A/N: Wow. You know you've been in the fanfic game for a loooooooooooooong time when you actually find stories you've written that you've completely forgotten about! This was posted on Diagon Alley in 2003.

RR: Thank you so much for coming here and agreeing to do this interview! I know how the two of you value your privacy. Before we begin, can I offer you gentleman any refreshments?

DM: A Chinotto, with a wedge of lemon.

HP: Don't be difficult. This is an office, not a cafe.

DM: A Chinotto with a wedge of lemon, please.

RR: (looking worried) Yes, well...I'll certainly see what I can do. Was that one wedge of lemon or two?

DM: One.

[RR summons her assistant, who, after blushing profusely at Draco, dutifully agrees to trek across the road to fetch the requested beverage]

RR: Mr Potter? Would you like anything to drink?

HP: No. I'm fine thank you.

RR: Right! We'll get started, then. I'm sure our readers will be eager to know how exactly you two got together despite the odds! Was it love at first sight? A growing, mutual attraction, maybe? Wild teenage hormones?

DM: Quidditch.

RR: I see... Quidditch?

DM: Quidditch trousers, to be precise. And I do so like to be precise. You see, I was as straight and narrow as a two by four, until Potter strolled into the locker rooms one afternoon, dressed in a very worn pair of Quidditch trousers.

RR: (writing in her notebook) Worn, you say?

DM: Frightfully so. Threadbare, frayed, patched, indecently snug.

HP: I think she gets your drift, Malfoy.

RR: (looking up from her note taking) Do you always refer to each other by your last names?

DM: I'm a very formal sort of person.

RR: Ok. So you developed an attraction to Harry after catching sight of him in these, er, trousers?

HP: Not really. He'd been watching me all year. Only I wasn't very quick on the uptake and assumed he was plotting something evil.

DM: What makes you think I wasn't?

HP: Were you?

DM: I was plotting and I succeeded in my cunning plan. Think hard.

HP: (nodding) Ah, you're the Gryffindor Tower Underwear Pilferer, then.

DM: Judge, jury and executioner. (Turning to RR) Isn't he adorable when he gets it right?

RR: Quite. So Draco, you stole Harry's underwear?

DM: Well, yes. This is the nature of Underwear Pilfering after all. It was a group effort. All the cool Slytherins were in on it. Only I drew the short straw and had to sneak past the Pink Wench—

HP: He means the Fat Lady.

DM: —and infiltrate Gryffindor HQ.

RR: To steal Harry's undies?

DM: To steal everyone's undies. It would have been blatant favouritism to make off with only Potter's daks. But yes, if you must know, I already had my eye on him then.

HP: It was a great mystery to us. We assumed the House Elves were angry about the drunken binge we had after winning the House Cup, yet again. I told Ron that his chunder wasn't going to wash off the drapes...

RR: Sounds like you boys had quite the time at school.

DM: Most assuredly. What with all those broom closets…

HP: And the Astronomy Tower.

DM: Prefect's Bath!

HP: Let's not forget Greenhouse Number Three.

DM: Ah yes. Bobotuber fumes can be quit pretty in the evening light...

RR: Um, yes…well…when exactly did the relationship commence?

DM: Why, right there in the locker rooms, of course. Once the ratty Quidditch trousers were off, it was 'green means go', I believe is the Muggle saying?

HP: I was wearing green undies that day, you see. A rather tight, artery-constricting pair I dug up from the back of my drawer.

RR: Yes, because all your other underpants were stolen.

DM: Not really. He just likes tight jocks.

HP: I could say so much at this point...

DM: Best not to. This is a family publication.

HP: (shrugging) Actions speak louder than words.

DM: Your actions that afternoon most definitely spoke some loud words.

RR: (clearing throat). If we could just come back to this affair you were having while still at school? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?

DM: We were caught!

HP: I'll never forget the look on Snape's face. He was the umpire for the match that day, and came in to see what all the screaming was about.

DM: Poor man thought we were trying to do each other in.

RR: You're referring to Professor Severus Snape? Potions Master at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin?

DM: That's him, yes. Tall, sombre. Got the social skills of a pickle and onion sandwich. But he's a snappy dresser. I'll give him that.

HP: (nodding) Can't go wrong with basic black.

DM: (looking impressed) You're learning.

HP: (returns the fond look) You're a good teacher.

[Both boys lean over for a long, wet, snog. RR sits there uncomfortably for a few minutes. She is relieved when her assistant enters the office, bearing a glass of Chinotto with a wedge of lemon.]

DM: Oh, good (takes the drink).

HP: Manners, Malfoy.

DM: (winking at RR's assistant) Excellent work, darling. You'll have your own gossip column in no time. No more paper cuts and coffee making for you! Soon, you'll be able to afford that sharp, new suit you've probably had on lay away at Gladrags these past few months.

HP: (sighs)

[The assistant blushes furiously, before making a hasty retreat from the office. RR resumes her questioning.]

RR: Harry, how have your friends reacted to the news of you and Draco becoming an item?

HP: You mean excluding the incident when Ron threatened to jump from the North Tower?

DM: Oh! Oh! And the one where Hermione Granger hired that exorcist?

RR: Yes, excluding those?

HP: (beaming) Well then I'd say everyone's been very accepting and understanding.

RR: And what about your colleagues at the Auror Academy?

HP: Oh, you know. I get the occasional 'Poof goes the Poofter' jokes when I Disapparate. But when you've saved the wizarding world as many times as I have, they let you get away with bloody murder, I reckon!

DM: Or in Potter's case, with shagging the resident Death Eater.

RR: (looking startled) But you're not still a Death Eater!

DM: No, not anymore. I only joined to meet girls, but that didn't pan out.

HP: (shudders) Yeah, have you seen the current crop of female Death Eaters?

DM: The recruitment drive was a big load of false advertising. They were still using the pamphlets from the sixties, the ones with Bellatrix Lestrange and my mum on the cover.

HP: The one with them in the giant martini glass? We have that pinned up in the boys' lavatories at Gryffindor Tower.

DM: (looking resigned) Yes. That's the one.

RR: Do you find that your respective backgrounds make for a more volatile relationship?

DM: (considers the question) Sometimes. I'm used to the finer things in life, whereas Potter here is quite happy to go native.

HP: Asking your minions to sort Every Flavour Beans according to taste is not a luxury, Malfoy. It's a mental condition.

DM: (snorting) Fine then! The next time you bite into an earwax or bogey flavoured bean, don't come crying to me.

HP: Don't be mad. I appreciate your efforts to make our lives better.

DM: As well you should.

[Both boys share a brief, heated look before lunging at each other. Another steamy pash follows. RR makes a few final scribbles in her notebook before shutting it with a loud 'snap']

RR: I think that's all I'll need for now.

DM: (pulling away from Harry) You will of course tell us when the article comes out?

HP: Or we can just hear about it from Molly Weasley.

RR: I'll be sure to mail a copy to Malfoy Manor. If you boys will just pose for a final photograph, I'll have Colin take it and you can be on your way!