Written for the hds-beltane exchange over at livejournal. That was super-fun, let me tell you. Beta'd by mirrorwakes over at LJ as well; she also did my summary, because I lose at summaries. Non DH-Compliant//AU-ish.

There's Something About Harry

Pansy pranced into Draco's office at Aevum, the grin on her face so wide that her eyes began to crinkle. If she ever knew that this was happening, she would shriek in terror. As it was, she plopped down on one of the plush chairs in front of his massive desk and flashed him a huge wink.

"I got him," was all she said, but Draco put his head back and laughed in delight. "I told you I would."

"Oh, you're my good girl," Draco said with great cheer, plucking the folded parchment from her manicured fingers and reading it eagerly. Finnegan's message was short and sour but Draco was not at all concerned with his barely-veiled threats about Potter's safety. Aevum, the current top lifestyle magazine in the Wizarding world, had first-rights to an interview with Harry Potter on his return to Britain. "How did you get Finnegan to let the leash off his client?"

"Oh, that." Pansy brushed at an imaginary spot of dust on her ruffled blouse. "I just told him I was in possession of certain photographs... ones that he wouldn't want his dear wife to see in the family album."

"I love you," Draco said fervently. "If I wasn't so hungry for cock, I would marry you."

Pansy tried to glare at him but she dissolved into giggles. The door to his office opened again and Blaise strode in, kicking it shut. Draco gave him a pointed stare.

"What?" Blaise asked indolently, throwing his lean body into the other seat. He propped his feet on the desk. With a subtle wave of his wand, Draco swept them off. "What's all the squealing about?"

"We got Potter." Pansy preened and then looked put-out when Blaise gave a loud groan.

"Oh, Merlin. No. Draco, don't put me on the shoot. I beg you... I'll give up my salary this month, just don't let me near that pile of boredom called Potter!"

"He's eccentric," Draco smirked. "That would put people like us to sleep, but the commoners find it endearing in their Hero. And I'll put Creevey on the assignment. He'll wet his pants just thinking about it."

"Charity-work in the Sahara. Please," Blaise snorted. "I mean, that dry air? Terrible for the skin. I guarantee you that his face will be akin to old uncared-for leather."

Draco and Pansy stared at him, but Blaise, who was quite used to people gaping, merely tossed his head.

"He couldn't sound any gayer, could he?" Draco asked Pansy. She shook her head. "Thought so. Get out, the both of you. Pansy, get Creevey on the Floo. Blaise... go look pretty somewhere else."

They both ambled out and Draco steepled his fingers together, stifling the urge to cackle. He would do the interview; ask Potter all sorts of embarrassing questions. It would be the article of the century.

oOoOoOo

Draco strolled leisurely along the large open office-space, his junior assistant skittering along behind him. He fended off the fashion-director, who muttered something about the spring line of robes, dodged around the entertainment editor who was waving tickets at him and actually hid in a corner from the battleaxe he had hired to answer the Spellbound column. He heard the distinct clack of Pansy's heels coming from the left and smiled as she slipped a hand around his waist, hugging him close.

"All set?" she chirped and he brushed an affectionate hand in her curls. "Potter is already here to arrange the interview and photo-session... ow, Draco, ow. You're pulling my hair."

"He wasn't supposed to be here 'til next Monday!" Draco raged, slipping out of her grasp and striding back to his office. "What the hell? Did they not teach him how to read almanacs in school?" He dived through the glass door and searched for the parchment he had been scribbling on late last night. Of course, now that he really wanted it, he couldn't place it... or his favourite quill. He heard Pansy clear her throat behind him and closed his eyes, counting to ten. Turning, he saw the junior-assistant hold out the missing objects in her hands; he himself had given them to her for 'safe-keeping'.

"Finnegan called earlier and asked Blaise if Potter could do it this week instead of next week, because planning for the Bonfire Ball starts then. Blaise even spoke to Potter a little... didn't he tell you?" Pansy had a calming hand on the assistant's shoulder as Draco snatched the quill and parchment out of her hands; she was prone to fits of weeping when Draco snarled around the place.

"No! He did not tell me! Which meeting-room are they in? Never mind. I know which one Blaise claims to like." And with that, Draco stalked off in the direction of the Pink Room.

He took a deep breath before he entered, gathering his poise and making sure his sneer was apparent yet not too overbearing. He opened the door with enviable calm, catching the last of Blaise's speech, complete with extravagant hand-motions.

"...and we'll have circles of fire. Flames, Harry! Flames. It will be so symbolic. The Phoenix rising again, from the ashes of social-death."

"Good day," Draco called over what sounded suspiciously like chuckles. The backs of two fluffy pink armchairs were towards him and he could see waves of black hair peeking over one. Finnegan rose out of the other and gave Draco a withering glance.

"Finally deigning to show up, Malfoy?" Seamus squinted at him and Draco tossed his writing implements onto a side-table.

"Yes, well, running an actual business takes time, Finnegan," he said smoothly. "Being an agent for a pseudo-celebrity like Potter might seem like a whole lot of work, but it really isn't."

Finnegan spluttered, but a warm laugh came from the chair that Potter was obviously in.

"Some things never change, do they, Malfoy?" Harry got up and grinned at him.

Draco tried not to lick his lips; he pointedly ignored Blaise, who was doing exactly that behind their backs. Harry, who had been a wild-eyed teenager when the war was going on, all gangly limbs and knobbly knees, had grown up quite nicely. He was still shorter than Draco, but now only by an inch or two, wearing a plain white t-shirt and dark jeans that hugged his slender frame. His skin was a crisp golden tone, not a wrinkled sheet that Blaise had been mournfully predicting. Potter's face, which had always seemed too narrow to Draco, was finely sculpted with its high cheekbones. He now understood why Blaise seemed so eager to keep him for awhile: Potter was a walking wet-dream for a photographer... or anyone else, for that matter.

"Sometimes change can be bad," he heard himself say faintly, watching as Harry smiled even wider and extended his hand.

"Sometimes," Potter said, looking highly pleased as Draco shook his hand, "change can be very good."

oOoOoOo

"Alright," Blaise yelled at the rest of the photographic crew. "Colin! Get out of my shot. Someone, I want that blue ring of flame perfectly round. Harry, darling. You look fabulous."

Draco, sitting at the very edge of the shoot under a large umbrella, scowled heavily. He knew Blaise had been up to something when he had practically strong-armed Creevey out of the assignment. He was well-acquainted with that breathy tone that Blaise was currently employing: It was the Sex Voice. When he and Blaise used to sleep together regularly, Blaise would use it to whisper nonsense along his skin and for a time, he thought it was enough. Blaise himself hadn't been too sure, though; apparently, he liked to utilise the Voice on as wide a cross-section of men as he could. Draco had thrown him out of his flat but kept him on at Aevum. After all, Blaise had a very artistic eye.

Like this shoot, for instance. They had already done some shots that would be inserted among the text of the interview: Harry seated at a chequered table at an outside diner in Diagon Alley, long legs splayed under the tiny table, his glasses pushing his hair back atop his head; Harry in a low-slung pyjama pants and white merino that showed off his toned arms, sipping coffee with his eyes shut, the corner of a rumpled bed just in frame; A lovely one of Harry sprinting delightedly along a riverbank, barefoot, his embroidered dress-robes open and fluttering as he looked behind one shoulder at the camera. Draco had to admit that this last was his favourite; it looked as if Harry was tempting a lover to catch up with him.

He had thought that Harry would balk at this part of the whole thing. From what he remembered at school, Harry had been averse to most forms of publicity (not that he hadn't helped that situation, but bygones and all that). Now, he was pleasantly willing, posing and even pouting mockingly to the amusement of the crew. He had even sat still while the make-up witch had pointed her detail wand and lined his eyes with kohl. As he now stood in front of the four rings of fire (they had been charmed to burn in the colours of the Hogwarts' Houses), he was now dressed in a silky grey long-sleeved shirt, the front panels of it joined not by buttons, but by crisscrossing cords.

Draco thought he looked too delicious, but Blaise was pursing his lips.

"I'm not feeling that shirt. At all." Blaise's eyes started to gleam and Draco stifled a sliver of apprehension. "Harry, my heart. Would you mind removing it?"

"Oh yes, please," Pansy muttered beside Draco and grinned excitedly even when he threw her an incredulous stare. He didn't know how Potter did it, but he had managed to charm the claws off Pansy.

"Sure." Potter shrugged noncommittally and took off the garment. Pansy stifled a tiny squeal and Draco elbowed her in the side, trying to take his eyes off Harry's lithe form.

Blaise still frowned heavily.

"Hey, Harry? I'm going to put some silk swaths around you." Blaise brandished his wand and Potter visibly stiffened. "Is that alright?"

Potter bit his bottom lip and nodded once. He stood stock-still as Blaise made a delicate swirling motion in the air. Broad bands of shimmering translucent cloth shot at angles from either side of Potter, rich hues of red and green from the right, blue and yellow from the left. They wrapped around his torso once, and went in opposing directions, giving the stylised impression of massive multi-coloured wings. Despite a small feeling of concern at Potter's look of anxiety, he had to hand it to Blaise: Harry did look like a rising Phoenix.

"Are you alright, Potter?" Draco called, managing to sound slightly waspy. "I don't want you fainting on this shoot."

"I'll be fine in a minute," Potter replied, pursing his lips. His eyes, emphasised by the dark lining around them and the current lack of glasses, fixed on Draco's for a long time until Blaise broke their stare stridently.

"Harry! This is the cover-shot. Time to sell yourself, darling. Who is Harry Potter? Give me strength! Give me mystery... give me sex."

"Sex?" Harry laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

He raised his arms slowly, the smooth skin of his underarms causing a petite tornado in Draco's belly. He had a sudden clear image of himself biting at the skin there and he wondered if Harry was ticklish.

"Merlin," he muttered to himself as Harry rested his arms on top of his head, turning his face to the side a little, while still looking at the corner of his eye at the camera. Blaise was muttering in appreciation, the Wizarding camera clicking and puffing clouds of purple smoke as Harry closed his eyes and arched forward a little, one hand grasping the wrist of the other over his head. He looked bound and free at the same time, his lips parted slightly. The cloth fluttered around him and Potter opened his eyes lazily, his carefully-styled hair swept away from his face in long black waves.

"That right there," Pansy said in a very low voice, "is going to be our highest selling cover in, I don't know, maybe forever."

Draco pulled his lips into a tight line and mentally agreed.

oOoOoOo

Aevum Pre-Beltane Issue
April 30th, 2007
Cover Story: The Rise of the Phoenix
In his new role as one of society's most eligible bachelors, Harry Potter returns from his self-imposed exile on the continent of Africa to step right into the glittering world of upper-class charity fundraising. Draco Malfoy digs into the mind of the former Boy Hero who grew up with the expectations of our society wrapped around him.
Photographed by: B. Zabini

"It's actually quite lovely to be back," Harry Potter says wryly as we step out of the sudden downpour of rain, too quick even for a shielding charm, and into a small pub in Diagon Alley. "In the Sahara, I never got damp like this." He makes his way to the darkest corner of the pub, a motion that seems to be as ingrained as his habit of brushing his hair over his scar. "When people see the scar, they stop seeing me, Harry," he explains, ordering a pint of Butterbeer and casting a drying-charm. "They start to see the Boy-Who-Lived."

The daughter of the pub's owner, a cheerful young woman who calls herself Mella, serves us and notices the RapidoQuill moving rapidly at Harry's quiet sentences.

"Why are you being interviewed?" she asks curiously, not seeing the scar at all. Harry gives a small relieved smile.

"I've absolutely no idea. I'm nothing special."

Read through all the articles ever written about Harry Potter and one will never come across this declaration. Famous because of his survival, he grew up among Muggles who thought of our world as malevolent. At age eleven he found out about his true heritage, travelling to Hogwarts and learning about his place in our society.

"People stared at me all the time. They still do. I don't mind the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, I really don't. But it's not all I am. I'm a fair Quidditch player, but that's not all I am. Most people don't make the effort to find out what else there is. I'm not sure if it's because they don't want to spoil that image they have."

That 'image' would be one of The Saviour, a role that had been given to him not only by those who were to be his protectors, but also by the ones who were bent on destroying a lone teenager, in a struggle fuelled by our ingrained prejudices. We were all there for the Second War. We were all there through the frightening nights and lonely days.

Harry Potter was there, too.

"I remember thinking that I was too young for this. There's this Muggle saying I think can apply here, 'older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die'... Both sides lost young people. Persons I went to school with. We fought because of a choice. I think I'm still here to make sure people make their choices based on what they know in their heart is right... and not because of what their family has told them."

He refuses to divulge most of the charities he supports, but is willing to speak of the Beltane Bonfire Ball. The charity event will be held next month at Bothwell Castle in Strathclyde, Scotland. All proceeds this year will go to the Albus Dumbledore Orphanage and upgrade work at Hogwarts Library and Potions Laboratory. He hopes that it will be a yearly event, with the Orphanage being a constant recipient in addition to one other cause; but why Hogwarts this year?

"I wasn't exactly the brightest candle in the Great Hall," he grimaces while his friends roll their eyes. "I could have tried harder but I just got by. But aside from that, I loved school. I loved most of what I learned there. So whatever I can do now for Hogwarts, I do... with a little help from all my friends, of course." He gains an amused twinkle in his eye. "And I'll be dancing for charity. So come out with your Galleons and get a dance out of me... yes, Harry Potter will be dancing. Warn the villagers."

He is more forthcoming about his sexual preferences than where his money goes.

"At one point I thought I was exclusively attracted to the opposite sex. Because women, amazing, right? Then I realised that the same appreciation I had for women extended to men as well... even to the extreme of being exclusively attracted to my own sex. It's different in the Muggle world. It doesn't have the magical bind that would apply between two people regardless of sex. It's not accepted. But, hey, at the ball, I will dance with anyone who has the money to donate and the bravery to take me on. Male, female, in-between, I'll step on your toes regardless."

On our way to the home of his friends, Harry talks a little about his time in the Sahara, living with the Northern Sandpeople and learning new ways to focus his considerable magic. He is reluctant to talk about his power, but there are subtle signs, from his wandless and wordless actions, to the wild manifestations that occur on those rare events of temper.

"Harry was always a passionate person," Hermione Granger-Weasley says as she watches him teach her youngest to fly in the back-garden. "He would rush into a situation headlong. We had to convince him for the final battle to hold back just a little, give Voldemort a chance to get over-confident."

Receiving an Order of Merlin at eighteen, Harry left it at the memorial-stone of Sirius Black and disappeared for nearly ten years.

"It wasn't really disappearing," Molly Weasley says, trying to feed Harry a small mountain of food. "We always knew where he was. He wrote nearly every week. It was more like going underground. Hibernation."

Now, the Boy-Who-Lived has risen from ashes of his own immolation, sacrificing a little of himself to encourage change. What next?

"I don't know!" he laughs. "Find someone who will love me yet still yell at me for leaving my socks all over the place. Maybe teach a class on Muggle Appliances and Dress to adult wizards. Lie on a beach somewhere and get sunburnt."

He looks away into the blazing sun outside the windows of the Weasley family home, setting in its brave red robe.

"Or... nothing too complicated. Just wake up tomorrow and do my best at being Harry."

+Aevum.april.07+

oOoOoOo

Draco stood in the middle of the large hall, taking in all the details of the ball appreciatively. The brick walls of the castle had been spelled transparent, the large bonfires outside illuminating the crowds of chattering people. He had spotted Harry weaving his way among the finely-dressed bodies earlier. At one point, he had passed close enough for Draco to realise with shock that he was wearing kohl, as he had been on the shoot; just like then, it gave his eyes a sultry boost that Draco felt had not been needed anyway.

"Look at him," Blaise murmured in his hair and Draco tilted his head slightly. He felt Blaise's hand rest on the small of his back. "Don't you just want to see him on his back, moaning? I'd bet my last Galleon that he's a loud fuck."

"It would be your last Galleon, too," Draco said dryly. "You've danced with him at least fifty times."

"Worthy cause," Blaise said in a low voice, his dark eyes fixed on Harry. "You see he took my advice on the eyeliner? Amazing."

Draco snorted.

"He feels good to hold," Blaise muttered. "And he moves like sex. Seriously. Where's my money-pouch?"

Draco threw him an incredulous look and then without warning, strode off across the room. Harry was standing with a group of ancient witches, nodding politely at their chattering, but his eyes slid to Draco's and held there until Draco finally stood next to him.

"Pardon me, ladies," Draco said smoothly. "I believe Mr. Potter is giving away dances?"

"Oh no! You have to pay for them and he's very expensive," one witch giggled, waving a large fan coquettishly. "Are you sure you can afford him?"

"For Mr. Malfoy, I might make a special discount," Harry laughed and took Draco's offered arm. Draco pushed through the writhing couples, the lights from the bonfires barely reaching the middle of the dance-floor. He set his hands on Harry's hips; thumbs brushing the thin line of skin between the top of Harry's black trousers and the bottom of his shirt. They rocked to the pulsating rhythm of the music and Draco realised that Blaise was right; he did move like sex.

"Hermione read the article. She said it was excellent," Harry murmured right into the sensitive whorl of Draco's ear. Without waiting for a response, he turned around in the circle of Draco's arms, the curves of his shoulder-blades pressing into Draco's chest, arse grinding so very invitingly into Draco's crotch. Heat was flaring between their bodies, sweat forming at that line where the backs of Harry's arms were cradled against his. Draco leaned close and bent his head to brush his lips against the warm arc of Harry's neck; he was tempted to taste Harry, to test if he was as delicious as he smelled. Harry gave a little content moan and leaned back, writhing.

Draco was in the middle of pondering the best way to get Harry home and into his bed when Blaise sidled up right in front of Harry, sandwiching him between their taller bodies. Harry laughed out loud, resting an arm on one of Blaise's shoulders and reached one hand back to grasp Draco around his neck; the whole effect was incredibly hot. Yet, Draco could not help giving Blaise a steady glare. Blaise smirked back challengingly.

"Oh," Harry smiled as the music finished. "That was great! Also, it was twenty-five galleons. Each."

"What? That's far too much," Draco said firmly, grabbing onto Harry's waist before he could step away completely. He hauled the slight form back towards him. "Potter, I hardly think you're worth it."

"I think he is," Blaise put in, his eyes fixed on Harry, who was chuckling slightly; Draco could feel him shaking. "I'm curious to see just how much. Wouldn't that be an interesting experiment, Harry?"

"I suppose." Harry slid out of Draco's hold, slippery as an ashwinder. "But if you'll kindly pay that witch in the green over there? I have to go fleece more unsuspecting contributors."

"One would never think by looking at you," Draco called to his swiftly retreating form, "But you are a sneaky man." Harry simply flung a bright smile over his shoulder; as soon as he was swallowed up by a small group, Draco turned to give Blaise an appraising look.

"What?" Blaise said, too innocently. "As if you don't want him too."

"That's not the point," Draco said in cool tones. "The point is what will happen after you get him into bed."

Blaise stepped closer and placed his hands flat on Draco's chest, thumbs stroking suggestively.

"I am as a moth to a flame," Blaise intoned with gravitas. "I simply must have that dark-haired wonder for myself... unless you want to join us in a threesome; I really have no complaint against that--"

"You are such a slut," Draco spat, feeling strangely inconsequential and Blaise laughed even as Draco shoved him back and stalked off.

oOoOoOo

"Draco!"

Draco turned around in annoyance; who dared bawl his name in the middle of Bene as if he was a... oh. Harry was sitting at one of the pricey restaurant's more coveted tables, Granger seated by his side and staring at Blaise (who was almost perched in Harry's lap) with a sort of detached bemusement. Harry motioned to him impatiently and Draco walked over as slowly as he dared.

"Granger. Potter." He flicked his gaze over them, trying to ignore Harry's small smile. "Who did you have to kill to get a table like this?"

"I heard it was some Dark Lord," Blaise chirped airily, batting his eyelashes at everyone and Harry's smile turned wry. "Drakey, why don't you have a seat? Right there, beside Granger is fine. I was just telling Harry about the new foundation I want to set up to promote Wizarding Art. It is a severely ignored field."

"Most wizards are uninterested in those sorts of things. But I think it's a great idea," Harry said, nodding with Granger. "In the Muggle world, art is sometimes used as therapy. So I was thinking about starting something like that for the War-Orphans."

"How altruistic," Draco muttered and Blaise pinned him with a nasty grin.

"What is it you do for charity, again, Drakey-love?"

Draco tapped his long fingers on the white table-cloth and fixed on a brittle smile. A pestilence upon you, Zabini.

"Oh, well. Some small work here and there. I keep it very low-key."

"Extremely low-key." Blaise was raising a dark eyebrow at him. "Like undercover. Like almost non-existent."

"Blaise says he visits St. Mungo's every other week," Granger put in approvingly before Draco could hex Blaise under the table. Draco nodded absently, because Harry had pursed his lips over a bright-red straw and this had shot his concentration to hell. "I'm sure you are involved like that, working with Blaise and all. Harry loves it when people put in an effort." Harry gave a self-conscious laugh and pressed his fingers to his forehead as he stirred his drink. These were not as long as Draco's, but he was transfixed by a small tattoo of a snake wrapped around the base of Harry's right thumb, a delightful ring of ink.

Draco, who spent most of his days running the magazine, had never heard of these Heartfelt Excursions by Blaise. He glanced at his head photographer and received a wide smirk.

"Oh! Idea!" Blaise went into scene-framing mode, forefingers and thumbs forming a square, focusing on Harry. "A photo-spread of Harry and those children at the Orphanage. And the employees at Aevum can be there as a part of a promotional effort. Isn't that a marvellous plan?"

"Epic," Draco said flatly. "Like the Tower of Babel, only better."

Harry leaned over Granger and grasped Draco by the knee. His hand was warm, literally burning through Draco's slacks; Draco was sure that he would find a red palm-print on the skin later, maybe with a replica of the thumb-tattoo branded into his flesh. He suppressed a small jump as Harry squeezed his knee.

"I think it's great. I'm really willing to do that. When can we put that whole thing together? And please, Zabini," Harry continued, twisting around without releasing his handful of Draco, who was hoping he might want to move that hand up a little, "No more tying up. I have a slight phobia."

"No problem, dear-heart," Blaise said easily. "At least, not in public."

Harry was chuckling, but his hand continued to clutch Draco's knee, until Granger shoved at his shoulder and grabbed Harry to meet with Weasley somewhere else, which was quite fine by Draco.

"Children!" Draco seethed as soon as Harry and Granger exited. "Blaise, you know children hate me... and the feeling is quite mutual. They smell funny, like old metal... and this set are orphans! You're a fiend, by the way, for suggesting that. I will fire you. Maybe next week."

"Children love me," Blaise declared, smiling confidently at a group of wizards nearby. "It's part of my natural charm. And I'm sure Harry will find that cute, at the very least."

Draco ground his teeth, caught himself, growled and stopped; it was really no use destroying the delightful evenness of his teeth just because Blaise wanted to go toe-to-toe with him over Potter, of all people. Well, well, well. Fancy that: he was getting possessive over Harry.

And Draco had always loved a fine fight.

"Set it up," he said, leaning back in the cosy seat and shrugging into the commanding nature that had propelled him to be the owner of Aevum. An uncertain look passed over Blaise's fine features and Draco grinned like a shark. "Get Pansy to help. The whole office is going on a visit."

oOoOoOo

Pansy spent the whole time at the outing giggling over Draco's discomfort.

"But you hate children!" she whispered in wavering tones as soon as they Apparated in front of the grim-looking orphanage, the majority of Aevum workers popping all around them. "And children hate you! Remember the incident in Westward Park last year? That child nearly got the better of you."

"Yes, I remember, I was there. That child was a biter, Pans, didn't play fair at all."

"Yes, but why are we still here? Could it be for... Potter?" She said, covering her mouth dramatically, eyes wide with mock surprise. Draco sniffed and refused to look in her direction.

Blaise and Creevey were armed to the teeth with cameras and cases upon cases of film; Creevey was looking with suspicion everywhere, much like a hunted rabbit. This look eased when the tall black doors creaked open and Harry stood, smiling mildly in welcome.

Draco opened his mouth to make some grand comment, when a wave of children roiled out from behind Harry, scampered down the stairs and cresting against the shocked group. There were high-pitched shrieks and Pansy was jumping around, a marvellous feat in her high-heeled boots. Small bodies ricocheted off Draco's; it was all very disconcerting, to say the very least. One of them was pulling on his cape from behind, thereby choking the bloody-blue hell out of him.

"Potter, I am being murdered," he croaked, trying to spin and catch the little demon.

"Stop it!" Harry bellowed as he descended the stairs; he had lifted a little girl, her eyes huge as she slung her own tiny arms around his neck. Harry pushed this one into Draco's flailing hands and darted around him to catch the other possessed child. "Everyone! What did I say before?!"

A blessed silence fell; Draco's life was saved as the children stopped their hyperactive rampage and flocked to Harry. The writers and staff of the magazine were huddled together in a small panicked knot, obviously trying out the 'safety in numbers' theory; Pansy's hair was a mess, but she was one of the few whose faces was creased in a massive grin; Draco recalled that she had always liked children. He put up both hands hurriedly to make sure his own hair was in place, quite forgetting that he was holding a small child; she gave him a reproachful glare when he released her.

Little children, he found, have an excellent grip when needed. She simply hung on around his neck until he grasped onto her again.

While Harry was berating the older ones on their behaviour, he gave the little girl a toothy grin, bordering on the edge of a grimace.

"Hello. My name is Mr. Malfoy. Who are you?"

"Luca," she piped up. "And your name isn't Mr. Malfoy. It's Draco. That's what Uncle Harry says when he sees you on the telly."

He blinked at her and then hefted her closer, looking at the pale strands of her hair curling around her face. If her hair was any lighter, she could have passed for a Malfoy. Luca's eyes were a calm hazel, however, and she lacked the requisite sharpness.

"Oh? What else does 'Uncle Harry' say about Draco?" he asked offhandedly and Luca got a decidedly Slytherin gleam in her eye.

"Did you bring anything for us?" she demanded. "I'll tell you... when we see our gifts."

"I like you so very much," Draco murmured and Luca giggled.

She hung onto him all day, walking beside him when his arms got tired, her little fingers entwined with his. She insisted on calling him Uncle Draco and he was gratified to notice Harry staring at them with an entranced look on his face. Blaise was highly disgruntled.

"Is your natural charm suffering a blow, Blaisey-kins?" Draco said sweetly as Blaise struggled to control the children for a shot. They had decided to use the back of the property, a surprisingly massive lawn sloping to the back. Harry stood under a huge tree, posing stiffly with the children all around him. Draco frowned.

"Blaise? Don't... that doesn't look right. It needs to look more natural, more comfortable." He ignored Blaise's icy stare and motioned to Harry as the lights were adjusted. "Harry, just do whatever you do when it's time for play. Creevey and Blaise? Just go with it."

Harry immediately sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged as most of the children struggled to clamber all over him. Draco was proud to see Luca claim his lap, smirking in triumph; others scampered around, collecting small flowers to pour all over Harry and he laughed, brushing them out of his hair, missing a white one that Luca tucked firmly behind his ear. Creevey's camera was on fire, even catching some of the Aevum staff giggling with the children conspiratorially.

Draco could practically arrange the new centrespread in his head: still snapshots scattered about a dark desk with Harry's own handwriting on the page itself, pointing out the different activities; and then, in the lower right-corner, still in Harry's scrawl, ways to donate to the orphanage. If it was this easy to do charity, he would have started a long time ago.

"Thanks so much," Harry said much later, when the shoot was finally over and everyone was trampling into the Orphanage for a late lunch. Luca was in her new default position, head tucked companionably into Draco's neck as he carried her. "I'm sure the donations will increase once these photos are put out there." He gave Draco a sidelong look. "And you were great with the children today. Nicer than I expected."

"Naturally," Draco said. "It's the same way you're fitter than expected, but no-one is giving you a hard time about it."

"That's the way he blushes when he sees you on the telly, Unc' Draco," Luca whispered loudly as Harry's cheeks went bright-red. Harry stared at her, scandalised. "He does it all the time."

"Luca!" Harry flushed even more, not meeting Draco's eyes. "I mean. I'm sure Uncle Draco doesn't want to know things like that. He must have a special friend already."

"He doesn't!" Luca protested. "He told me so himself! Right, Uncle Draco?" She twisted around and two hopeful pairs of eyes, one hazel and the other a dark green, were fixed on Draco. He grinned and hugged Luca tightly, before setting her down and shooing her off to have lunch. Good girl.

Harry gazed up at him and then a slow grin crept over his face, warm and understanding. Blaise trampled past the two of them standing so very close on the steps of the orphanage, giving a small huff of resigned amusement and making sure to elbow Draco in the kidney-area before moving off. Draco withstood this little attack with gleeful aplomb, for it caused him to stumble forward against Harry, who splayed his hands flat against Draco's chest to steady him.

"Hey, careful," Harry murmured, looking up at him demurely through a thick fan of dark lashes. "You don't want to hurt this face. You need it... to sell your magazine, right?"

"Among other things," Draco said hoarsely, before curling his hand around the nape of Harry's neck and dragging him almost roughly forward for a deep kiss.

fin

Notes:

I love fanart and I am a lucky slasher: There is art for this as well, done by melmoe over at LJ. (remove the spaces to make the link work): http :// pics. livejournal. com/ melmoe1/ pic/ 0001say6/ g45