I'm your biggest fan! I'll follow you until you love me… Papa… Paparazzi.

Baby you'll be famous! Chase you down until you love me… Papa… Paparazzi.

The blonde snuck through the club, searching for that tight pair of shiny black pants he'd just seen strut… or should he say wobble by with a glass full of fire whiskey in one hand on a pretty, fair skinned boy in the other.

'Perfect', Draco thought.

'I've got him.' He smiled, camera up to his eye as he caught sight of the dishevled boy grabbing the ass of the fair boy who jumped and spilled his drink on Harry, who didn't seem to notice one bit.

The next day Harry picked up the Daily Prophet that… for some reason Ginny insisted on having delivered to the house despite Harry's deep hatred for it. He squinted at a moving picture on the front of him grabbing that…

'I don't remember him…'

He stared for what could've been minutes or hours as the headline danced in his hung over vision

"Potter/Weasley Marriage Done Like Disco"

"Oh sweet Merlin" Harry said aloud, not being able to help but watch his hand smack that blonde boys ass over and over again, watching the boy jump and dump his drink down the back of Harry's pants who was clearly accausting the man… Who could barely contain his excitement at this prospect.

"Who took this picture…" He said, scouring the front page for a credit.

"AH-Ha-……what?"
Right beneith the picture read the words 'Picture by Papa Razzi'.

"BULLOCKS!"

Harry laid giggling as his newest favourite thing sat atop him, scribbling on his eyes with eyeliner. One of the Weird Sisters this time. He caught her for a quickie between sets. He fumbled up, drunk..again.

"I'll be back, I'm going outside for a fag." He slurred at her. She wiggled and giggled and waved.

Harry, who no longer hung around gay clubs after he genuinely could not explain that picture in the Prophet to anyone without clearly lying, distracted himself with women now. Namely fruit flies.

Ever since he broke it off with Draco to marry Ginny and have kids like he'd always wanted (albeit not with Ginny but hey, she was nice enough) he'd tried to fill the space with someone. Anyone. Any body. As long as it was warm and knew how to moan right, he was ok, right? Especially if they were blonde. Then he was very fine, possibly even ok for a minute.

Draco watched as Harry stood taking drag after drag of what he was undoubtedly only smoking to bring death more quickly. The man abhored cigarettes. Dudley smoked, and it nearly killed the boy. He raised his camera, aiming it right at his face.

'The chosen one, smoking. How dirty.' Draco thought.

'Fucking pratt. I'll take his reputation down with me if it's the last thing I do. He'll love me.'

Click.

The next day Harry opened the door to pick up the prophet but there was nothing… Except an envelope. He picked it up and immediately goosebumps went running up his arms and down his spine. A smell of something..just so familiar passed. The paper was soft.

He slid his finger under the seal, pulling out a piece of folder paper which a picture fell on the floor.

He bent over picking up the picture. It was from last night, eyeliner and cigarettes.

The paper read in an all too familiar script:

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me. Baby you'll be famous, I'll chase you down until you love me.

-Papa Razzi

Harry decided to write back.

How much do you want to not send in that picture, Draco. I don't know what I did to deserve this. It's not fair. Just because I wanted a family? It's been a matter of months since we've been married and you want to destroy us already?

The reply:

Potter,

We were together for five years. Do you understand. Five. I don't want money. I want this.

Attached was a picture of them, locking and licking lips. Hands up eachothers shirts while Draco stuck an arm out as far as he could get it to get them both in the shot. Draco's eyes were cut to the side, wicked looking and smiling.

It's priceless. You can't buy me away. I want you back.

Harry sat and stared for a moment.

His reply:

I can get you in with any superstar. You can't chase me down unti l I love you. I don't want to be anymore famous than I already am, if you can even call this kind of attention fame. You're deminishing yourself to a stalker.

There was no reply to that letter. Months passed, and every other week, there was a new picture of Harry in the Daily Prophet with some new face in some new place. And every other week, before the picture came out, Harry would get a copy of it with the same line scribbled above it;

"I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me. Baby there's no other superstar you know that I'll be yours. Baby you'll be famous, I'll chase you down until you love me

-Papa Razzi