Disclaimer: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

Warning: Extreme sexual content[underage sex and homosexual intercourse included] and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

Chapter I

Christmas Eve, 1996

Grant Page was making circles around the Ravenclaw boys' dormitory for the past two hours; she'd been repeatedly making hoops around the wood stove muttering curses under her breath while she hammered her brain into thinking of a loophole for her current situation. It was Christmas Eve, six hours ago, she'd been inside the family's cabin out in the woods of their private estate. The day would've gone completely normal, hot chocolate with marshmallows, snowman, snowball fights, snow angels, decorating the tree, she and her sister had planned the whole afternoon entirely in good intentions until the bloody fuck came busting through the door in a silly Santa Clause outfit. That evening, it wasn't only their parents - her mother and step-father -fighting, she just had to be dragged in the nth word war. It wasn't particularly odd to see the Pages quarrel; they've had interesting rows worse than this. But Grant, the stupid fuck she is, roared out her guts in the wrong time.

And see where that landed her - no money, no support, nowhere else to go since the rest of her bloody family was either mad or non-existent.

"I'm so fucked." Jeremy Stretton watched his best mate squealing the same self-pitiful mourns all night. The girl needn't need to bother explaining herself, Remy knew, when he opened the door and saw the poor thing girding around the dorm, nails already dreadfully chopped by chattering teeth, what his overly-hardheaded Quidditch seeker had gotten herself into.

"Bloody right timing to run away. Bet your mother's already made a fortune selling Popsicle tears around London." Mrs. Page always had a clever way of expressing her sense of motherly loss to fountains of waterworks, anything to get her share of sympathy and understanding from the public was an accomplishment.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…." Grant broke from her pacing and blew a long, warm exhale on her hands, easing the twitching then continued on her treading and swearing. The only other time Remy saw her with a mouth full of it was in training or during a match, when Grant, while scanning the field for the Snitch, troubled herself with piles of homework and sleepless study nights, trying to think of an organized way to finish it all and still catch the golden pest all at once.

"You know you can get a job in Hogsmeade during the weekends. Madam Rosmerta's short in hands these days, she'd take anyone who's got the time and effort. Salary's bit off though. Buys you no more than few rounds of Butterbeer for a day's work. But look at the bright side, at least you get to shag the boss." Remy smirked.

"I can't work. I've got Quidditch and academics to worry about. That blasted woman's probably hunting my cheeky arse down already. Won't be long till she gets the thought that I'd be here." Grant said, finally giving mercy to the floor and taking a sit on his bed.

"But I don't think she'd be daft enough to come here and yank me off to a three-year death sentence of house arrest." Grant murmured, seemingly to herself. "No, she'd be too socially conscious to make a fuss… That gives me till… what? When's my birthday again? June? Six months. Six months. I've got to have my pockets full in six months. Six months." And Grant echoed those two words for the next half hour.

"I can lend you half my allowance—"

"Remy, shut the fuck up." Despite it sounding a bit too harsh coming from Grant's gruff voice, Remy rolled his eyes and gave a light smile. The girl was obviously being humble. They've got wealth under their names, yes, and money was such a pesky topic of unimportance that they rarely discuss it. But Remy had been aware of Grant's loathe of 'being used' meticulously. He knew how it could jelly up the girl's pride and glory by just the word of it and he'd always been careful not to violate the silent rule, unless necessary.

"Grant, you can always pay me back—"

"No."

"How else am I suppose to help when you don't even want my help?"

"The only reason why I can't leave my mother's roof is because part of the family's wealth, my inheritance being half of it, is still under her god-fucking name! Do you think that I'd be here, squirming away from her like a little pussy, if that wasn't my problem?" had she been a man, Remy would've found his insides shivering in terror, although it doesn't disregard the fact that Grant's eyes, a shade of ebony, had always made him cringe. The girl was a monster in the field to begin with, all thanks to Chang and her pathetic perspective in sexism. Remy had to laugh at that, the girl obviously hadn't overgrown her feelings towards Potter or else, she wouldn't have shamed herself in front of all self-respecting female Ravenclaws and accused Madam Hooch of unfair treatment for letting a male seeker play against a female seeker when it was obvious who'd catch the Snitch first. Roger Davis, the Ravenclaw captain, went furious and Remy had never been so glad to see a tearful Chang boot off the team. Grant was as good at seeking the Snitch as she was in keeping the Quaffle from the hoops. Madam Hooch, of course, had granted a rematch between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, also evidently glad to be rid of Chang.

"That hag can't touch my share without my signature under the contract. Now by the time I turn seventeen, I will own that pot of gold, she can shove lawyers up her arse, sue me if she wants, I will have it. All I need is to find a way to make a living for six months, enough galleons on my hands to support the rest of next term till I graduate, that's it. You can bloody well help me by thinking of a way to get my arse settled back in six months." Grant was on her feet but felt too much fatigue soaring down her veins to walk around. She stood before the window; trails of snow and cold air blurred the glass, and thought aimlessly if Mrs. Page had finished plotting her evil schemes by now. Her mother's false emotions and publicity obsessions were least of her worries, Grant poured her concern over her younger sister, Dominique was a smart girl and Grant would only expect their mother to taunt her into pulling Grant back. She knows how to manipulate. Nevertheless, she was only fourteen. The thought of her so young and being surrounded by those people fueled Grant's determination to over power her mother all the more.

"Can't you reconsider working?"

"She'd scare them off, corner anyone I'll work for. I wouldn't be surprise if she plans a threat on Dumbledore."

"Why would your mother threat the headmaster?"

"The school can provide for my needs if either of my parents is a risk to me. All they need is a trial order from the Wizengamot, three drops of Veritaserum and an honest remark from me and she's finished. That woman wouldn't hesitate to blackmail just to get around it, but I bet she wouldn't dare get her hands dirty in the open, maintaining appearances and all. Why do you bloody think she re-married that perverted arsehole of hers? If she has one of the Prophet's senior editors wrap around a nasty finger, she's practically invincible." Grant replied, slumping down one of the beds.

"Oi, I remember an ad from the PlayWizard. I think…" Remy went off from his bed and tapped his trunk with his wand, of which opened in response.

"They're scouting for new writers. Smart move really, their articles are so dull. I wouldn't recommend it if it not for the models. Here." Remy threw the magazine he'd found minutes ago from the very corner of his trunk to Grant's motionless form flopped on Michael Corner's unmade bed. It's no surprise that Remy would consider the idea. Grant had always believed that her passion for writing is what led the Sorting Hat to place her in Ravenclaw. It would've been perfect to write for a gay magazine, what with her perverted imagination and her talents with a quill, but Grant didn't bother to contemplate on the possibilities, she'd recall that ad but thought it useless. Even if she could write for a successful magazine anonymously, they'll still require her papers. For now, the last thing she needed was jeopardizing her identity.

But while she stared gloomily and unresponsively up the ceiling, the illuminated flames from the stove's fire entertaining her, Grant's thoughts lingered on the magazine still lay untouched on her stomach. She raised it to her face and watched the moving image of a man and a young, barely-aged boy sharing tongues, the boy held captive atop a school desk, his trousers nowhere to be found, the man, leaving no space between his rising cock and his student's spread open legs, his fingers playing with the boy's parts, his groin growing harder and dripping pre-cum from the forbidding feeling rushing his body – violating fresh, tight, virgin meat. Grant snorted, forcing herself to ignore the heated excitement throbbing between her legs, now's not a good time to wankville, and toss the arousing object back to Remy's bed, where, she reckoned, it had been innumerably soiled with the boy's juice.

"The twink looks like you." Grant noted with amusement. The boy, like Remy, was a petite, helpless, little thing with creamy skin, black hair as smooth as a girl's and eyes as brightly lit as the blue sky, the best similarity, however – and Remy could not resist to agree – was the lovely pleasure tool that exceeded beyond measurements.

"Yeah, but I think he's got a bit of pubic on his arse." Said Remy, his head dangling from the bed as he watched the repeating scene from the magazine.

"You sick fuck."

"Roger loves it. Gets him hard and ready every time. Says he wants to try shagging me in a classroom, the horny bastard. We did try it though, last night, in Binns' room, the bloke rammed me twice on the teacher's table and five times on five school desks, at least I think it was five… I lost count after I came the third time. You know how many times he made me swallow? Not that I was objecting but honestly! Four cumshots within an hour is more than enough! Told him he was getting soft on me, pumping like that faster than the bleeding clock. I'm not even trying and there he goes, filling me up like I'm an empty hole. Merlin, I simply don't know what to do with my cock when he leaves next term. You know, he asked my aunt if I could spend next year's holidays with him?" Remy raised his eyes and from his upside-down view, looked as if the only other person in the room had allowed him to chatter on without even showing interest.

"Grant? Grant, are you even listening?" Remy rose from his lying position and, with scrunched eyebrows, wonder what thoughts had risen from the girl's head that furthered the dullness in her pupils, causing her eyes to steady sleepily in one corner of the room.

"Oi! What's wrong with you? You look like Roger in desperate need of a blow job."

"Nothing. Sounds great, you and Roger." Mumbled Grant carelessly, crossing her arms under her head and proceeded on piercing the ceiling with blank concentration. "Just can't get my mind off of it. I keep seeing mother busting through the door holding chains and Azkaban jumpers, who can sleep at that? Now that I think about it, she can actually make the mansion as bad as Azkaban. Fucking hell mate, I'd find more comfort with Dementors than her."

"Don't you think you're being overly dramatic?" Grant shot a look of fright and shock as though Remy had confessed that he was a straight-up bloke and he'd been engaged in a secret affair with her mother. "Alright, alright, they're nutters all over and I completely agree with a life sentence in Azkaban than them but for fuck's sake Grant, you're moaning over some little thing that's obviously accessible everywhere. Anyone can make a quick knut out of anything, bloody hell, even fucking's an option."

Then, like after-shock from a lightening storm, Grant's head erupted with a river of thoughts. Images of the magazine flashed before her sight like passing memories, Remy's sexpedition with their Quidditch captain blurred her ears and everything just went rushing in her mind.

"Fucking…" Grant whispered, pulling her body to a straight sitting potion and, as earlier, occupied herself to the sudden interest of the word that had been a frequent appearance to her vocabulary. Remy amused himself with the magazine, knowing that whether or not he revealed concern to the girl's obscure actions, it would not be of any notice to her.

Remy almost sprinted from his mattress when Grant disappeared to their door, he was about to shout at her for a need of manners when a cry of a rough 'yes!' echoed from the ajar opening, of which, seconds later, revealed Grant with a grin that dominated her whole face, an old-fashioned camera clamped on her hands.

"Wank." She said, trying to fix the camera on its tripod.

"What?"

"C'mon, I want to see if it still works. Wank."

"The bloody hell I would." Remy spat, looking offended.

"For fuck's sake, mate, we take showers together. I've seen it more times than Roger."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah I did! But who's counting. Now get on with it."

"Why do I even need to jack off, can't I just smile, that's what cameras are for."

"I just need to try something. Please? You don't even have to get it up, just –play with it."

"Play with it?" he shot a look of scandalized disgust that didn't shame Grant for one bit. Grant rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand, a threatening gesture that made Remy unbutton his pants in defeat but never got the chance because Grant had already said the magic word and Remy's hands, instead of touching cloth, felt skin under his palms. Grant had vanished his trousers.

"Oi! Those are new!"

"I'll get you new ones, now ge— blimey love, have you been shaving?" Grant looked over the hairless portion between Remy's thighs in amazement. It was Remy's turn to make a clockwise with his eyes. Grant was never a person to be conscious around, dear Merlin, he'd laid naked with the girl almost every other night but it doesn't excuse the obvious fact that he's got a dick and she doesn't. Not that Remy found girls unattractive, he just couldn't find any pleasure being intimate with them. Grant had constantly teased that Remy might be more feminine that macho, given his preference as a bottom, and Remy, as much as he hated being compared to breasts and love caves, is slowly getting convinced.

"Not shave, I hear it only makes it thicker, aunt's private masseur gave me this potion he got from his shag mate who works for some rich manufacturer. It's called Blem-Gem and it rids off pubic hair for a whole month. It really works, look, you could actually see my hole from there."

Grant, the nerve of her, inspected the puckered hole closer, Remy feared that the girl might actually do the unthinkable, but before he could rescue his arse, she spoke, the boy having to suppress an irritated grunt from the tingling sensation her warm breath caused.

"Wowh. It's gotten wide. The last time I saw it, you can barely fit in a finger."

"Well, Roger's got a broom for a wand. Really, the boy's going to be the death of me. He even tried thrusting his whole hand in while inside me."

"Kinky bastard. 'Course, you can't blame him, bet he'd still have a virgin cock if it weren't for you – Oh Admit it, Remy. He was innocent as tea before you came along and you've completely tainted him, you little cock-tease."

"I object! If he hadn't walked in on my busy hour in the showers, I wouldn't have bothered! And besides, you're just jealous because Roger and I have something you haven't the speck of luck to have… Commitment."

"Commitment? Are you seriously kidding me? Commitment? Me? Bloody hell… Roger has gotten too far up your shithole for you to even think that I want something as dull-witted and bluntly made as commitment. Honestly, Remy. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you'd be like those old folks in muggle nursing homes, twittering about the old days and drooling over under-aged interns and the only proper wank you'll ever get is when they've got your wrinkled, dusty prick in one hand and forcing it to piss." Grant triumphantly laughed at Remy's utterly horrified face, giving a nice, hard spank on that unblemished arse that was sure to leave a tender mark.

"Tit. At least I'd still be getting some. And where will you be? Hm? Being miserable and taking Filch's non-existent career as Hogwarts' masochistic caretaker, having your way with ikle, little third years just to get a glimpse up their skirts, I bet." Grant chuckled, oh the boy is demented.

"Speaking from experience, Remy? I would've thought Filch to lack certain qualifications, like a human face and a soul, but given that little and, as you repeatedly say – unintentional – incident with Hagrid, I wouldn't be surprise." The pillow would've sent the camera falling from its tripod if not for Grant's made-for-snitch-snatching hands. Grant had promised to not let him live through life without reminding him about Hagrid once in a while. Ever since that drunken night and that stupid dare, Remy could never again attend a Care of Magical Creatures class without blushing and shivering in fright each time his gaze drift down to Hagrid's trousers, knowing he'd unwillingly seen the horrors behind the zipper.

"Oi! Watch it! This is an authentic model, you prat!" Remy was given a victorious grin, the pillow flying back to his bed, barely missing his head.

"Oh, but surely you won't want to make Hagrid jealous. I imagine he's the sort to toughen things up. Might give you a good spanking –"

"Oh Merlin! Stop!"

"— Maybe even chain you for being a naughty, naughty boy –"

"La la la la la la la!"

"— Eating your whole prick until his whole hairy face's buried on your –"

"LA LA LA LA LA LA!"

"— Have that gigantic dog of his slobber up his human-sized cock until –"

"LLAAAAAAAAAA!" there was split-second flash of light and Remy, hands pressed firmly on his ears and eyes squeezed tightly shut that it started to hurt, gave it half a minute before assuring himself that the horrible wanker had had her fun, and peeked slightly. Grant was smiling like a winner, flapping what looked like a polaroid and, after taking a glance at it, burst on the floor with tear-gleaming laughter, holding her stomach as though her guts might spill out any moment.

Cringing from the ear-splitting horror that was Grant's guffaws, Remy jumped from the bed and grabbed the photograph as rudely as he can from Grant's shaking hand. A miniature, two-dimensional duplicate of his half-naked self appeared in multicolor, repeatedly mimicking his efforts in blocking the unwanted perspective Grant tormented him with earlier and had to chuckle a little.

"I look adorable!" he gushed and giggled when his carbon copy smiled shyly back at him.

"You look like a pixie with a dick." Grant said, pausing as though her words surprised her, then proceeded with another terrifying roar of titters.

::

"Alright. Out with it." Remy said after half an hour later. He was silently thankful when Grant had gotten bored with the polaroid and offered her undivided attention to her Muggle Studies essay, giving a few side-glances at the camera beside her once in a while, as though contemplating whether to use it or not, then focusing back on the half-written scroll.

Grant stared up from the edge of Remy's bed, quill nicked on her lips then gave the boy one full scan from head to toe, shrugged, stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Oh stop! You wanker! I meant about the bloody camera!" Remy scowled at seeing the sports bra beaming at him and was again grateful for having an extra nine inch wand and a flat chest.

Grant chuckled and deliberately left her blouse open. Remy rolled his eyes, as if she hadn't already murdered his chances for a hard-on.

"Well? The camera?"

"Oh c'mon, Remy, you can't honestly be that unimaginative."

"With your demented brain around, I prefer to be realistic."

"Spoilsport. No wonder Roger turns to magazines for inspiration. You've got no creativity."

"And you've got too much for your own good. Now spill it." Grant looked thoughtful all of a sudden, like weighting whether it was a good idea to say so. Getting back at her essay, she said carelessly, "I plan to make money with it."

"And how is that, exactly?"

"Oh I don't know, Remy, maybe the fact that I asked you to wank earlier might spark an idea on that dull head of yours." Remy gave it a thought, his eyes widening from the endless possibilities that bridged with that scenario.

"You plan to sell photos of me wanking?"

"Please, don't flatter yourself. Lovely and positively shaggable as you might look, I'd rather keep my rank as Ravenclaw seeker than have Roger Davis break my every bone with a bludger. I already have my mother to worry that with. But you're getting the idea."

"Well this is impossibly terrifying, don't tell me you're planning to sell photos of you wanking."

"What's terrifying about that? I look great wanking!" Grant said indignantly.

"Sorry to disappoint you, love, but not everyone is as full of themselves as you are."

"And Malfoy's an exception?"

"Of course he is! He's a gorgeous, filthy-rich, undeniably arrogant sex on legs! It's not as if you can compete with that."

"Precisely the point. Just think… five galleons for a picture of the Slytherin sex god, naked, wet, slippery and hard as a rock, pleasuring himself after a long day's practice in the boy's shower room. It'll rain millions! I tell you!"

As immensely encouraging and delicious as that view is, Remy still thought Draco Malfoy a conceited prat and the idea of him allowing to be exposed so boldy for a few gold coins that he obviously doesn't need is too near impossible. Then again, he is talking to Grant Page, a mental case far off the prospect of reality. As if echoing his thoughts, Grant sighed, looking offended,

"Yes, I know it sounds barking mad. That doesn't make it entirely impossible. I mean, of course he doesn't need the money and certainly not the attention, given the number of blokes he's feasting each hour of the day. I'm not going to waste my time with the sole expectation that he'll refuse me flat out."

"Then how are you going to do it?"

"Remy, Remy, Remy. I pity your lifeless bore of a mind. Draco Malfoy maybe sex on a stick, pun intended, but he's not the only cherry-topped, chocolate-covered gigolo in the vicinity. I mean honestly, we're in a castle in the middle of who knows where, without parental supervision, with hundreds of sex-starved, under-aged teenagers who've all got 'Horny and Hard' hanging down their trousers! Can you not see the glorious picture I'm painting?"

"It's a bit messy, really. I mean, yeah, sex seems to be a crucial prerogative for every sixteen-year-old but I don't see what that has got to do with Malfoy and a camera."

"For crying out loud! Remy! It's not just about Malfoy and a camera! Hormonal teenagers plus wanking plus camera equals lots and lots of bucket of galleons! If that doesn't hint your little imagination then I don't know what will!" Grant was now looking franticly annoyed, her Muggle Studies forgotten on the floor, her eyes pleading Remy for understanding.

"You want to sell photos of people wanking?" Remy said and for a moment, Grant was both relieved and a bit confused.

"Well, it doesn't sound as clever when you say it that way but yeah, that's about it."

"Forgive my being sensible here, Grant, but I don't think anyone would be dumb enough to wank for a photo, only to have those photos sold to perverted strangers and have you keep the money. And even if you did find someone that dumb, I doubt that they'll be the sort to wank off on." Remy expected Grant to see how completely and utterly stupid this idea was and that, from now on, she will no longer consult herself to such foolish nuttiness and listen to Remy more often. But this was Grant Page, a girl who'll probably walk stark-naked during the mid of December if the thought pleased her. And so Remy felt nervous when Grant gave a wicked smile that says 'I will make you do stupid things'.

"I'm not in Ravenclaw for nothing." She said.

Remy knew, just bloody knew, he was going to suffer.

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.