WARNING: this chapter contains references and allusions to some pretty heavy themes. If you have any chance of being triggered by discussions of eating disorders/habits or body dysphorphia, please read carefully.

Chapter 9

"Blimey…"

Pausing in step, Harry glanced towards where Ron had all but stumbled to a halt on the curb. He was staring up at the towering building before him with eyes wide and freckles stark upon his abrupt paleness. Turning, Harry drew his own gaze similarly upwards.

I suppose it might be a bit confronting for someone who's never seen it before.

Syren headquarters was tall. And big. A tall, big building, with a modern façade more window than wall, and a grand entrance of double revolving doors at the top of wide, white steps. Even to the casual passer-by it would have stood out. It breathed grandeur and expense more profoundly than a fistful of galleons. Harry had always found it a little too extravagant, really.

"If you're not comfortable with all of this, I can see if it's possible for you to give the shoot a miss," Harry said.

"Are you kidding? With how much we've been offered to stand in for a single day?"

Harry glanced sidelong at Ginny where she stepped up to his shoulder. Despite her offhanded words and the slight bubble of laugher buried beneath them, she too was transfixed by the towering Syren building. Ginny wasn't one typically intimidated, and she'd had experience with the press before, so he supposed her sudden bout of nervousness must be unfamiliar and all but unprecedented. If not for her expression, the fact that she'd actually attempted to dress conservatively in a modest blouse and jeans was indication enough. She was almost as pale as Ron, and that was saying something.

In fact, the only one who didn't appear nervous was Hermione. She considered Syren with a shrewd gaze, lips slightly pursed and the barest hint of a frown upon her brow. Harry could almost hear the thoughts dribbling through her mind: That the day would come where I'd be standing for a photoshoot in a fashion magazine, of all places…

Hermione had danced the dance and posed just so for a camera on a number of occasions. She was a figurehead in her NGO, and her spokesperson abilities, coupled with her enthusiasm, made her the perfect person to sit for interviews and photographs. But fashion? God no. There were some things that Hermione would never readily bow her head to.

Harry was almost surprised that she'd agreed to come that day. And upon Syren – and Draco's – request, at that. For it had been a request; Ron himself had commented to that very fact.

"He didn't just demand that we come along," Ron had said over the phone days before when he'd first been formally approached with the offer. "I mean, he actually asked. And offered money. But – like, he actually asked."

Harry wasn't so surprised. Not anymore.

"It'll probably only take until lunch time for your part," Harry said to his friends, just as he had several times that morning already. "I promise, I won't use up your whole day."

"You don't have to be so apologetic, Harry," Hermione said, flashing him a smile that momentarily cleared her scepticism. "We chose to come, you know."

"Yeah," Ginny said, shaking herself from her staring. "Besides, it'll be interesting to actually see you at work for once. The man behind the photograph and all that." She bumped his shoulder with her own, nervousness dissipating into her usual toothy grin. "My team will be so jealous."

"Why's that?"

There was a beat of silence between them, broken only by the sounds of traffic, passing pedestrians, and the hissing sigh of a bus as it paused at a stop half a street away. Then Ginny leant around Harry to roll her eyes at Hermione. "The sad thing is that he's actually one hundred percent serious."

Hermione's smile widened fondly. Hooking her arm through Harry's as she only did when her 'big sister habits' kicked into gear, she patted his hand. "And we love you for it, Harry."

"Why do I get the impression you're patronising me?"

"Probably 'cause they are," Ron muttered. "I wouldn't take it personal or anything."

"I don't," Harry said easily, and he didn't really. He knew that, regardless of how much his friends loved him, they were still and likely always would be a little derisive of his career. Many people who hadn't any direct experience with the world of modelling looked down their noses, even as they admired the finished piece. Glamour, glory, and pampering was the general consensus when most considered the life of a model. Harry was never quite able to break it to them properly that the reality was quite different.

"Come on, then," Ginny said, and in a motion that was far less familiar than Hermione's arm-link, locked her own through Harry's to fit elbow into elbow. "Let's see your world, Harry."

She all but dragged both he and Hermione through the double doors, and Harry had to toss a glance over his shoulder just to be sure that Ron kept up. He did, after a beat; shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets, and hunching his shoulders, Ron trailed after them.

The foyer was open and echoing with the sound of heeled shoes, hurrying feet, and general haste as it always was. More so than Harry was used to when he entered, for he'd arrived later that day in the company of his friends than he usually did. Crossing towards the double-seated receptionist's desk, he extracted his arm from Ginny's to wave a hand at the man and woman seated behind.

"Hi, Janice. Hey, Peter."

Janice paused in whatever conversation she was sharing with Peter and they both glanced towards him. Professional openness and clinical smiles faded immediately into sincerity from the both of them.

"Good morning, Harry," Janice said as Peter raised a hand in greeting. Her eyes darted briefly towards Harry's friends and her smile widened. "Is it that day already? We were sent a missive that your group shoot was coming up, but…"

"A missive?" Ron muttered behind them.

"Time flies when you're having fun," Peter said with a chuckle. "Before you know it we'll be wishing you farewell, Harry."

"Not too soon," Harry said. "Promise."

"Good to hear."

Janice handed him a clipboard of pristine paper already marked with lines of names and signatures despite the relative earliness of the morning. "I'll just get you all to sign in. Name, date of birth, purpose for your visit, and signature."

"That's a little excessive, isn't it?" Ginny asked, already reaching for the offered pen.

Janice's smile was a little tighter this time, but it was still a smile. "Just standard procedure."

"Of course," Hermione said with a nod. "You never know what kind of weirdos might try and slip through the doors, especially in this industry."

Janice and Peter nodded their immediate agreement, but Harry couldn't help eyeing Hermione sidelong with a touch of surprise. He wouldn't have expected her understanding, at least in this instance. But then, she did have experience, if not directly with modelling, so maybe it shouldn't have been so unexpected.

They exchanged another handful of greetings, of "how're you today?" and "are you on all week?" before Harry led his friends onwards. They were climbing into the elevator when Ginny leant into him, shoulders bumping again, and muttered, "Alright, Mr. Friends-With-Everyone. What was that about?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

The elevator was empty but for their quartet, a benefit of coming in at after eight o'clock, but she still kept her voice down as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. They were totally making eyes at you."

"Who? Janice and Peter?"

"Yeah. Both of them. They were, weren't they Hermione?"

"They kind of were," Ron muttered instead of Hermione, while Hermione only shrugged.

Harry frowned. "I don't think so. They're just really friendly."

Ginny rolled her eyes again. "Oh, I'm sure. I'm totally sure they smile like the sun's been given to them whenever anyone –"

"Okay, they didn't do that."

"They did. You just weren't looking at them the right way. Right, Hermione?"

"They kind of were," Ron said again, once more speaking for Hermione.

Harry turned his frown upon him where he stood still hunched and very distinctly awkward in the back corner of the elevator, but he let it slide. He supposed it was all but expected for it to be Target Harry Day given the circumstances. Instead, he turned back to Ginny as the elevator pinged on a floor not their own. "You're weirdly vocal about my love life these days, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, I know," Ginny said proudly. "I make sure of I am."

"Thought you did," Harry muttered, before he was deflected from his frowning by the entrance of alighting passengers. One such passenger immediately planted himself before him with a wide grin.

"Morning, bub," Von said, smiling with a flash of white teeth and blatant delighted. He barely turned that smile upon Harry's friends but to nod in greeting before grinning back at Harry. "So, guess where I've just heard down in the Stylist's Den? You'll never guess, so I'll tell you."

Harry shook his head, smiling as Von was shunted further into the elevator by more passengers and fell to effectively gushing about what was, apparently, a scandal of sorts regarding "Christine Walker, that bitch". It was amusing to simply watch him; for a man so tall, so broad, so imposing and hard-faced much of the time, his deterioration into schoolboy gossip had been astounding the first time Harry had beheld it. It was as though he were two different people in one.

Which wasn't as unusual in the industry Harry found himself as he considered it otherwise would be. Or should be. Everyone seemed to wear a mask of sorts – that for work, and that which was tucked sadly beneath.

Von was still all but gushing – much to Ginny's amusement, Hermione's visible exasperation, and Ron's ogling – when the elevator pinged to eject them onto their floor. Harry led the way out, Von at his side, and paused alongside the wall of the bustling corridor to gather his slowly, almost hesitantly following friends.

And Von gushed. Still.

"… would think she was queen of the department to hear her talk," he was saying, rolling his eyes. "It was so good to see. She needs a right slap to the face to set her nose back into place."

"Oh, I'll bet," Harry said, though Von barely seemed to hear him.

"And who better to do it than Renee? She's incredible, Harry. Hell, if I was an apprentice still, I'd want to be training under her."

"That good, is she?" Harry spared a glance for an outburst down the hallway cluttered with hastening bodies. "She's a freelancer, right?"

"Too right. Which means Christine hasn't got a leg to stand on."

"You mean she can't dob on her to anyone higher up?"

"Exactly." Von sighed, teeth flashing almost blindingly for the width of his smile. "I've never been so happy in my life. She hasn't even got any talent; it's no secret that she only got a foot in at Syren because she threw a literal leg over one too many laps."

"Charming."

"But true. Serves her right. Honestly, did you see her spread last issue? Who decided it was alright to let her loose with frills and florals? It's an abomination."

Harry only nodded as Von dove into a breakdown of just everything he deemed wrong with Christine Walker's stylistic choices. He'd heard it all before and had to swallow a smirk as Von's satisfaction blossomed like the florals he so despised. Glancing sidelong to where Ginny, Hermione, and Ron clustered, he mouthed a brief "one second", before turning his attention back to Von.

"… has way too much emphasis upon clichés – really, florals in spring? That's original – that I can't believe even she can't see it –"

"Von," Harry interrupted, raising a hand to snap his fingers for attention. "It's nearly nine."

"- must be half blind by the time she – what?" Von ground to a halt. Then he snapped to attention and immediately the gushing, gossiping man he'd been disappeared. "Oh, shit. Right. Sorry about that, bub. Right, I'll head into the dressing room then and rustle up these girls and boys so we can get this show on the road in a timely manner."

Turning towards Harry's friends, each of who looked in varying degrees of discomfort and fascination, he raised a hand to Harry in farewell. "Head on down after you've had a bit of a poke around – I'm assuming you're taking them around, Harry? Great. Don't get snapped up by anyone who'll waylay you further, got it?"

Then Von was turning and striding down the hallway, weaving between workers with long steps and the fluidity of a fish darting through its school. Harry saw him turn into the distant door of Studio Eleven barely seconds later. With a small shake of his head, he turned back to his friends.

They were all staring at him. There was such a wealth of expression in each of them, consideration as Harry had never seen before, that he didn't quite know what to say. Instead of explaining – he wasn't quite sure why, but explaining felt like the right thing to do – he tipped his head down the hallway. "That's Von. I've mentioned Von, right?"

"Right," Ron said slowly, almost warily. He took a skittering step further from the elevator when it pinged open again and spewed forth even more hastening men and women. The rest of them scooted to the wall accordingly.

"I remember you telling us about him," Hermione said, frowning slightly as she stared in the direction Von had disappeared. "He's not what I expected for a bodyguard."

"You're overlooking that he's also a stylist and makeup artist," Harry said.

"I think he's awesome," Ginny said, and in an instant, whatever reservations she'd seemed to hold visibly evaporated. She beamed at Harry. "Anyone who can so quickly slap 'The Bitch' tag onto someone's name like that is a trooper in my opinion. Yeah, I like him."

"He's got a history with Christine," Harry explained.

"No shit."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's badmouthed another stylist just because they got a job over him…"

"A job?" Hermione asked, tipping her head curiously back to Harry. "I thought he was your stylist and bodyguard?"

"Not just mine," Harry said, though it wasn't entirely true. Von had been culling other jobs and offers increasingly over the years. He was in Harry's company exclusively these days, and spent most of his time with Harry himself. "But even if he wasn't, I think he's too competitive not to care."

"Yep, I definitely like him," Ginny said with a short nod. "He's going to be doing – what, hair and makeup?"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, while Hermione only sighed resignedly.

Harry winced slightly. He couldn't help it; his friends just seemed so reluctant. "If you don't want to do the shoot then that's really fine. I can pull some strings –"

"Nope," Ginny interrupted him. "No way, Harry. We're your friends, and this is important to you."

"Well, not specifically to me."

"The world, then," Hermione said. "We're a part of your story, so why shouldn't we make a show?"

"And a tell," Ron muttered. "Did you know I got a call from Parkinson last week saying she was planning on putting forward for individual interviews with each of us, too?"

"I got that call as well," Ginny said, pulling a face.

"Me too," Hermione murmured. "I said I'd do it."

"What?" Ron and Ginny squawked in synchrony.

"Why not? It's not like there's anything wrong with it. And besides, it's helping Harry. And his cause, for that matter. You know it takes more than just one person to start a movement, and trying to change the opinion of everyone in the Wizarding world about the victims of war on the other side of the war-front is…"

Hermione kept talking, but Harry was momentarily distracted. Not by Fiona, who nodded and smiled at him as she passed and ducked into the room nearest the elevator. Not by Paul, who muttered a distracted "morning" before stepping onto the returned elevator. It was that, through the midst of scurrying workers, he saw Draco striding towards him.

Or not towards Harry, but in their direction. His head was down, his focus upon a stack of papers in his hands, and a frown touched his brow and thinned his lips. The way he wove through passers-by was different to Von's manner; while Von's step was a dance, Draco seemed to actively duck and dodge out of the way with the kind of instinctive twists and turns of one long practiced in doing so. It was like he didn't expect anyone to get out of his way so made do himself.

Which, to be fair, they likely wouldn't. Harry had always been aware of the Death Eater prejudice, whether warranted or not, but he'd witnessed more of it while working with Draco and Pansy than he'd wanted to see. Ever.

Glancing briefly towards his friends as Hermione still spoke in what seemed to be an effort of persuasion, Harry edged away from them before starting towards Draco and meeting him halfway. Draco almost reflexively stepped around him, which simultaneously saddened and marvelled Harry. Draco would have never done that when they were kids, and even if they had changed…

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

Draco glanced up at him, blinked blankly for a moment, then drew his gaze over Harry's shoulder towards his friends. "You brought them?"

Harry cocked his head. "Wasn't I supposed to?"

Draco nodded slowly, absently hitching the sling of his camera higher onto his shoulder. He didn't need to carry it, and he didn't use it most days, or so Harry had seen, but it seemed almost an extra limb to him. Far be it from an unwanted career path, Draco really did seem passionate about his work.

"I suppose it's simpler for everyone that they come in with you than separately," he said without a hint of derision. "Someone might get lost."

"It happens," Harry said, shrugging.

"Of course it does," Draco said. "Syren's a bloody maze." Then he paused, and his gaze trained just a little more sharply upon Harry. A beat or two passed, Harry raised an eyebrow in question, and then Draco unslung his camera, flicked it to life, and raised it to his eye. In the middle of the hallway, as though there was no one else about, he snapped a picture of Harry.

No comment. No exchange. No words even followed pertaining to the act. A moment later and Draco was hooking the strap of his camera back around his shoulder. "If you could be in makeup by nine, I'd like to get started by ten. It shouldn't take too long to prep; a subdued and natural impression should be pretty quick."

Then he was stepping around Harry and strode down the adjacent corridor, head tucking and automatically returning to his dodging act once more. Harry stared after him for a moment. It was almost disconcerting how easily Draco accepted that he was shunned. There was pride in the way Draco held himself, in his work ethic, and his self-conduct, but there was also something like subservience. It was somehow saddening.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?"

Startling, Harry turned towards where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had appeared behind him. They were each staring after Draco as well, though at Ron's words, slowly retrained their back on Harry.

"I told you he's our photographer," Harry said. He was sure he had. Ron had spluttered and moaned enough about it that he couldn't forget.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Ron said. His eyebrows climbed his forehead, eyes widening pointedly. "What was that?"

"'That' being…?"

"Does Mal – Draco make a habit of taking your picture out of the studio?" Hermione asked from his side, correcting herself as she'd taken to doing of late. She was frowning slightly. "Why does he do that?"

Harry shrugged as Draco finally disappeared around the distant corner. He hadn't asked why Draco had taken to randomly snapping shots over the past few days, and for all he knew, it could be for a number of reason. To sell in future to the highest bidder, for planning of the next shoots in the interview series, simply to test out his camera – whichever reason, it wasn't like Harry really minded. If it suited Draco to take them, if he wanted to, and so long as Harry knew when it was happening, he could have at it.

"I don't know," he said. "It's just something he's started doing lately."

"It's clearly to add to his secret stash of material," Ginny whispered overloud, leaning towards Ron. She snickered as Ron shoved her face away from him, scowling.

Harry could only shake his head and share a faintly exasperated glance with Hermione. It was all just a little bit of fun, but Harry was sure he wasn't the only one to notice that Ginny only persisted with her suggestiveness pertaining to Draco in Ron's company. She was filling her role as the annoyingly little sister to a T.

"We've got to head into hair and makeup, if that's okay," he said, deliberately diverting the conversation. "It'll only take about an hour, and Von will likely already have your outfits ready, so…"

That got their attention. Ginny immediately straightened, while Hermione only sighed heavily, the slightly pained expression that touched her face whenever mention of makeup was made welling once more. Ron's brief return of colour faded away to paleness and stark freckles once more.

"Blimey," he said for what must have been the hundredth time since Harry had picked him up that morning. "To think that I'm actually in at a modelling shoot and getting all gussied up…" He shook his head, swallowing audibly. When he shook his head for a second time a moment later, he seemed like a dog ridding its ears of water. "Alright then, Harry. Lead on."

Glancing between each of his friends in turn, Harry nodded slowly. Only Ginny seemed particularly excited, but then, she was enthusiastic for just about anything these days. Harry wouldn't put it past either Ron or Hermione – though especially Ron – making a break for the exit as soon as he took his eyes off them. He couldn't even blame them; he didn't think he'd ever seen a better illustration of 'a fish out of water' than he did in Ron at that moment.

But none of them ran. If anything, Ron took a deep breath as though to steel himself, and Hermione shuffled half a step towards Harry. With a grateful smile to each of them, he turned and led them down the hallway.

It was supposed to be natural. Casual. Friendly, and easy, and shot as though taken in the midst of idle companionability. To Harry, it almost was. It was the most casual photoshoot he thought he'd ever had.

He knew he was likely the only one to think so, though, and it wasn't just because of his friends' words.

"Blimey," Ron said again as soon as they were shunted from the dressing rooms. "You do that every day, Harry? You actually – you mean you actually –?"

"Well, not every day," Harry said.

"How are clothes that are supposed to look so comfortable so completely not?" Hermione asked mid-shot as she struggled to rearranged herself in her 'at-ease' seat upon the floor.

Harry could only shrug. He was used to it, and all but expected discomfort these days.

"This is so awkward," Ginny muttered as she leant against him, speaking from the corner of her mouth and barely moving her lips. "Seriously."

"You get your photo taken all the time," Harry said, slinging his arm around her shoulders affectionately. Comfortably. Easily.

"Yeah, on a broom. Or before the press, when I don't know what direction the camera flashes are coming from. This is different."

Harry's friends clearly weren't comfortable. Not with the prep, the clothes, or the posing. Harry felt the now familiar weight of guilt for that, and he found himself murmuring apologies for their ears alone throughout.

But they didn't mind. Or they said they didn't, and Harry might have even believed them.

"Mate, calm down," Ron said. "If I really didn't want to do it, you bet your arse I wouldn't have."

"It's interesting to actually get a look into what you do," Hermione said, as always, absorbing every aspect of the studio, the camera setup, the pair crewman that were all that accompanied their photographer. "I never really get to see much of what goes on even when I sit for them myself, and modelling is definitely a different scene."

"Are you kidding me?" Ginny said as she slung her arm around Harry in return. "I'm having a blast. This is so weird, but kind of fun too, you know?"

Harry wasn't sure if he did know. He wasn't sure if he ever so much had 'fun' on his shoots. It was his job, what was expected of him, and he'd grown content enough with his circumstances and what it afforded him. He knew he wasn't model material, but the fame and limelight that had clung to him since the war seemed to overwhelm whatever he lacked. It had flooded past it to the degree that even Muggles considered him as the aptly named 'rising star' of Estallas en Ascenso.

But fun? Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever called it fun.

It was something very close, however, when he positioned himself as requested in a loose cluster with his friends on the floor, 'chatting' in an 'action' shot in which Hermione's lips were too pursed and Ron looked slightly constipated. It was close when he accepted Ron's elbow propped atop his shoulder for their paired shot, and Hermione's comfortably linked arm, and Ginny's slouching lean.

It was closer still when Draco commented blandly upon Ron's skewed expressions and Ron grumbled indignantly, "It's 'cause it's weird just laughing at nothing."

"Oh, come on, Ron," Ginny said before Draco could reply. "You laugh at practically nothing all the time."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You don't have to laugh," Hermione said. "Just smile."

"Even smiling feels weird, though."

"Should I tickle you?" Ginny asked, wriggling her fingers at him.

Ron didn't get a chance to answer before she was upon him. Harry only just leant out of their way in time for Ginny to attack him, and the studio was abruptly echoing with Ron's bellows of "stop!", Ginny's maddened cackles, and Hermione's snickers that she couldn't quite hide behind a raised hand.

Harry found himself smiling, too. Actually smiling, rather than the deliberate version that he wore so much more often. He shook his head and, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, glanced towards Draco.

It was just in time to see Draco's eyes rolled to the ceiling, his lips murmuring inaudibly as though in a plea to the heavens, before he dropped his attention back to the camera before him. Behind him, the two crewmen were muttering between themselves, shaking their heads slightly, but Harry barely noticed them. Not when Draco flickered his gaze up to meet his own and just slightly raised an eyebrow.

It was as though Draco stood apart from his supposed helpers that Harry had seen over the past weeks didn't help all that much at all. As apart from them as Harry knew he'd become from his friends, made all the more apparent for their continued antics as Ginny jabbed at Ron, Ron swatted her out of the way, and Hermione looped an arm around Ginny's waist as though to restrain her from her attack, though the looseness of her grasp suggested the deliberate ineffectiveness of such a gesture.

Harry was apart. And so was Draco. And yet, as far as Harry could tell, while it was a little isolation, that separation wasn't entirely bad. Not really. That as much as anything widened Harry's smile as he turned his gaze back to his friends.

The photoshoot – was it fun? Maybe not quite, but it was certainly very close.

"My face. Is my face still intact?"

"Why wouldn't it be intact, Ronald?"

"It feels scrubbed down to the bone. I think I can feel my muscles exposed."

"Are you not cleaning yours off, Ginny?"

"Are you kidding? I look gorgeous all glammed up, and didn't even have to do the legwork myself. I'm never washing my face again."

Harry smiled to himself as he looped his scarf around his neck. It wasn't really cold outside, and definitely not at midday, but it was worth the extra layers rather than risking discomfort from a sudden chill. Besides, it helped to wear a scarf, and a hat, and his glasses, if he hoped to remain incognito. He listened absently to his friends behind him as they gloried in the liberty endowed by being changed and wiped down of makeup – or not as the case may be. Ginny really was keeping hers, it seemed.

It was only a half day of a photoshoot. Just a half, and leaving at such an hour felt more than a little strange. Harry could still hear the reverberations of noise as stylists and makeup artists, models and photographers and directors, busied themselves with work or hastened towards their own lunches. He glanced sidelong to a pair of two such departing workers expressed their relief and fervent need for coffee when they passed through the door from the dressing room.

"Are you ready to go, Harry?"

Turning, Harry smiled at Hermione's abrupt appearance at his shoulder. Her cheeks were still a little red from where she'd scrubbed them herself in the bathroom rather than using the products that the makeup artists were more than willing to offer her.

"Sure," he said. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

"You're the one who's been working here for – what, two weeks?" Ron asked, shrugging into his own coat and wandering across the narrow breadth of the dressing room to Hermione's side. "What's good?"

"Your definition of good and mine are kind of different things," Harry said.

Ginny popped up at Hermione's other side as though Apparated. "Okay, then what places sell both salad and actual, real food?"

Harry chuckled as his friends broke into simultaneous contributions of "I feel like chips," and "something filling but not too heavy". "Okay, okay. I've got it." Waving at them vaguely, he led the way into the hallway with their chatter following after him. Only to pause in step with a peripheral glance in the direction of the conjoined room.

Harry pursed his lips. He plucked absently at his scarf. Then he muttered a brief "one sec," crossed towards the room that was all but unanimously accepted as the photographer's station.

Draco was leaning over a single print, frowning as he so often did when regarding his work, and for a moment didn't seem to realise Harry approached him. When Harry paused alongside him, however, dropping his hand lightly onto the table, Draco glanced upwards, frown clearing into blankness.

"Hey," Harry said with a small smile.

"Hello," Draco replied slowly and maybe a little warily.

Harry gestured over his shoulder. "We're going to head out for lunch. Did you want to come?"

Draco's eyes darted over Harry's shoulder. A frown flickered briefly into re-existence forked when he caught sight of Harry's friends before his attention redirected back onto Harry. "You want me to have lunch with you all?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because I'm me."

Harry nodded. "Yes, you are."

"And they're… Weasley. And Weasley. And Granger."

"I know."

Draco blinked hooded eyes. His expression was so impassive it was an expression in itself. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not? And if you say anything about old school rivalries, I'm going to have to hex you."

"In the middle of Syren, Harry?" Draco murmured, the corners of his lips quivering ever so slightly. "Amidst all these Muggles? How daring of you."

"Daring is my middle name," Harry said, with an easy shrug.

Draco snorted. It was so unexpected that Harry didn't realise at first that it was a laugh. He allowed himself to smile just a little wider as Draco actually smiled himself. "You know, maybe once, but I don't think so anymore."

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "So, will you come?"

"I'm working," Draco said, gesturing down at the picture before him.

Harry spared it a glance. It was a picture of himself, a strange one that looked almost cast in black and white, and clearly from the first photoshoot he'd had with Draco. He recognised the outfit. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about it in Harry's opinion, good or bad, but then again, he worked on the opposite side of the camera lens. He supposed Draco had a keener eye for that kind of thing.

"You can work later," Harry said. Half turning, he gestured with a tip of his head. "Come on. You don't have Pansy to have lunch with today, so you'll have to make do with us. Unless you wanted to eat with the other photographers instead? They usually congregate in the staff room on level three."

Harry didn't know if Draco ever ate with Pansy, or if he was inclined to mingle with the other photographers. He sincerely doubted the latter, but he offered the out anyway. Draco's subsequent repeated snort was answer enough. "Merlin, no."

"Then you've got no excuse. Come on."

"I don't need to –"

"Have you already eaten?"

Draco was silent for a beat before, "No."

"Good. Then let's go."

His friends were staring at him. Staring, silent and all but unresponsive, as he approached them once more. Ron looked little constipated again, Hermione was regarding Harry thoughtfully, and Ginny was darting her gaze between Harry and Draco so quickly she must have been giving herself a headache. It was she who spoke first.

"Is Malfoy tagging along? Wait, we're supposed to call you Draco now, right?"

"Tagging?" Draco echoed flatly.

"You…" Ron attempted. Swallowed. Reattempted. "You're, ah – you're really…?"

"If that's alright," Harry said, meeting Ron's wide-eyed stare, then Hermione's, then Ginny's. "It's just lunch, right?"

"Right," Ron managed, a little strangled. Hermione only nodded slowly.

"Of course it's alright," Ginny said. She was grinning so easily that her previous surprise seemed all but irrelevant in contrast. "Why not? The more the merrier, right, Draco?" Her smile grew faintly lupine as she glanced his way. "Excuse me if I don't shower you with hugs. I'd rather keep my head on my shoulders than have you bite it off."

"Likewise," Draco said immediately, arms folding casually across his chest. "I'd rather retain my dignity."

Ginny stared for a beat before bursting into laughter. "Yeah. Deal." Shaking her head, she made a snatching reach for Harry's hand and he found himself being tugged from the dressing room. "Come on then, troupe. I'm starving."

It was, Harry considered, the unlikeliest of circumstances that he found himself in that lunch at his new favourite café barely half a street from Syren's building. Ginny, still made-up for a glamour shot, Ron, seeming intent upon filling his belly to the brim to smother his discomfort, and Hermione, continuing to regard Harry as though he were a potion experiment likely to make an abrupt colour change.

And Draco. Draco, who seemed remarkably casual as he seated himself at the table alongside Harry. Draco, who had been quiet for the elevator ride, the walk from the building, and the extended wait to be seated. He'd only broken that silence to make his order when the waiter arrived before falling mute again.

Not that it really mattered. Harry didn't mind, and most of the time – or at least when it wasn't in small, all but exclusive company – Draco was rather quiet. That was a side of him that Harry hadn't thought possible before he'd witnessed it, but yes. Draco was quiet, could be very quiet, and did a good job of appearing natural at assuming silences, too.

After an initial bout of awkwardness in which Ginny talked too much, Hermione simply gazed thoughtfully, and Ron shifted so uncomfortably in his chair that there must have been a splinter protruding from the wood or something, it eased. It happened with the arrival of lunch.

"BLT?" the waiter asked as soon as he swept up to the table with arms precariously stacked beneath plates.

Ginny, in the throes of professing how much she liked the "quaint little café" and it's "kitschy décor", twisted in her seat towards the waiter. "That'll be me," she said, plucking it from his hands. "And the bread and soup – here, Hermione. Sorry, sir, did you have any butter for the bread – oh, sorry, I didn't even see it there. Oops."

The waiter spared her a professional smile before handing over a steaming pie to Ron at his raised hand. "And the chips too, mate," he said. "Thanks."

Ron was already three chips in, Hermione tearing her bread apart, and Ginny with a mouthful of sandwich by the time Harry raised his own fork. He paused when Ron gestured towards him with his basket of chips. "Oi, grab a handful, Harry."

Harry blinked. He stared at the chips for a moment, then up at Ron. He's always been so oblivious, he thought with a mental shake of his head. As Ron could pack away enough to feed a small family at every meal and still have room for dessert, he didn't quite understand that other people couldn't. Or, in other cases still, shouldn't.

"No, I'm alright, thanks," Harry said, looping a ring of red onion around his fork instead.

"A salad isn't very substantial, Harry," Hermione said through a bite of bread.

"I know."

"Aren't you buggered?" Ginny asked, dropping her sandwich on her plate and licking her thumb before reaching for the water jug in the middle of the table. "I never knew that staged photoshoots could be so tiring."

"They're typically more so," Draco murmured.

As one, all eyes, even Harry's, drew towards him. Draco didn't seem to notice, or at least pretended not to as he scooped a mouthful of omelette onto his fork with the deft assistance of a spoon. He glanced at Harry sidelong as he did so.

The silence stretched to the brink of awkwardness before Ginny interrupted it. "Really? How come?" She turned to Harry. "Are they bad?"

"Not really," Harry said with a shrug, folding a leaf of spinach with his fork. "The days can just be pretty long sometimes, though."

"How long is long?" Hermione asked curiously. "You always say you head into work at about eight. If it's a shoot…?"

"I don't usually get home till around seven most nights," Harry said. "But – I mean, it's always in the studio. You've got the prep too, and consultations, and running between places, or even just requisite hours at the gym. It's pretty rare that you're at one place for the whole day, so."

"Bloody hell," Ron said, pausing with a chip in his hand and shaking his head. "And you're doing that all day?"

"We just established otherwise," Draco murmured, but so quietly that Harry was likely the only one to hear him.

"You know," Ginny said, "even though I'm beautiful all made-up and glamorous, I'm so glad it's you and not me, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said with a smirk.

"Seriously, though. And let's face it, I'd probably die if I could only eat a – a – what is that, a garden salad?"

"Baby spinach," Harry corrected. "It's good, actually. Want some?"

Ginny eyed him sceptically. "What, and deprive you of what little you're actually eating?"

"It's not –"

"Are all models like this, Draco?" Ginny overrode him, ignoring Harry to peer at Draco. "Harry drinks like a bird in a water fountain whenever we go out to a club and eats just the same. I expect that's a habit of the trade?"

Draco didn't meet her attentive gaze. Instead, he drew his own from his plate towards Harry once more. "Somewhat, yes," he said.

"I'd die," Ron said emphatically.

"I'd just be starving," Ginny said, just as much.

"It can't be very healthy," Hermione said, frowning. "Surely you wouldn't get all of your nutrition from such a limited diet. Harry, have you considered –?"

"Are we really discussing my eating habits?" Harry said, glancing between his friends with a tight smile. "Again?"

"Well, it's been a while since we've brought it up," Ginny said, grinning crookedly. "Gotta keep you on your toes."

"Please, don't."

"It's just a health concern," Hermione said, abandoning her bread for her soup spoon. "But I'm sure Dot makes you go and see the doctor regularly, right?"

"Naturally."

"And so long as you're not picking up any bad habits like some models do." She paused, eyed him, and Harry shook his head obligingly. He didn't need another repeat performance of Hermione's blast of overprotectiveness when she'd realised the prevalence of eating disorders and body dysmorphia in the industry. As much as wanting to avoid worrying her, it was… well, it was kind of annoying.

If only you knew, Hermione, he thought, just as he had the last time he'd convinced her that 'no, going to the bathroom within half an hour of eating doesn't mean I'm throwing up in the toilet'. He was thankful he'd managed that much, at least; Ron hadn't looked any more pleased at Hermione's demand that he accompany him than Harry had been, if for somewhat different reasons.

"Can we please talk about something else?" Harry asked. "This is bad dinner conversation."

"Yeah," Ron said. "And stop comparing, Ginny. You're making me feel fat in comparison."

"Well…"

"Shut your face."

Predictably, the half-hearted argument that arose between them escalated quickly and morphed into something utterly diverging from the original topic. Harry settled back in his seat, grateful for that much, at least. He was used to being the centre of attention, had grown to be used to it, but this kind of attention? He didn't think he'd ever like that.

Surprisingly, however, as the conversation progressed, Harry found himself the focus of Draco's unwavering attention. Regardless of where it drifted and if Draco actually contributed or not, Draco would rarely settle his gaze anywhere but on his own plate or Harry.

"I could get used to this place," Ginny said when her argument with Ron finally died. She took an oversized bite of her sandwich, twisting in her seat to drag her gaze around the café, before peering curiously out of the window alongside them. "Yeah, I like it. Good picking, Harry."

"Maybe we could come again on the weekend?" Hermione suggested. "There's a sign on the counter that says they have a two-for-one special on Sunday morning."

"I'm sold."

A little while later followed, "Just because I'm good at it doesn't mean I'll just do you a favour for free," Ron said when Ginny requested he take a look at her apparently deceased computer. "It's my job."

"Yes, and I'm your sister," Ginny replied.

"I don't ask you to do me favours like that."

"Oh really? What do you call free tickets every season, then?"

"Well, that – that's not just me –"

"Uh-huh."

"You can't just –"

"Cheapskate."

Ron huffed, stabbing at the remaining chunk of pie pastry on his plate. He glanced across the table at Draco as he'd been doing throughout the entirety of lunch and, with what seemed to Harry a Herculean effort, said, "You're so lucky you don't have brothers or sisters, Malfoy."

Draco paused with his glass of water raised before his lips. His eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "Quite," was all he said.

A little while after that, Hermione asked, "How'd you get into photography, Draco?"

Draco actually spared her an extended glance this time, which was more than he'd done to each of Harry's friends at their sparse questions or comments in his direction. "Happenstance," he said.

Hermione frowned. "Meaning?"

"I was in the right place at the right time."

It was apparent that he didn't intend to expand upon the statement further, and Hermione clearly saw it too. She simply nodded, smiled slightly, and turned towards Ginny to dive into an alternate discussion. Harry couldn't quite help but shoot Draco a sidelong glance with a slightly exasperated huff of laughter. He found Draco glancing at him in return and, surprisingly, just the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

Well, what do you know, Harry thought. Was he teasing Hermione? I never thought I'd see the day, let alone be happy about it.

Harry was half lost in thought, Draco absently checking his watch, and Harry's friends in various states of slouching and idle conversation, when his phone rang. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry drew it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. At the name depicted, he frowned, stowed it away once more, and tuck his hands between his knees.

Until it rung again.

Harry didn't check his phone this time. He didn't need to. He knew that Draco, as oddly attentive as he was, was watching him sidelong, but he ignored him, settling for tuning back into his friends' conversation instead.

His phone rung again. And again. And again.

"… Mum was saying that she wanted everyone to, um – Harry, are you going to get that?"

Harry shrugged as Ginny, Ron, and Hermione each glanced towards him. "It's fine."

"They're being pretty persistent," Ginny said.

"It's okay. I'll call him back later."

The ringing stopped. Then it started again.

"Is it some weird-ass stalker or someone that's got a hold of your number again or something?" Ron asked. He extended a hand across the table. "Here, I'll answer it and scare the shit out of him."

Harry smiled. Not quite a weird-ass stalker. "No, it's okay. It's just a photographer I used to work with."

"A photographer?" Draco asked quietly.

"One of the first, actually." Harry shifted uncomfortably as the ringing continued before stuffing a hand into his pocket and drawing it out. He flicked into his phone in the brief spell of silence after the call and twitched the sound off. "Samuel Ipetsky. He's nice enough."

"Is he demanding?" Draco asked just as lowly.

Harry glanced at him, but Hermione spoke before he could reply. "I can imagine that some photographers can be pretty demanding in a shoot," she said. "You were very lenient with us, Draco. I suspect we weren't the easiest team you've dealt with."

"Oh, come on," Ginny said, plopping both elbows onto the table and pouting. "I'm a delight."

"You're annoying," Ron said. "And getting worse in your old age."

"I'm not. You're just growing a backbone and fighting back more."

"You think so?"

"Yes. You should be so proud of yourself."

"Okay, backhanded compliment that it is, I'll take it."

"Why, because you're so starved for compliments when it comes to the verbal battleground that…"

She continued against what quickly evolved into Hermione being Ron's primary defender. Harry listened, but he barely heard a word of what they said. His phone continued to ring, and ring, and no amount of leg-jiggling and all but crushing his hands between his knees could alleviate the discomfort it elicited.

He's so bloody persistent, Harry thought, cursing mentally as the ringing continued after a hopeful minute's pause.

Sometimes it would be weeks. Sometimes even months. But it had gotten to the point that Harry was more than used to Samuel Ipetsky dropping him a string of repeated calls and affable messages. Hi, Harry, how've you been? and we haven't caught up for a while. Are you free for drinks sometime? or I've got an offer for you. You'd know Francis d' Ore? As it happens, Franks a bit of a favourite of mine – says he's happy if I pull a few strings if you'd like…

Harry certainly didn't dislike Samuel. He just didn't want to be in his company sometimes. It had nothing to do with how good a photographer he was, or how credible his name was. Samuel was a nice enough guy, and a good worker, but even so.

Harry was only detachedly aware that Draco regarded him to all but the exclusion of their surroundings. He might have thought something of it, for even with his frequent inexplicable staring, Draco usually wasn't usually quite so attentive, but he didn't. And when he and his friends finally rose from their seats to leave the café for the day, Harry didn't delay in his farewells and waves goodbye. He spared only a moment to exchange a smile with Draco, too, a nod and a word of appreciation that he'd joined them.

"You're thanking me?" Draco asked. He half turned on the curb, in the process of striding away, as Harry watched his friends similarly diverge down the pavement amidst the lunch hour crowds. "You're the one that did me the favour, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure what favour Draco was referring to. The companionship at lunch, maybe? But he didn't dwell on it. Diving into the sea of pedestrians, tugging his floppy hat a little further down his ears and his scarf a little higher up his chin, Harry extracted his phone from his pocket. With a huff of breath that just slightly misted the air before him, he raised it to his ear.

"Hi, Sammy. Yeah, sorry I missed you…"

A/N: Thank you to all of my lovely readers keeping up with this story! I'm doing my best to post regularly, but I'm sorry if they come a little sporadically. Please leave your thoughts if you have a chance. I really absolutely love to hear what you think of the chapter or story, good or bad!