EXPOSED!

by the I.M.P.S

While taking Wizard Art Studies, Harry and Draco (among others) get chosen to become interns in Italy. Slashiness ensues. As well as NEKKID PHOTOGRAPHY (no one can resist...). H/D.

Authors Name(we deserve credit!): the I.M.P.S

Author Email(if you wish to contact us mad persons): infamousIMPS@hotmail.com

Summary(because I hate it when people don't make good summaries. Like I'm going to waste my time to read a fic that I don't know what its about? Pish Posh!): While taking Wizard Art Studies, Harry and Draco (among others) get chosen to become interns in Italy. Slashiness ensues. As well as nekkid photography (no one can resist...). H/D.

Rating: PG-13 with language.

Disclaimer (because sometimes you have to be legal)- All of the characters and fantasy locations belong to J.K. Rowling. The plot is ours.

EXPOSED!

It wasn't in anyone's foresight to predict the events that were to unfold within the weeks to come, not even the famous (...or infamous?) professor Trelawny. Nobody thought anything could come of a simple list posted on the doors of the Great Hall. One would expect a little more caution out of Harry, who's experience with a particular diary would taint the most unperturbed person into a state of paranoia when dealing with trivialities; of course, this was not so.

The list was posted on the doors to the Great Hall, where swarms of eager Hogwarts students were gathered. Harry, who had just been informed of this, fought his way through the throng of people and to the front of the crowd, his eyes scanning the listing for a common six-letter name.

Novice Unit of Drawing Experience

in Italy

INTERNS:

BROWN

CLEARWATER

CREEVY

FINCH-FLETCHLEY

FINNIGAN

JORDAN

MALFOY

PARKINSON

PATIL

POTTER

WEASLEY

Harry smiled lightly in the middle of the crowd, quite content with him being chosen for the selective trip. Scanning through his glasses he looked below the list of names.

INTERNS REQUIRED TO ATTEND A MEETING ON THE Novice Unit of Drawing Experience in Italy. TUESDAY THE 8TH AT 8:30 p.m. IN CLASSROOM 413.

Harry soon wove his way out of the small crowd of people, idly trolling past the large wooden doors and into the Great Hall. He anxiously glanced around for Ron, walking briskly towards the empty seat next to him at the Gryffindor table. Ron was currently engaged in conversation with Dean. His robe was missing, and was wearing only a collared shirt underneath a bright red Weasley jumper where a large warm yellow "R" smothered his chest. Harry slid himself in the chair.

"Ron, I made it! I'm going to Italy!" Ron turned, amused at Harry.

"I know, I saw your name on the list right above mine."

"What, you're going too?" Harry nodded his head down and shook it incredulously, a smiled stretched across his face. "I guess I skimmed over it so fast that I didn't pay any attention to the other names."

"'S ok. I just owled Mum and Dad to tell them. Imagine! Out of all of the Wizard Arts classes, we were chosen," he stated with enthusiasm. Harry thought that he might break his jaw they way he was grinning, his lips spread nearly to his ears.

"I know, and an entire month without classes!"

"Not exactly," piped the (annoyingly) over-annunciated voice from behind Harry. Pushing aside her plate of food to make way for a pile of books, Hermione sat down in between him and Ron. "Your assignments will be sent to you by the way of special school owls, so you don't have to worry about missing out on upcoming Transfiguration work."

Harry restrained a slight chortle as Ron rolled his eyes at this.

"Wait, you're not going too, are you?" Harry asked. "You aren't even taking the classes."

"No, but for extra credit I helped McGonagall organize the internship lists. Oh, it's so wonderful that you got in! I hear Italy is where most of the famous wizard artists learned their trade. Of course, you'll want to visit the libraries and bookstores for me. Here, I've made a list of the books I want you to pick up. There is -"

"You do know that we aren't leaving for six days, right?" Ron interjected, earning a cross look from Hermione. Those could go for hours. Harry sighed, inadvertently turning his eyes to an excited Seamus who was making grand gestures to Colin Creevy.

" - In this BRILLIANT hotel in Venice; I've seen pictures of it and even read some of the personal comments - did you know that there is such a thing as a bed-expansion spell? Well, we are staying there for the duration of the trip. I can't believe I was chosen. I mean, there will obviously be loads of work, but still! I can't wait. I swear on Godric's grave, the first thing I'm going to do is participate in one of those mass - photography units. They have them going all of the time. It's really just a bunch of people who go out in the streets or on a bridge or something and - Oh! Hullo, Harry! I heard you got chosen to go as well! Bloody amazing, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, grinning at how enthusiastic Seamus was about it all.

"Harry," Seamus started, sitting on the table on the side of Harry's space, "I was just telling Colin about the fabulous accommodations there. But Italy! And us staying in the top posh wizard hotels, plus that nifty little bed-expansion spell. I wonder what you could use that for, huh?" he said, a rather impish smirk contorting his face.

Harry looked at Seamus innocently. "So you're planning on jumping an Italian?"

Seamus had come out of the closet last year. Not to say that no one had suspected a thing beforehand, especially if you were in his dorm and, to say the least, he had always stared a little longer than necessary. "Just enjoying myself," he says now, when you remind him. Everyone was at ease though; Gryffindors were a rather accepting bunch. And if any conservative persons had problems with Seamus's preferences, they were easily sorted out with either the Harry-Potter-Says-Its-Alright speech, or, in drastic situations, a number of hexes from a wrathful Hermione that soon changed their minds.

"What? Nooo, did I say that?" He lied, a mischievous little gleam in his eye.

"You're right," Harry played along dejectedly, "You didn't say that at all..." "Cough-"though" -cough- "you" -hack- "were," Harry added, lacing a fake cough.

Both boys smiled, and Professor Dumbledore stood to announce the commencement of dinner. Seamus moved down from the tabletop and took a seat two chairs down from Harry and immediately striking up a fast conversation over the trip he was going to take.

If cursing your dorm mate wasn't against the rules, Harry would have had Seamus's lips magicked together. Not a moment had gone by that entire day where he hadn't been drawling on about Italy, art, or Italians. "I'm just so excited," he stated after supper. Yes, Seamus, dear, that was quite obvious, even through two layers of cloth.

Harry didn't blame him much; after all, he was absolutely ecstatic that he was able to go to Italy. He had never been outside of Britain, and to do something he loved as much as art in a place that was practically legendary....

"And there is this fountain outside one of the museums and supposedly you throw coins in it and make a wish and it will come true.... Ha, muggles have silly traditions, but this one sounds interesting. I wonder what I would wish for...." he blathered.

"I know what I would wish for, Seamus. Your head on a wooden stake," Ron whispered from under his duvet, causing a slight chirp of humor from Harry's mouth. Seamus seemed not to hear him.

The entire Gryffindor common room was in their jimjams, sprawled out on their beds and talking. Well, one person was talking. The rest of them either had their pillows over their ears or were mumbling incoherently under their covers (i.e.: Ron). Despite it being far past the time when they should be asleep, neither Harry, Ron or Seamus could settle down. They were much to animated, and their energy spread to the rest of the dorm. So, as a result, everybody was seated in their beds, talking up a storm and waiting eagerly for sleep to fold itself around them.

Another three hours have must have elapsed by now. Ron was draped across the foot of Harry's bed on his back. He had his eyes squeezed together in such a manner that must have been painful. And he was constantly muttering morbid ways to kill Seamus in a very low voice. A grimace, or something, was spread over his features with agitation. Everyone in the Sixth Year Boys' Dorm Room was thinking of ways to shut the Irish boy up. Harry, himself, was on his back with his head in Ron's side, gangly lanced over the rumpled red duvet. His eyes were wide-open, with deep, black, circles under them and a constant growl coming from his throat. Most people would have run quite quickly away. Far away. A growling Harry (on the brink of insanity) was not something to trifle with.

"And it will be so great. Will go see the ancient ruins, and then we will see the magnificent museums. I SWEAR I am going to spend hours going over each painting. Italy, for gods sakes! I'll be out of this hellhole!" He giggled like mad and continued on. Ron would have noticed Harry's growling grow louder, but he was too busy assuring himself that he would very slowly kill Seamus. He had been listing the possible ways and was now starting to prioritize in his head. The top choice was something about trapping a rat, and it burrowing through Seamus's stomach.

Harry's growling suddenly stopped. Suddenly, he jumped off his place on the bed and leaped over to Seamus, landing quite painfully on him. He placed his hand roughly over the annoying Irish Boy's mouth and proceeded to tell him in a discomforting soft, rasping voice that if he didn't stop talking he was going to beat him with his broomstick, then throw him out the window after conjuring very sharp stakes that would, guaranteed, impale him. Nobody was really sure how much of this Seamus actually listened to. His eyes looked quite glazed and you could practically see 'Harry and Seamus' fantasies running through his head. He pounced and his thin, pink lips opened and engulfed mine, sucking my mouth viciously....

His attention was soon brought back to what Harry was saying.

"So DON'T make a noise. Not one fucking peep." Harry Potter, good-boy-forever, was not so good. When he got angry and slightly lost it, he fell into a habit of cursing. "And if you bloody do, I will murder you, slowly and painfully, just like I fucking told you a fucking minute ago. And then I will leave you for the other boys, and you, then, will be seriously fucked up, Seamus Finnigan. Because we will have to send your remains to Italy, if you want to go so bad. Do you understand?"

Seamus, after having wheezed for Harry's five-minute descriptive version of his death, slowly nodded.

"Are you sure?"

Seamus nodded his head, glancing around, fearing for his short life.

"Can you get that through your enthusiastic Irish skull?"

Another nod.

"Good, because I am going to get off of you and you and I, and the rest of us are going to go to fucking sleep."

Seamus nodded, just to make sure that Harry knew what that he was aware of what Harry was talking about. Harry flashed him a brilliant smile, and lightly crawled off of him. He went back to his own bed, and threw Ron off, and pulled himself under the covers and immediately fell asleep. Or almost.

"Harry? Are you sure you don't want to join me? You seemed to like it on top of me. And, hell, you can have the top or bottom... Because I'll take whatever I can get of the famous Harry Potter. And I wouldn't mind getting you up the-"

Harry growled terribly loud. It seemed to echo in the room like thunder. Seamus, rightly, shut up and didn't make another noise. Everyone fell asleep, quite thankful for Harry Potter's deed.

The clock next to him read 9:30 a.m., but Harry didn't want to believe it. Instead, he shut his eyes once more and burrowed even further under his sheets. Get the hell out of bed, he chided at himself, but his body refused to move from its tangled position. His legs were wrapped around one end of the sheets and his arms were intertwined with his pillow cases. Well, one of his arms, at least. He couldn't exactly feel the other one. Bloody hell, how did I end up like this?

It was with a grimace that he remembered pouncing on Seamus and his vulgar threat of death, then climbing madly back into bed. He also recollected someone muttering "Photography...nekkid.... Mmm, Dean...." but preferred not to dwell on that, seeing that he already had a headache and did not want to make it worse by adding nausea to the mixture of abhorrent feelings that he was most tragically subject to.

Up. Now, you arse! he yelled, mentally forcing himself out of his bed and realizing with a start that he was ultimately screwed for the day. Madam Sprout would not look kindly upon his unexplained absence from her class, nor did he look forward to the berating he would undoubtedly get from Hermione.

A pair of dark red boxers lay at the foot of his bed, the waistline inscribed delicately with the name "Potter" in gold thread, and bearing the Gryffindor crest. It was supposed to be a gag gift from the boys for Christmas, but Harry found them to be quite comfortable, and therefore had grown into the habit of wearing them constantly.

After dashing out of the door, then shooting right back in again in order to put on his pants and robe, Harry was out of the common room so fast that he left the fat lady wind struck. He was barely paying attention to where he was headed when he felt his body run into someone. But not just any someone; it was a very green and silver someone.

"You would think that having four eyes would make you less blind, Potter."

Harry glowered at Malfoy from his position on the floor, frantically trying to gather up his papers that were haphazardly sprawled around him. He really didn't have time for childish word battles with stupid, ferret-faced Slytherins.

Draco gazed down at him for a moment, then tutted and ambled off. "Gryffindors. Not a bright one among the whole lot of them," he muttered, then turned the corner.

Harry stood angrily, gathering his books in his arms and attempting to ignore the growing pain in his bum. Until recently, Harry had devised a system of ignoring Malfoy, deciding that the horrible prat wasn't worth his trouble. For the past few weeks it had been affective, but clearly luck was not on his side today.

"Arrogant little git...." he mumbled at the spot where Draco had disappeared from, then turned quickly and ran the rest of the way to Herbology.

"Why weren't you at breakfast?" Ron, who treated missing a meal like a sin on wizard-kind, asked the first moment he and Harry were alone together.

"I overslept. Why didn't anyone bother to wake me up this morning?"

"Er -"

"Ron."

"Well, we were all a bit frightened that you would, er - devise some cruel form of torture to - er - kill us with if we said more than two words to you," he admitted, and Harry watched Ron's face turned from his pale, ashen complexion to a startling (and rather impressive) state of scarlet.

"Yes, well..."

Ron dismissed his uncomfortable statement with a cough. They resumed their work, and chatted about...well, what 16-year-old boys do, whatever that includes.

"Oh, and Harry, you might want to watch out for Seamus. He's been, well-"

"Harry Potter! Where were you!?! Do you have no sense of responsibility for your academics? Do you not realize how much this disgusting, dismissive cutting of class will hurt your grade? DO YOU CARE?" Hermione entered the conversation ranting on like only she could.

Before Harry could answer Hermione she answered for him, "YOU DON'T DO YOU?" She kept getting increasingly louder, her tone rising with every sentence of her lecture. "YOU SHOULD! WHAT WILL YOU DO WHEN YOUR OLDER? YOU HAVE TO WORK! AND A LEGITAMITE BUSINESSES WON'T WANT A PERSON WITH TERRIBLE CREDENTIALS...("I think they would take him anyway, he's Harry Potter..." Ron added.) HOW WILL YOU SUPPORT YOURSELF?" And on and on and on she went. It was rather infuriating, and Harry's eyes twitched in irritation.

"We are in our sixth year of Hogwarts. You can't take your work with a grain of sand! The time for slacking off has passed, Harry Potter. Do you know what happens to people who slack off? (Ron and Harry, and well, everyone else were use to Hermione and her yelling and breakfast was carried out in normal form as if without the continued moral shouts. "Ron pass the jam would you? "Neville get your frog off my plate!" "Seamus SHUTUP!" Everything was said in a calm voice or the way it always was. Ears and eyes passing over the bushy girl with an incredibly large gob who made a considerable racket.) They end up poor and pitiful, directing the Knight Bus, two knuts in the pockets and a cup of butterbeer in their hand, wasting their life toting other people around and being drunk of their arse. Do you want that? DO YOU WANT THAT FATE? I doubt you do. And for your information, you missed a very important lesson today about ground mint leaves. Oh, I can assure you that you will feel the consequence of your actions!"

"Hermione," Harry managed to start when she had to take a breath, "I woke up late..." And, guessing her next question he answered it: "And nobody woke me up, due to, er, things that happened last night."

Hermione, in turn, just rolled her eyes and muttered an annoyed "boys".

That night, much to Harry's relief, was much quieter, given that Seamus had worn himself out during his detention with Snape. (Harry found great amusement in that sentence and repeated it in his head a few times over, before realizing how incredibly disturbing that imagery was.)

Seamus and Snape. Arg. He snorted with disgust before rolling over on his side and whispering a "nox" to the light above his bed.

"Don't forget," came Ron's sleepy drawl, "that tomorrow we have that meeting about Italy."

Ah, yes. Italy.

___________________________________________

Authors Note: Can't bother with one at the moment my brain isn't functioning! But don't worry I will write one! I will! And I will force the other IMP to also. AND FUCKING REVIEW (I've recently rediscovered the use of the word "fuck", and I like it.) Ta.