"

He held his hands out in surprise. "What the fuck is going on? After what happened between us last night, I can't believe you're acting this way!"

Lavender was the one to look perplexed at those words. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you mean last night?"

Harry thrust his hips forward. "You know what I mean. You, me, your tits and Little Harry and your disgustingly pink flat."

"Pink flat? My flat is not pink."

"Yes it is! It looks like the tummy ache medicine Mrs Weasley gives me when I'm sick."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. The last time I saw you was when I brained you with an ashtray in your foyer."

"You liar. I titty fucked you on your pink sofa last night!"

It was at that unfortunate moment that Minister Shacklebolt entered the office.

That same evening, Number 12 Grimmauld Place…

The fireplace made a whooshing noise and lit up green as Ron stepped out with Harry's broom in hand. "I heard you got to go back to work today."

"Yeah." Harry scuffed his trainer on the kitchen floor. "You still planning on moving in with Hermione?"

"That's a weird question. I mean, yeah. Mum's having kittens about us living together before we get married though. Why are you asking?"

"I'm going to need a roommate for a while. I'm back on administrative leave, and this time it's without pay."

"What'd you do?"

"Titty fucked your girlfriend on her imaginary pink sofa… I think."

"What are you even talking about?"

Harry rubbed the knot on his head where the ashtray had connected with his skull. "I'm pretty sure this is the first time imaginary fucking has ever got me into trouble."

"You do realise you're making no sense at all, right?" Ron asked.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table, running his hand through his uncombed hair. "There was pink," he mumbled, "so much pink. Maybe pink causes brain damage. Or, I don't know, maybe she hit me with another ashtray and I just don't remember it because all my brains leaked out my ears. I've heard that can happen, you know." He looked at Ron beseechingly. "I'm so confused."

Ron took Harry by the arm. "Come on. That's a good Harry. I think we need to take a little trip to St Mungo's."

"I'm cracking up, aren't I?"

"No, mate, I think you've already done that."

"Great, now I'm a boy hero gone round the bend." Harry seemed to think on that a moment. "Do you think that'll get me any pity fucks?"

-The End-

** Additional author's note: I was watching one of those hilarious previous for This Means War when I became so hooked on the idea of Harry's small hands equalling other small parts of the Harry.