FIC: He's So Lucky (He's A Star)
Title: He's So Lucky (He's A Star)
Author/Artist LJ Name: digthewriter
Created for: hd_smoochfest 2015 Prompt Number: 126 - Song: LUCKY by Britney Spears
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco [Charlie/Original Male Character, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Other Male Character]
Rating: ~R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~21,500
Author's Notes: As I wrote this story, I found myself falling in love with it. I really gave everything I had in this version of Draco and first person POV is not my forte so I was super worried about how it was going to play out. All my thanks to my alphas and betas: candamira, anemonen, and josephinestone. All the remaining mistakes are mine. [ALSO, this is a more 'cleaned up' version that what's on AO3 right now. I found a few errors that I hadn't smoothed over during the first round.]
Warning(s):[CLICK to be spoiled]First person point of view. Infidelity implied (not between Harry/Draco). In the closet-scenario. Pining. Clueless and obviously in love (with each other) characters. Random references to Muggle technology. [I should also add/ given all the comments I received: Slightly creepy / stalkery Draco]
Summary: Potter has everything he could ever ask for. The perfect life. Then why does he look so sad when no one else is looking? Except for Draco, because Draco’s always looking.
A Floo call at seven in the morning on a Saturday was never a good sign, but this time I didn’t really mind. "Here we go," I mumbled to myself as I dragged myself off the bed and made my way to the Floo network.
Pansy, of course.
"Draco, I'll need you to cover for Jones tonight."
"Again?" I said with as much disdain I could muster. I tried not to roll my eyes as well, because that would possibly be a bit much and Pansy would see right through it.
"I know you just got back last night, but Jones's wife just went into labour and well-you know the subject better than anyone else."
This time I rolled my eyes. The subject.
"Luna is going in with you. She'll cover the questions, per usual, just keep your eyes open," Pansy said. It was her usual phrase before she handed off any assignments. "Keep your eyes open." As if one can take a photograph with their eyes closed.
"Very well then," I said, since I already knew what was going to happen. I had planned this all along, of course. The thing about being the strategic photographer to an investigative reporter was all about planning. I knew the gala was tonight, and of course, I couldn't ask to be assigned to it. If I had, Pansy would surely question it, and I just didn't have the time to go through that again. She always gave my interest a name I didn't like.
Thus, I'd done the next best thing. I'd primped Jones up for it. I knew there was an eighty seven percent probability his wife would have gone into labour sometime this weekend. If she did then the luck and the assignment would be mine. Everyone wanted to cover the Potter gala, but after the assignments were handed out, you couldn't switch them except for emergencies.
And we definitely had an emergency on our hands.
"Why does it have to be Lovegood?"
Pansy huffed into the fire. "Because the Potters don't trust anyone else. And if you go with Luna, then they won't question your presence, either. They had to do that in the past, remember? She's the best bet for us getting in."
"This isn't an investigative piece," I said, just to remind her I highly doubted I would catch Potter's trousers down to his knees while some twat settled herself on her knees in-between his legs. He was Saint Potter, after all, and he and the Weaslette were going on five years of marital bliss.
"Draco, you bloody well know you're the only one who has the night off. You keep a weird schedule, Merlin only knows why, and you're always the only one available to help us out in a pinch. It's four hours of work and it pays double. I don't have to tell you the Potter circle is tough to get into and their stories sell the most copies!"
I could feel Pansy's anger radiating off her and travelling through the Floo. I decided to not play that hard to get. I needed the money. Sure. "If it pays double, then I want a cut into the profit of the sales."
"Naturally," she said, as if she hadn't expected anything else.
Good.
-----
Lovegood arrived at exactly half seven. I was waiting in the kitchen fixing tea, when she'd called. She was delighted I remembered her Jasmine tea with the natural herb sweetener as opposed to conventional sugar. I had to hand it to her, the woman knew her herbs, Nargles or not.
She was also the expert on the Potters.
The Potters, Potter and the She-Weasel, had been married for five years now. They'd gotten married shortly after the war, and the world had been waiting for them to start procreating since then. Everyone knew of Potter's longing for a family, if they didn't, they clearly didn't read his interviews very well. All he'd ever talked about was how wonderful the Weasleys had been and all he'd ever wanted was a family of his own. Every time I'd see Weasley-Potter in Diagon Alley, I expected her to start showing the baby bump; instead, she'd continued her Quidditch career to flourishing heights, and Potter was moving up the ranks at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
They were a perfect couple. Minus the toddlers.
It was infuriating really.
Not that they were such a perfect couple, but the fact that even though Potter had everything he could have ever dreamed of, he still looked miserable. It was the same look he had when he was picked for the Triwizard tournament. He was the bloody star, and he still had the audacity to look sad about it.
What was up his arse, anyway?
It was really why I took these jobs. I wanted to capture the moment where Potter went from smiling and shaking hands to looking like he was at a funeral. It was remarkable at how quickly he could turn the charade on and off.
Of course, he thought no one was looking when his smile would falter. But I was there. I was always there. I had in my possessions hundreds of pictures of Potter, looping to where he smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek, then turn around and looked longingly out of the window or at a door. Was he wondering if he could make his escape? Did he want to know what else was out there?
The only time his laughing and smiling seemed real was when he was playing with the Granger-Weasley children. Seriously, no one else noticed this man was aching for that? I've found myself constantly wondering why the Weasley-Potter refused to give him a child. Perhaps her Quidditch career was very important to her, then why hadn't they just adopted?
Potter practically grew up in foster care. He donated time and money to orphanages all the time. Surely, no one would bat an eye, if he just adopted. Would they?
"You're doing it again," Lovegood said, placing her empty teacup on the kitchen counter.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking hard about the assignment," she said. I opened my mouth to tell her that that was not what I was doing, when she raised her hand and continued talking. "This isn't an investigation. It's supposed to be fun! Isn't it why you're always setting it up so you can attend?"
"I'm not-"
The raised hand again. I knew there was no use in trying to reason with her.
"So have you got it?" she asked, and I arched an eyebrow. "Your secret mini camera?"
"My what?" How could she know?
"You always have your big camera to take pictures of all the politicians and dignitaries, and then you have your spy camera. Don't think I haven't noticed."
I was speechless; however, I should have known she would notice something one day. She was a bloody sharp-eyed investigator. Pansy and Patil had trained her. The only ones who knew about my mini cameras were the reporters I went on field trips with, and they'd signed a nondisclosure agreement.
"You don't think anyone watches you when you watch Harry?"
I struggled. Again. "I-" Merlin, what in the bloody hell was this woman doing to me?
"It's really why I take you, you know." She was on again and I had no idea what she was talking about. "To these parties. I could say no to Pansy. Attend them myself and just write an article about it. Pictures aren't required. But, you have fun, too. And I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for someone to see it."
"Lovegood, I truly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Of course not. Are you ready?" Then she turned around and waltzed out of the kitchen as if we hadn't just had the most bizarre conversation in the universe. This included the time when she was locked up in my parents' cellar, and she'd sputter-according to Aunt Bellatrix-utter nonsense. Even when she was being tortured.
Okay, I didn't want to think about that.
-----
We were at the gates of the Weasley Mansion right on time. Most of the guests hadn't arrived, and it was the perfect opportunity for Lovegood to have a sit down with the Potters, while I took some pictures.
The Weasley Mansion, formerly known as the Burrow, was built in 2001. It'd turned out that George Weasley's shop really took off after the war, and the first thing the brothers did with their surplus earnings was to build their parents a better home.
Of course, I'd sold the manor by then. Father was in Azkaban and Mother had moved to France for good. Most of the proceeds from the manor sales were donated to charity-nameless of course-including an anonymous donation made towards the Fred Weasley Foundation.
Naturally, Pansy thought I'd gone crazy. I told her if anyone had asked, she could just tell them that the donations were made by her. She'd scowled at me and nearly slapped my face off. So we decided to spread the rumour about the Ministry about how the Ministry had sold the manor and depleted all my funds. The rumours were never confirmed, of course, and I was never available for comment.
Things have a way of working out for you sometimes, when you work with journalists (and when your best friend is the editor of a newspaper that is the number one competition of The Daily Prophet). I was nothing but a humble photographer.
Mrs Weasley greeted us at the door. She took our coats-why there wasn't a coat checker, I didn't know-and led us to the small sitting room. I'd been there a few times before. The fireplace made the room cosy, and the dark coloured walls really brought in the feeling of how this room was off limit to most guests. This was most certainly a family only room.
The pictures of all the Weasley kids were scattered about the walls. It was too bad they wouldn't let me take any photos of anything besides the Potters while they were being interviewed by Lovegood-technically, I still took them-I just couldn't sell them.
That really was a shame.
Potter watched me as I moved about the room. He probably hadn't realised I knew he was watching me, but I did. Every time Weasley-Potter would place her hand on his knee, his attention would divert back to the interview. That was when I took the pictures for the show; when he was looking at Lovegood, his wife's hand on his knee, and his fake smile on. I felt him flinch with every flash, and my "spy camera," as Lovegood had called it, captured what was there when I'd looked away.
When the interview was winding down, I'd really lost interest after Weasley-Potter had stopped talking about Quidditch; I entered the main hall and mingled with the guests. It wasn't always easy; to be a former Death Eater, and then become a strategic photographer, no one wanted me around. But after I'd covered a few Potter parties and my name was attached with each article, Photographs courtesy of Draco Malfoy, staff-photographer for The Oracle, wizards everywhere had stopped being contemptuous. The only ones that still disliked me were the ones I'd helped correspond an exposé on.
"Over here, Draco," Hannah Longbottom said as she gestured for me towards her and her husband. "Make sure to send me a copy!" she'd always say, as if I could ever forget. She'd only asked me about a thousand times. I shouldn't complain about her, though, she was the only one who voluntarily paid me for them. Bless her Hufflepuff heart.
Neville Longbottom on the other hand, would only nod once at me and walk away given the first opportunity. You could be the second Saviour of the wizarding world, but still be awkward around your former bully from your early teen years. I supposed there were some things I could never live down.
"Malfoy, when are you going to post pictures of us in your newspaper?" Goldstein wrapped an arm around his new boyfriend and grinned. Us? I wondered. I’d just met this new bloke.
I took a few shots of them and shrugged. "I don't actually get to decide what goes in The Oracle. I just give them what I have." I winked at Goldstein's boyfriend who immediately blushed, and I took a few more solo pictures of him. I decided to make sure Pansy put one of those in Lovegood's article covering the shindig.
Business as usual.
The Potter party was, as always, a success. Although, I still hadn't figured out what was the occasion for the festivity. My eyes, per usual, started searching for Potter. He was standing in a corner, attempting to look pensive. Perhaps he was to make a speech. I had half a mind to walk up to him and make small talk, but changed my mind. The remnants of my investigative career took over, and I decided to scout for Weasley-Potter. Where was she? Why wasn't she in the room? I'd spotted Granger, Weasley, their children, and Mr and Mrs Weasley, along with the rest of the clan. Except for Potter's wife. She was deliberately not in the room.
Was this it? Was this the big announcement? Was she pregnant? It couldn't be, because, she would have told Lovegood about it, and I was there in the room the entire time. She'd talked about going to China for the Quidditch World Tournament-I remembered, because I wanted to ask Lovegood if she could get me tickets...
I looked at Potter again who was searching for something in the room. Was he looking for her, too? Our gazes caught, and then he quickly looked away. Something was definitely dodgy.
"Lovegood, I'm going to the loo," I whispered in her ear and waited for her to acknowledge it. She nodded politely and walked away from me. I wondered if she knew I was really up to something else.
What was it she'd said earlier? I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for someone to see it.
I adjusted the strap of my main camera and looped it around my neck so it'd hang sideways. Then I adjusted the buttons on my robes-the ones with the mini camera-and decided to make my way upstairs. I looked at Potter first, he was busy in a conversation with Charlie Weasley; then I looked around the room, everyone seemed to be busy with each other, so I sprinted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, until I reached the third level.
I knew where the loo was, since I'd been to the house several times. So I went the opposite way. Taking a left when I should have taken a right. Opening doors I knew were bedrooms. Finally, I heard something. I came to a screeching halt and walked very quietly toward the third-floor balcony.
"Just one more." A man's voice.
"I can't. I've already been up here for too long!" Weasley-Potter's voice.
"Come on, Gin. I never even get to see you anymore," the man said, and then it was quiet. The noise that followed I could tell were rustling of clothes, then a slight moan.
You are joking! I thought immediately. All of a sudden I had some serious respect for Weasley-Potter. To have an affair, was one thing, but to fool around with your lover while your husband was in the same house took a level of audacity and astute I didn't think a Gryffindor possessed.
"No. Wait. Stop. I can't..." Weasley-Potter panted. "Corm..."
The man moaned.
Corm? If I weren’t so good at stealth, I probably would have fallen on the floor with shock. Was it Cormac McLaggen? Did I see him at the party? I couldn't remember. At the moment, I couldn't do anything. Then I heard them moving. They were leaving the balcony and if I didn't move, they would have seen me.
I ran, as quietly as possible, to the end of the hall before I Disapparated to the outside of the house. No one had seen me go up the stairs, so if I walked back into the mansion through the front door, it wouldn't be a big deal. I hoped.
I stood outside the mansion for a good minute wrapping my brain around what I'd just discovered. Ginny Weasley-Potter played for the Harpies, Cormac McLaggen was a Chaser for the Black Swords. They were on opposing Quidditch teams. And they were fucking?
I took a deep sigh and went to open the front door; Lovegood caught my gaze. She immediately walked up to me.
"We're leaving," she said.
"Why?"
"I think we have what we need and the party is starting to wind down," she said. She seemed rather adamant about leaving so naturally, I had to stand my ground.
"I haven't even had a drink yet," I argued.
"You can't drink at the job."
"But you said I'm off the clock now. So now I can have a drink. I won't take any more pictures for The Oracle. I'll even give you the film."
She rolled her eyes. Something I haven't seen her do too much of. The Nargles might have finally got her, then. "Fine," she said, sounding exasperated.
Honestly, though. What did she expect me to do? She wanted me to find out about the affair, then what? Did she think I would just go babbling about it to Potter or some other gossip publication? Did she want me to spill the beans to her?
"I suppose I can have a glass of wine, as well."
I grinned at her and she took my arm as we made our way to the bar.
Before we left, I did my obligation to inform the Potters that I'd be sending them the pictures of the party first before they are sent off to my editor. Needless to say, I wouldn't show them the pictures I'd taken for my own interests.
-----
For the next several nights, I couldn't sleep, and I didn't have any assignments for the week. After the Potter party, I'd asked Pansy if I could take the week off. I only had a couple of gigs lined up anyway, and she'd easily managed to give them away.
"Did something happen at the party?" she asked.
"No," I lied.
"Are you sure, because, Luna's acting a bit off too."
"She's always acting a bit off. It's not saying much."
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"You can count on it," I lied. Again.
"Who is that young bloke you want me to include in the background?" she asked, and I was glad she'd changed the subject.
"Goldstein's new boyfriend, but I don't think it'll last very long."
"You're hoping he'll come to you for comfort, then?" Her voice had a bit of tease in it, and I finally sighed with relief. She'd dropped the other matter entirely.
Then, it was all business.
"What else do you have for me?"
"The only stories we have coming in right now are celebrity gossip. The P.I. work is also at a season low."
The "P.I. work" was something Pansy and I had started on the side a year after she'd founded The Oracle. When the reporters weren't out investigating unsolved crimes or corruption in the political system, they did freelance work on tips that anonymous wizards owled. The tips included anything from "I think my neighbour is growing illegal herbs in her basement," to "The new shop in Diagon Alley is actually a front for Dark Artefact trading." These were tips the Aurors dismissed because they didn't have the proper warrants to inquire into, and the reporters Pansy had hired were good at talking their way into anything. I had seen this first hand, since I was always there to take the pictures. At first, they'd seen my camera and sent us away, so I started to rely more and more on the mini cameras I planted on the reporter themselves or on my clothing.
The P.I. work brought in extra cash for The Oracle employees, because Pansy was able to dangle this information in front of the Aurors and the Ministry paid good price for them. In the beginning, the Ministry hadn't taken our offer to help seriously, so Pansy had decided we'd just print the information we found as news reports. Based on the allegations published in The Oracle, the Aurors started their raids. Eventually, the culprits realised the Aurors were following the news stories, and they'd quickly changed their tactics. Because of that, the Ministry representative came rushing to HQ whenever we had something for them.
Pansy's "fee" for supplying the information was enough to not only pay the reporter, the photographer, but also provide enough security so our lives were never in any real danger from those we exposed.
It was also one of the reasons I was allowed to come and go freely at all the Potter-Weasley festivities. They trusted Lovegood, and since she worked for The Oracle, in turn, they trusted me with their affairs. Affairs.
No wonder Potter looked so sad.
-----
At the next staff meeting, the bids were up for the latest leads. I usually bid on anything that required travel and an opportunity to try my new camera equipment. The week I'd been off, I had picked up the habit of tweaking them again. I'd continued experimenting on how much I could shrink a lens but still get clear enough pictures. The true magic was sending the image captured to the tiny film and not destroying the quality. Black and white pictures were turning out to be better quality than the coloured ones, and I needed to conduct more tests in different lighting.
I was all set to raise my hand to whatever story Patil had signed up for, she really was as cutthroat as they came, when Lovegood announced she was covering the Charlie Weasley engagement party.
Really, I should have known better. Really, I should not have allowed myself to get sucked back into the lives of Harry Potter and everyone else who was supposedly on the right side of the war. If being in journalism had taught me anything, it was the fact that there was no such thing as right or wrong. It was the lucky, the unfortunate, the arseholes, those that followed them, and those that had no choice.
"Great, so who wants to volunteer to partner up with Luna?" Pansy said and I, unfortunately and almost mechanically raised my hand. "Draco?" She looked a bit taken back.
Our group was small. We were nine reporters and five photographers, so handling two or three jobs at a time wasn't new to any of us. I used this to my advantage. "I really need the money," I said. "I can schedule my time with Patil or anyone else, so we don't clash."
The pictures we sold to other gossip magazines from celebrity parties almost always paid more than double and, fortunately for me, my candid moments were quite popular, too. Of course, none of the other photographers knew why I really wanted it, and so I knew for certain, me voluntarily offering to do the job, could really be taken as a financial need.
"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," Pansy said, after she closed the office door behind her and had me alone in her office .
"Why?" I asked. She never complained before.
"You just got back from an assignment at one of their parties...I just.. I don't trust this, Draco."
"The last time you told me that I should've taken the job, because it paid double. And now when I'm telling you that I need the money-"
"You and I both know you don't need the money."
I knew that I should have played the game as before. I knew that I should have let the opportunity fall in my lap, so I had no idea why I'd made a show for it. Why did I pick the assignment? If I had more time, I would have contemplated what my unconscious mind was trying to do until my face turned blue, but I had to think fast because Pansy was waiting for me to respond.
"Listen..." I drawled. "There's something there. And it's big. I just-Lovegood thinks that I should investigate. I don't want to tell you anything about it, just in case there's nothing there. And you know, when I have something...you'll be the first to know."
"So what?" She raised her perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "You're going to write an exposé on the Potters?"
I laughed. "No. I'll let Lovegood do it. I just take the pictures."
The response seemed good enough for her. For the moment, anyway. I felt guilty for lying to my best friend and my boss about how I'd practically caught the Saviour's wife blowing another man, but what would Pansy even do with that information? The moment we became a tabloid newspaper, our careers were over. The moment we reported on a prestigious Auror, a scandal, the Ministry would shut us down. If I ruined a Quidditch career, well then, how would I get tickets to the Quidditch World Cup?
If Pansy didn't know, it was best. Probably.
-----
Charlie Weasley's engagement party wasn't at the Weasley Mansion; it wasn't even in England. Lovegood and I took the Portkey to Trondheim where the man's boyfriend, now fiancé, was from. They had met while Torbjørn and Charlie were interning as Assistant Dragon Tamers. According to Mrs Weasley, Charlie was quite the Casanova, but when he'd met Torbjørn, it was like there was no going back.
I would have rolled my eyes at the sentiment, but then I saw him and realised that Torbjørn was everything a man could want and more. He was tall with unusually dark hair, which made his pale skin glow. His eyes were almost amber; I had no idea Norwegian men could have amber eyes. He looked like he could beat Viktor Krum at a wrestling match (something I'd pay to see), but was soft-spoken and so polite that the women swooned when he'd enter a room. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the women.
On top of everything else, Potter was staring at him.
I kept my focus on the couple as I clicked away, but the camera on the button of my sleeve was taking pictures of Potter. This was something I was going to have to investigate on my own.
These were all very interesting discoveries. Weasley-Potter was shagging Cormac McLaggen, Potter was gawking at Charlie Weasley's fiancé, a man, and Granger and her husband were so absorbed in their own lives that they hadn't even noticed.
And Lovegood? She seemed to know more than she was letting on. I always had a sort of respect for all the Ravenclaw women.
Don't ever let me tell Pansy that, though.
"Fun party," I said, when I finally decided to walk up to Potter and strike a conversation. In the handful of times that I'd attended the Potter parties, I'd kept my distance. I never had a reason to talk to him. Now I did.
"Yeah, it's great," Potter replied, without even giving me a second glance.
I raised my arm to run a hand through my hair, but I really was just trying to take close up pictures of Potter from my hidden camera. It helped that he didn't regard me. If you were close enough, you could see that the black button looking thing on my sleeve wasn't a button, but thankfully, Torbjørn was in the room.
"Handsome bloke," I said.
"What?" Potter looked like he'd just been jerked awake.
"Torbjørn Lars."
"Oh, right," he said, looking back towards the rest of the room. His eyes didn't settle on anything particular this time.
"Is that your type?" I asked, because really, I suppose I was trying to get kicked out of the party. I could tell Pansy I did it because if Potter had created a scene, then some guest would want to sell an interview to The Oracle of what they'd saw, and that wouldn't breach the contract of only Lovegood interviewing the Potters.
Of course that would also mean that The Oracle no longer had the privilege of writing about the Saviour and his extended family. I wasn't really sure why I was playing out the entire scenario in my head, except, I just really wanted to see Potter snap.
I'd always been a creature of habit.
Unfortunately, Potter didn't react. I saw a nerve pulsating on the side of his neck and that was the only noticeable sign that he was struggling to stay composed.
Needless to say, I pushed some more. "I see McLaggen wasn't invited tonight."
Potter's head jerked towards me, and he glared with his glowing green eyes under his dark lashes and my heart had just picked up speed. Was he going to hit me? Punch me in the face or get me in the gut? I had to react fast. Jump back the moment I'd see Potter's right arm move. Unless he had developed a left hook that I didn't know about.
No, Potter was useless with his left arm.
He looked away from me, leaned back against the wall, and took a deep sigh. "He's at Quidditch practice. The Black Swords started a few weeks earlier than the rest of the teams." His tone was ridiculously nonchalant, as if he was discussing the score from last night's game, and not talking about his wife's lover.
"So, you know?" was all I could say. I'd thought that I'd be dancing with joy at seeing Potter's reaction, but to see him like this, to see him emotionally maimed when discussing an affair of someone he'd promised to spend the rest of his life with, was unnatural.
"And so do you," he said.
"Why are you not freaking out that I know?"
"Well, I reckon you've known for some time. And if you have, and you haven't sold the story to a tabloid-nor had your own paper publish the rumours-it tells me that you don't plan on telling anyone."
"What if I was just waiting for a quote from you?" I asked, as if I was a proper journalist and not just a photographer.
Potter took a deep sigh. I could tell that he was selecting his words carefully. I had records of him with that look. Once I'd caught him this way after one of the Weasley cousins had asked when they were planning on having a family.
It was a look that said: How do I put this politely, so you wouldn't punch me in the face? Or at least that's what I called the look.
"Do you really want to go down in history as the bearer of bad news?" Potter asked, and I didn't understand at first. "Former Death Eater turned Tabloid Photographer?"
"I'm not a Tabloid Photographer!"
"Would it really matter to them?" Potter gestured toward the crowd then looked at me intently, and I shivered. "You'll be the one who uncovered the faults of a Quidditch star, destroyed her marriage, broke her family's heart. Made the Saviour, me, look like a fool."
"Your choices in outfits do that for you on their own," I retorted. It was just so natural to insult him. It felt normal.
Potter snorted and shook his head before he turned and looked away again.
"Why stay?" I asked, leaning back against the wall as well. I handed my camera to one of the teenagers that were running around, and she looked delighted and sprinted to take some pictures. I considered myself to be officially off duty.
Potter looked down on the floor and just stared. It was the look I'd seen before. The look Potter had when he thought no one was looking. The heartbroken look. "She isn't ready to tell the family."
"Wait! She knows that you're aware of her affair?" I jumped on my feet so fast, I gave Potter a start.
"She's not having an affair. I know they're together. I know..." Potter ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "It's not cheating."
I scowled at him. "She's fucking another man, Potter," I said, as softly as possible.
"I know."
"Are you in an open relationship?" If they were, I could easily tell that Potter was getting the short end of the stick. No man looked like that if he had the freedom to fuck whoever he wanted.
"Not exactly." He turned to look at me again. "We don't sleep together. We haven't slept together in several years. McLaggen...that's her boyfriend. They're in love. I think...he even wants to marry her. She's just not ready."
Not ready for what, I wondered. To settle down with another man or to break the news to the family that she's wasn't as perfect as the world portrayed her? "And you?" I focused my attention back on Potter.
"What about me?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
Potter snorted again. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, but he didn't sound angry, hurt, or offended. "Who in this bloody wizarding world would fuck me and keep it a secret?"
That was a good point. I wanted to ask more questions, but Potter looked a bit taken aback by his reaction. Most likely because he realised that he was discussing such intimate details with me at such a public place. It was clear that either no one listened to him when he talked about it before or no one cared. Which, all in all, surprised me even more given he was such a public figure.
Nevertheless, I decided to press him. "There's no one that you fancy? Didn't fancy anyone before you'd met Weasley? What about Chang?"
Potter looked at me for a good minute. He was really contemplating the next set of words I could tell. "That won't do it for me."
Ah. Potter hadn't flinched at the boyfriend comment. Of course. "What about the happy couple?" I asked tilting my head towards the centre of the room. "I'm sure they'll be understanding and could even help you out."
Potter shrugged. "Feels like I'll be breaking my promise to Ginny by telling someone in the family."
"You know, just because they call you Saint Potter doesn't actually mean you have to be a saint, Potter."
"Only you've ever called me that."
Another good point.
"What about a Muggle?"
"I tried that," he said, looking away again.
"And?" I probed when he quieted down after sharing that bit of information.
"Didn't work out for several reasons. It's hard to explain that you work for Magical Law Enforcement when you show up with cuts and bruises on your dates. Muggleborns could still see me around town. And..."
"And what?"
"Harry we're going to cut the cake!" Mrs Weasley came rushing towards us, interrupting us with promises of sweets. I could let that slide. I was starting to get hungry. I'd missed the buffet as I was walking around taking pictures. Speaking of, I needed to find that kid with my camera. I'd replaced the roll of film before I'd handed it to her, but still, I wanted my camera back in one piece.
"Be right there," Potter told her, and she happily rushed off.
"And what?" I asked jumping back into the conversation.
"There's cake," Potter said.
"You're avoiding," I replied.
"Malfoy, I just...I don't want to get into it right now. Can we just drop it?"
"Fine." I crossed my arms and stared down at him as he did the same. I arched an eyebrow. "There's no one else. No one else that you liked, lusted after, always wanted to shag, or obsessed over?"
Potter's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat before looking away again. "They're-they're expecting me," he said and walked away.
I didn't need to be told twice that I'd hit the nail on the head. Potter fancied someone. He clearly did. He just didn't want to tell me who it was. I wondered why, though. He'd confessed the deep-rooted secrets of his failed marriage to me, came out as obviously gay-not even bisexual-in all of five minutes, but wouldn't tell me who he wanted to shag? Even secretly? Even if that man was straight, married, had children, and lived in another country?
It was probably Torbjørn.
-----
The cake was out of this world. It was in the shape of a dragon and every time someone cut through it for a piece, it snorted fire, which was really confetti. That's where I found the kid with my camera, she was taking pictures of people cutting the cake. At least now I knew that the pictures were going to be somewhat relevant. I always had fantastic instincts.
She thanked me for lending her my camera and asked to take a picture together. I hesitated. I didn't like being on camera, it was pretty much why I worked behind it. On top of that, Potter of all people, volunteered to take our picture.
Lovegood approached me as I was finishing up my piece of cake and reminded me that it was time to take the Portkey back to England. Mrs Weasley insisted that we spend the night. "It's so late. Stay here, and have breakfast with the family in the morning!" she insisted.
I don't know why, nor did I want to know why, I looked around the room searching for Potter. Maybe I wanted to see his reaction to the possibility that I was going to stay. I was curious to see what Potter looked like when he'd just woken up in the morning. Did he wear pyjamas to the breakfast table or dress properly? Knowing how the Weasleys operated, there probably wasn't any formality to breakfast, anyway.
Nevertheless, Potter was nowhere to be seen, and I told Lovegood that it'd be better if we left. Besides, the shrinking magic on the camera lens on my clothing had a time limit. I wouldn't have been able re-shrink them without damaging the film quality.
As always, I promised the Weasleys that I'd send them copies of the pictures before I gave them to my editor to publish with the article, and the ones we would be allowed to sell to other magazines.
Again, the ones I'd taken of Potter's expressions, I was going to keep for myself.
-----
The next morning, Pansy Flooed first thing.
"How was the party?" she asked.
"Good morning to you, too, Pansy. How are you doing today?" I retorted.
"Draco, do you want me to come by and enter your darkroom?"
"No," I said immediately. Potter's pictures were all over the room, and I didn't want her to find them.
"Fine. Then, how was the party?"
"It was fine."
"Do anything interesting?"
"I took a picture with a few of the guests. Actually, Potter took one. Of me, I mean. Also the cake was brilliant."
"Potter took a picture of you?"
"Yes."
"Did the two of you talk?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
I shrugged. "His wife's Quidditch career." It wasn't a lie. Not technically.
"Fascinating."
"Not really. If you ask me she's being rather selfish." Shite, why did I just say that?
"Why?" Even via the weak Floo connection, and me being half-awake, I felt the arch of the eyebrow Pansy had.
"I don't know. Just get the feeling. I don't think she's making him happy."
"And who would make him happy?"
I shrugged again. "Fuck if I know."
Pansy sighed, and I knew that she wasn't saying what she was really thinking. But I just didn't have the energy to argue with her. I hadn't even had my morning coffee yet.
"I'm going to owl them the pictures shortly. So, I'll get back to you as soon as I get them."
"Very well, then," she said. Seriously, what was wrong with her? "Patil wants to touch base with you about the museum heist."
"What about it?"
"She thinks it was an inside job. She wants to go to the curator's home and interview him. So she'll need you-since Jones isn't exactly discreet."
"Very well then," I said, mimicking her from earlier. She had something on her mind, but she wouldn't just say it, and I wasn't going to ask her. READ PART TWO
Author/Artist LJ Name: digthewriter
Created for: hd_smoochfest 2015 Prompt Number: 126 - Song: LUCKY by Britney Spears
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco [Charlie/Original Male Character, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Other Male Character]
Rating: ~R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: ~21,500
Author's Notes: As I wrote this story, I found myself falling in love with it. I really gave everything I had in this version of Draco and first person POV is not my forte so I was super worried about how it was going to play out. All my thanks to my alphas and betas: candamira, anemonen, and josephinestone. All the remaining mistakes are mine. [ALSO, this is a more 'cleaned up' version that what's on AO3 right now. I found a few errors that I hadn't smoothed over during the first round.]
Warning(s):[CLICK to be spoiled]First person point of view. Infidelity implied (not between Harry/Draco). In the closet-scenario. Pining. Clueless and obviously in love (with each other) characters. Random references to Muggle technology. [I should also add/ given all the comments I received: Slightly creepy / stalkery Draco]
Summary: Potter has everything he could ever ask for. The perfect life. Then why does he look so sad when no one else is looking? Except for Draco, because Draco’s always looking.
A Floo call at seven in the morning on a Saturday was never a good sign, but this time I didn’t really mind. "Here we go," I mumbled to myself as I dragged myself off the bed and made my way to the Floo network.
Pansy, of course.
"Draco, I'll need you to cover for Jones tonight."
"Again?" I said with as much disdain I could muster. I tried not to roll my eyes as well, because that would possibly be a bit much and Pansy would see right through it.
"I know you just got back last night, but Jones's wife just went into labour and well-you know the subject better than anyone else."
This time I rolled my eyes. The subject.
"Luna is going in with you. She'll cover the questions, per usual, just keep your eyes open," Pansy said. It was her usual phrase before she handed off any assignments. "Keep your eyes open." As if one can take a photograph with their eyes closed.
"Very well then," I said, since I already knew what was going to happen. I had planned this all along, of course. The thing about being the strategic photographer to an investigative reporter was all about planning. I knew the gala was tonight, and of course, I couldn't ask to be assigned to it. If I had, Pansy would surely question it, and I just didn't have the time to go through that again. She always gave my interest a name I didn't like.
Thus, I'd done the next best thing. I'd primped Jones up for it. I knew there was an eighty seven percent probability his wife would have gone into labour sometime this weekend. If she did then the luck and the assignment would be mine. Everyone wanted to cover the Potter gala, but after the assignments were handed out, you couldn't switch them except for emergencies.
And we definitely had an emergency on our hands.
"Why does it have to be Lovegood?"
Pansy huffed into the fire. "Because the Potters don't trust anyone else. And if you go with Luna, then they won't question your presence, either. They had to do that in the past, remember? She's the best bet for us getting in."
"This isn't an investigative piece," I said, just to remind her I highly doubted I would catch Potter's trousers down to his knees while some twat settled herself on her knees in-between his legs. He was Saint Potter, after all, and he and the Weaslette were going on five years of marital bliss.
"Draco, you bloody well know you're the only one who has the night off. You keep a weird schedule, Merlin only knows why, and you're always the only one available to help us out in a pinch. It's four hours of work and it pays double. I don't have to tell you the Potter circle is tough to get into and their stories sell the most copies!"
I could feel Pansy's anger radiating off her and travelling through the Floo. I decided to not play that hard to get. I needed the money. Sure. "If it pays double, then I want a cut into the profit of the sales."
"Naturally," she said, as if she hadn't expected anything else.
Good.
-----
Lovegood arrived at exactly half seven. I was waiting in the kitchen fixing tea, when she'd called. She was delighted I remembered her Jasmine tea with the natural herb sweetener as opposed to conventional sugar. I had to hand it to her, the woman knew her herbs, Nargles or not.
She was also the expert on the Potters.
The Potters, Potter and the She-Weasel, had been married for five years now. They'd gotten married shortly after the war, and the world had been waiting for them to start procreating since then. Everyone knew of Potter's longing for a family, if they didn't, they clearly didn't read his interviews very well. All he'd ever talked about was how wonderful the Weasleys had been and all he'd ever wanted was a family of his own. Every time I'd see Weasley-Potter in Diagon Alley, I expected her to start showing the baby bump; instead, she'd continued her Quidditch career to flourishing heights, and Potter was moving up the ranks at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
They were a perfect couple. Minus the toddlers.
It was infuriating really.
Not that they were such a perfect couple, but the fact that even though Potter had everything he could have ever dreamed of, he still looked miserable. It was the same look he had when he was picked for the Triwizard tournament. He was the bloody star, and he still had the audacity to look sad about it.
What was up his arse, anyway?
It was really why I took these jobs. I wanted to capture the moment where Potter went from smiling and shaking hands to looking like he was at a funeral. It was remarkable at how quickly he could turn the charade on and off.
Of course, he thought no one was looking when his smile would falter. But I was there. I was always there. I had in my possessions hundreds of pictures of Potter, looping to where he smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek, then turn around and looked longingly out of the window or at a door. Was he wondering if he could make his escape? Did he want to know what else was out there?
The only time his laughing and smiling seemed real was when he was playing with the Granger-Weasley children. Seriously, no one else noticed this man was aching for that? I've found myself constantly wondering why the Weasley-Potter refused to give him a child. Perhaps her Quidditch career was very important to her, then why hadn't they just adopted?
Potter practically grew up in foster care. He donated time and money to orphanages all the time. Surely, no one would bat an eye, if he just adopted. Would they?
"You're doing it again," Lovegood said, placing her empty teacup on the kitchen counter.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking hard about the assignment," she said. I opened my mouth to tell her that that was not what I was doing, when she raised her hand and continued talking. "This isn't an investigation. It's supposed to be fun! Isn't it why you're always setting it up so you can attend?"
"I'm not-"
The raised hand again. I knew there was no use in trying to reason with her.
"So have you got it?" she asked, and I arched an eyebrow. "Your secret mini camera?"
"My what?" How could she know?
"You always have your big camera to take pictures of all the politicians and dignitaries, and then you have your spy camera. Don't think I haven't noticed."
I was speechless; however, I should have known she would notice something one day. She was a bloody sharp-eyed investigator. Pansy and Patil had trained her. The only ones who knew about my mini cameras were the reporters I went on field trips with, and they'd signed a nondisclosure agreement.
"You don't think anyone watches you when you watch Harry?"
I struggled. Again. "I-" Merlin, what in the bloody hell was this woman doing to me?
"It's really why I take you, you know." She was on again and I had no idea what she was talking about. "To these parties. I could say no to Pansy. Attend them myself and just write an article about it. Pictures aren't required. But, you have fun, too. And I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for someone to see it."
"Lovegood, I truly have no idea what you're talking about."
"Of course not. Are you ready?" Then she turned around and waltzed out of the kitchen as if we hadn't just had the most bizarre conversation in the universe. This included the time when she was locked up in my parents' cellar, and she'd sputter-according to Aunt Bellatrix-utter nonsense. Even when she was being tortured.
Okay, I didn't want to think about that.
-----
We were at the gates of the Weasley Mansion right on time. Most of the guests hadn't arrived, and it was the perfect opportunity for Lovegood to have a sit down with the Potters, while I took some pictures.
The Weasley Mansion, formerly known as the Burrow, was built in 2001. It'd turned out that George Weasley's shop really took off after the war, and the first thing the brothers did with their surplus earnings was to build their parents a better home.
Of course, I'd sold the manor by then. Father was in Azkaban and Mother had moved to France for good. Most of the proceeds from the manor sales were donated to charity-nameless of course-including an anonymous donation made towards the Fred Weasley Foundation.
Naturally, Pansy thought I'd gone crazy. I told her if anyone had asked, she could just tell them that the donations were made by her. She'd scowled at me and nearly slapped my face off. So we decided to spread the rumour about the Ministry about how the Ministry had sold the manor and depleted all my funds. The rumours were never confirmed, of course, and I was never available for comment.
Things have a way of working out for you sometimes, when you work with journalists (and when your best friend is the editor of a newspaper that is the number one competition of The Daily Prophet). I was nothing but a humble photographer.
Mrs Weasley greeted us at the door. She took our coats-why there wasn't a coat checker, I didn't know-and led us to the small sitting room. I'd been there a few times before. The fireplace made the room cosy, and the dark coloured walls really brought in the feeling of how this room was off limit to most guests. This was most certainly a family only room.
The pictures of all the Weasley kids were scattered about the walls. It was too bad they wouldn't let me take any photos of anything besides the Potters while they were being interviewed by Lovegood-technically, I still took them-I just couldn't sell them.
That really was a shame.
Potter watched me as I moved about the room. He probably hadn't realised I knew he was watching me, but I did. Every time Weasley-Potter would place her hand on his knee, his attention would divert back to the interview. That was when I took the pictures for the show; when he was looking at Lovegood, his wife's hand on his knee, and his fake smile on. I felt him flinch with every flash, and my "spy camera," as Lovegood had called it, captured what was there when I'd looked away.
When the interview was winding down, I'd really lost interest after Weasley-Potter had stopped talking about Quidditch; I entered the main hall and mingled with the guests. It wasn't always easy; to be a former Death Eater, and then become a strategic photographer, no one wanted me around. But after I'd covered a few Potter parties and my name was attached with each article, Photographs courtesy of Draco Malfoy, staff-photographer for The Oracle, wizards everywhere had stopped being contemptuous. The only ones that still disliked me were the ones I'd helped correspond an exposé on.
"Over here, Draco," Hannah Longbottom said as she gestured for me towards her and her husband. "Make sure to send me a copy!" she'd always say, as if I could ever forget. She'd only asked me about a thousand times. I shouldn't complain about her, though, she was the only one who voluntarily paid me for them. Bless her Hufflepuff heart.
Neville Longbottom on the other hand, would only nod once at me and walk away given the first opportunity. You could be the second Saviour of the wizarding world, but still be awkward around your former bully from your early teen years. I supposed there were some things I could never live down.
"Malfoy, when are you going to post pictures of us in your newspaper?" Goldstein wrapped an arm around his new boyfriend and grinned. Us? I wondered. I’d just met this new bloke.
I took a few shots of them and shrugged. "I don't actually get to decide what goes in The Oracle. I just give them what I have." I winked at Goldstein's boyfriend who immediately blushed, and I took a few more solo pictures of him. I decided to make sure Pansy put one of those in Lovegood's article covering the shindig.
Business as usual.
The Potter party was, as always, a success. Although, I still hadn't figured out what was the occasion for the festivity. My eyes, per usual, started searching for Potter. He was standing in a corner, attempting to look pensive. Perhaps he was to make a speech. I had half a mind to walk up to him and make small talk, but changed my mind. The remnants of my investigative career took over, and I decided to scout for Weasley-Potter. Where was she? Why wasn't she in the room? I'd spotted Granger, Weasley, their children, and Mr and Mrs Weasley, along with the rest of the clan. Except for Potter's wife. She was deliberately not in the room.
Was this it? Was this the big announcement? Was she pregnant? It couldn't be, because, she would have told Lovegood about it, and I was there in the room the entire time. She'd talked about going to China for the Quidditch World Tournament-I remembered, because I wanted to ask Lovegood if she could get me tickets...
I looked at Potter again who was searching for something in the room. Was he looking for her, too? Our gazes caught, and then he quickly looked away. Something was definitely dodgy.
"Lovegood, I'm going to the loo," I whispered in her ear and waited for her to acknowledge it. She nodded politely and walked away from me. I wondered if she knew I was really up to something else.
What was it she'd said earlier? I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for someone to see it.
I adjusted the strap of my main camera and looped it around my neck so it'd hang sideways. Then I adjusted the buttons on my robes-the ones with the mini camera-and decided to make my way upstairs. I looked at Potter first, he was busy in a conversation with Charlie Weasley; then I looked around the room, everyone seemed to be busy with each other, so I sprinted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, until I reached the third level.
I knew where the loo was, since I'd been to the house several times. So I went the opposite way. Taking a left when I should have taken a right. Opening doors I knew were bedrooms. Finally, I heard something. I came to a screeching halt and walked very quietly toward the third-floor balcony.
"Just one more." A man's voice.
"I can't. I've already been up here for too long!" Weasley-Potter's voice.
"Come on, Gin. I never even get to see you anymore," the man said, and then it was quiet. The noise that followed I could tell were rustling of clothes, then a slight moan.
You are joking! I thought immediately. All of a sudden I had some serious respect for Weasley-Potter. To have an affair, was one thing, but to fool around with your lover while your husband was in the same house took a level of audacity and astute I didn't think a Gryffindor possessed.
"No. Wait. Stop. I can't..." Weasley-Potter panted. "Corm..."
The man moaned.
Corm? If I weren’t so good at stealth, I probably would have fallen on the floor with shock. Was it Cormac McLaggen? Did I see him at the party? I couldn't remember. At the moment, I couldn't do anything. Then I heard them moving. They were leaving the balcony and if I didn't move, they would have seen me.
I ran, as quietly as possible, to the end of the hall before I Disapparated to the outside of the house. No one had seen me go up the stairs, so if I walked back into the mansion through the front door, it wouldn't be a big deal. I hoped.
I stood outside the mansion for a good minute wrapping my brain around what I'd just discovered. Ginny Weasley-Potter played for the Harpies, Cormac McLaggen was a Chaser for the Black Swords. They were on opposing Quidditch teams. And they were fucking?
I took a deep sigh and went to open the front door; Lovegood caught my gaze. She immediately walked up to me.
"We're leaving," she said.
"Why?"
"I think we have what we need and the party is starting to wind down," she said. She seemed rather adamant about leaving so naturally, I had to stand my ground.
"I haven't even had a drink yet," I argued.
"You can't drink at the job."
"But you said I'm off the clock now. So now I can have a drink. I won't take any more pictures for The Oracle. I'll even give you the film."
She rolled her eyes. Something I haven't seen her do too much of. The Nargles might have finally got her, then. "Fine," she said, sounding exasperated.
Honestly, though. What did she expect me to do? She wanted me to find out about the affair, then what? Did she think I would just go babbling about it to Potter or some other gossip publication? Did she want me to spill the beans to her?
"I suppose I can have a glass of wine, as well."
I grinned at her and she took my arm as we made our way to the bar.
Before we left, I did my obligation to inform the Potters that I'd be sending them the pictures of the party first before they are sent off to my editor. Needless to say, I wouldn't show them the pictures I'd taken for my own interests.
-----
For the next several nights, I couldn't sleep, and I didn't have any assignments for the week. After the Potter party, I'd asked Pansy if I could take the week off. I only had a couple of gigs lined up anyway, and she'd easily managed to give them away.
"Did something happen at the party?" she asked.
"No," I lied.
"Are you sure, because, Luna's acting a bit off too."
"She's always acting a bit off. It's not saying much."
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"You can count on it," I lied. Again.
"Who is that young bloke you want me to include in the background?" she asked, and I was glad she'd changed the subject.
"Goldstein's new boyfriend, but I don't think it'll last very long."
"You're hoping he'll come to you for comfort, then?" Her voice had a bit of tease in it, and I finally sighed with relief. She'd dropped the other matter entirely.
Then, it was all business.
"What else do you have for me?"
"The only stories we have coming in right now are celebrity gossip. The P.I. work is also at a season low."
The "P.I. work" was something Pansy and I had started on the side a year after she'd founded The Oracle. When the reporters weren't out investigating unsolved crimes or corruption in the political system, they did freelance work on tips that anonymous wizards owled. The tips included anything from "I think my neighbour is growing illegal herbs in her basement," to "The new shop in Diagon Alley is actually a front for Dark Artefact trading." These were tips the Aurors dismissed because they didn't have the proper warrants to inquire into, and the reporters Pansy had hired were good at talking their way into anything. I had seen this first hand, since I was always there to take the pictures. At first, they'd seen my camera and sent us away, so I started to rely more and more on the mini cameras I planted on the reporter themselves or on my clothing.
The P.I. work brought in extra cash for The Oracle employees, because Pansy was able to dangle this information in front of the Aurors and the Ministry paid good price for them. In the beginning, the Ministry hadn't taken our offer to help seriously, so Pansy had decided we'd just print the information we found as news reports. Based on the allegations published in The Oracle, the Aurors started their raids. Eventually, the culprits realised the Aurors were following the news stories, and they'd quickly changed their tactics. Because of that, the Ministry representative came rushing to HQ whenever we had something for them.
Pansy's "fee" for supplying the information was enough to not only pay the reporter, the photographer, but also provide enough security so our lives were never in any real danger from those we exposed.
It was also one of the reasons I was allowed to come and go freely at all the Potter-Weasley festivities. They trusted Lovegood, and since she worked for The Oracle, in turn, they trusted me with their affairs. Affairs.
No wonder Potter looked so sad.
-----
At the next staff meeting, the bids were up for the latest leads. I usually bid on anything that required travel and an opportunity to try my new camera equipment. The week I'd been off, I had picked up the habit of tweaking them again. I'd continued experimenting on how much I could shrink a lens but still get clear enough pictures. The true magic was sending the image captured to the tiny film and not destroying the quality. Black and white pictures were turning out to be better quality than the coloured ones, and I needed to conduct more tests in different lighting.
I was all set to raise my hand to whatever story Patil had signed up for, she really was as cutthroat as they came, when Lovegood announced she was covering the Charlie Weasley engagement party.
Really, I should have known better. Really, I should not have allowed myself to get sucked back into the lives of Harry Potter and everyone else who was supposedly on the right side of the war. If being in journalism had taught me anything, it was the fact that there was no such thing as right or wrong. It was the lucky, the unfortunate, the arseholes, those that followed them, and those that had no choice.
"Great, so who wants to volunteer to partner up with Luna?" Pansy said and I, unfortunately and almost mechanically raised my hand. "Draco?" She looked a bit taken back.
Our group was small. We were nine reporters and five photographers, so handling two or three jobs at a time wasn't new to any of us. I used this to my advantage. "I really need the money," I said. "I can schedule my time with Patil or anyone else, so we don't clash."
The pictures we sold to other gossip magazines from celebrity parties almost always paid more than double and, fortunately for me, my candid moments were quite popular, too. Of course, none of the other photographers knew why I really wanted it, and so I knew for certain, me voluntarily offering to do the job, could really be taken as a financial need.
"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," Pansy said, after she closed the office door behind her and had me alone in her office .
"Why?" I asked. She never complained before.
"You just got back from an assignment at one of their parties...I just.. I don't trust this, Draco."
"The last time you told me that I should've taken the job, because it paid double. And now when I'm telling you that I need the money-"
"You and I both know you don't need the money."
I knew that I should have played the game as before. I knew that I should have let the opportunity fall in my lap, so I had no idea why I'd made a show for it. Why did I pick the assignment? If I had more time, I would have contemplated what my unconscious mind was trying to do until my face turned blue, but I had to think fast because Pansy was waiting for me to respond.
"Listen..." I drawled. "There's something there. And it's big. I just-Lovegood thinks that I should investigate. I don't want to tell you anything about it, just in case there's nothing there. And you know, when I have something...you'll be the first to know."
"So what?" She raised her perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "You're going to write an exposé on the Potters?"
I laughed. "No. I'll let Lovegood do it. I just take the pictures."
The response seemed good enough for her. For the moment, anyway. I felt guilty for lying to my best friend and my boss about how I'd practically caught the Saviour's wife blowing another man, but what would Pansy even do with that information? The moment we became a tabloid newspaper, our careers were over. The moment we reported on a prestigious Auror, a scandal, the Ministry would shut us down. If I ruined a Quidditch career, well then, how would I get tickets to the Quidditch World Cup?
If Pansy didn't know, it was best. Probably.
-----
Charlie Weasley's engagement party wasn't at the Weasley Mansion; it wasn't even in England. Lovegood and I took the Portkey to Trondheim where the man's boyfriend, now fiancé, was from. They had met while Torbjørn and Charlie were interning as Assistant Dragon Tamers. According to Mrs Weasley, Charlie was quite the Casanova, but when he'd met Torbjørn, it was like there was no going back.
I would have rolled my eyes at the sentiment, but then I saw him and realised that Torbjørn was everything a man could want and more. He was tall with unusually dark hair, which made his pale skin glow. His eyes were almost amber; I had no idea Norwegian men could have amber eyes. He looked like he could beat Viktor Krum at a wrestling match (something I'd pay to see), but was soft-spoken and so polite that the women swooned when he'd enter a room. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the women.
On top of everything else, Potter was staring at him.
I kept my focus on the couple as I clicked away, but the camera on the button of my sleeve was taking pictures of Potter. This was something I was going to have to investigate on my own.
These were all very interesting discoveries. Weasley-Potter was shagging Cormac McLaggen, Potter was gawking at Charlie Weasley's fiancé, a man, and Granger and her husband were so absorbed in their own lives that they hadn't even noticed.
And Lovegood? She seemed to know more than she was letting on. I always had a sort of respect for all the Ravenclaw women.
Don't ever let me tell Pansy that, though.
"Fun party," I said, when I finally decided to walk up to Potter and strike a conversation. In the handful of times that I'd attended the Potter parties, I'd kept my distance. I never had a reason to talk to him. Now I did.
"Yeah, it's great," Potter replied, without even giving me a second glance.
I raised my arm to run a hand through my hair, but I really was just trying to take close up pictures of Potter from my hidden camera. It helped that he didn't regard me. If you were close enough, you could see that the black button looking thing on my sleeve wasn't a button, but thankfully, Torbjørn was in the room.
"Handsome bloke," I said.
"What?" Potter looked like he'd just been jerked awake.
"Torbjørn Lars."
"Oh, right," he said, looking back towards the rest of the room. His eyes didn't settle on anything particular this time.
"Is that your type?" I asked, because really, I suppose I was trying to get kicked out of the party. I could tell Pansy I did it because if Potter had created a scene, then some guest would want to sell an interview to The Oracle of what they'd saw, and that wouldn't breach the contract of only Lovegood interviewing the Potters.
Of course that would also mean that The Oracle no longer had the privilege of writing about the Saviour and his extended family. I wasn't really sure why I was playing out the entire scenario in my head, except, I just really wanted to see Potter snap.
I'd always been a creature of habit.
Unfortunately, Potter didn't react. I saw a nerve pulsating on the side of his neck and that was the only noticeable sign that he was struggling to stay composed.
Needless to say, I pushed some more. "I see McLaggen wasn't invited tonight."
Potter's head jerked towards me, and he glared with his glowing green eyes under his dark lashes and my heart had just picked up speed. Was he going to hit me? Punch me in the face or get me in the gut? I had to react fast. Jump back the moment I'd see Potter's right arm move. Unless he had developed a left hook that I didn't know about.
No, Potter was useless with his left arm.
He looked away from me, leaned back against the wall, and took a deep sigh. "He's at Quidditch practice. The Black Swords started a few weeks earlier than the rest of the teams." His tone was ridiculously nonchalant, as if he was discussing the score from last night's game, and not talking about his wife's lover.
"So, you know?" was all I could say. I'd thought that I'd be dancing with joy at seeing Potter's reaction, but to see him like this, to see him emotionally maimed when discussing an affair of someone he'd promised to spend the rest of his life with, was unnatural.
"And so do you," he said.
"Why are you not freaking out that I know?"
"Well, I reckon you've known for some time. And if you have, and you haven't sold the story to a tabloid-nor had your own paper publish the rumours-it tells me that you don't plan on telling anyone."
"What if I was just waiting for a quote from you?" I asked, as if I was a proper journalist and not just a photographer.
Potter took a deep sigh. I could tell that he was selecting his words carefully. I had records of him with that look. Once I'd caught him this way after one of the Weasley cousins had asked when they were planning on having a family.
It was a look that said: How do I put this politely, so you wouldn't punch me in the face? Or at least that's what I called the look.
"Do you really want to go down in history as the bearer of bad news?" Potter asked, and I didn't understand at first. "Former Death Eater turned Tabloid Photographer?"
"I'm not a Tabloid Photographer!"
"Would it really matter to them?" Potter gestured toward the crowd then looked at me intently, and I shivered. "You'll be the one who uncovered the faults of a Quidditch star, destroyed her marriage, broke her family's heart. Made the Saviour, me, look like a fool."
"Your choices in outfits do that for you on their own," I retorted. It was just so natural to insult him. It felt normal.
Potter snorted and shook his head before he turned and looked away again.
"Why stay?" I asked, leaning back against the wall as well. I handed my camera to one of the teenagers that were running around, and she looked delighted and sprinted to take some pictures. I considered myself to be officially off duty.
Potter looked down on the floor and just stared. It was the look I'd seen before. The look Potter had when he thought no one was looking. The heartbroken look. "She isn't ready to tell the family."
"Wait! She knows that you're aware of her affair?" I jumped on my feet so fast, I gave Potter a start.
"She's not having an affair. I know they're together. I know..." Potter ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "It's not cheating."
I scowled at him. "She's fucking another man, Potter," I said, as softly as possible.
"I know."
"Are you in an open relationship?" If they were, I could easily tell that Potter was getting the short end of the stick. No man looked like that if he had the freedom to fuck whoever he wanted.
"Not exactly." He turned to look at me again. "We don't sleep together. We haven't slept together in several years. McLaggen...that's her boyfriend. They're in love. I think...he even wants to marry her. She's just not ready."
Not ready for what, I wondered. To settle down with another man or to break the news to the family that she's wasn't as perfect as the world portrayed her? "And you?" I focused my attention back on Potter.
"What about me?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
Potter snorted again. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, but he didn't sound angry, hurt, or offended. "Who in this bloody wizarding world would fuck me and keep it a secret?"
That was a good point. I wanted to ask more questions, but Potter looked a bit taken aback by his reaction. Most likely because he realised that he was discussing such intimate details with me at such a public place. It was clear that either no one listened to him when he talked about it before or no one cared. Which, all in all, surprised me even more given he was such a public figure.
Nevertheless, I decided to press him. "There's no one that you fancy? Didn't fancy anyone before you'd met Weasley? What about Chang?"
Potter looked at me for a good minute. He was really contemplating the next set of words I could tell. "That won't do it for me."
Ah. Potter hadn't flinched at the boyfriend comment. Of course. "What about the happy couple?" I asked tilting my head towards the centre of the room. "I'm sure they'll be understanding and could even help you out."
Potter shrugged. "Feels like I'll be breaking my promise to Ginny by telling someone in the family."
"You know, just because they call you Saint Potter doesn't actually mean you have to be a saint, Potter."
"Only you've ever called me that."
Another good point.
"What about a Muggle?"
"I tried that," he said, looking away again.
"And?" I probed when he quieted down after sharing that bit of information.
"Didn't work out for several reasons. It's hard to explain that you work for Magical Law Enforcement when you show up with cuts and bruises on your dates. Muggleborns could still see me around town. And..."
"And what?"
"Harry we're going to cut the cake!" Mrs Weasley came rushing towards us, interrupting us with promises of sweets. I could let that slide. I was starting to get hungry. I'd missed the buffet as I was walking around taking pictures. Speaking of, I needed to find that kid with my camera. I'd replaced the roll of film before I'd handed it to her, but still, I wanted my camera back in one piece.
"Be right there," Potter told her, and she happily rushed off.
"And what?" I asked jumping back into the conversation.
"There's cake," Potter said.
"You're avoiding," I replied.
"Malfoy, I just...I don't want to get into it right now. Can we just drop it?"
"Fine." I crossed my arms and stared down at him as he did the same. I arched an eyebrow. "There's no one else. No one else that you liked, lusted after, always wanted to shag, or obsessed over?"
Potter's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat before looking away again. "They're-they're expecting me," he said and walked away.
I didn't need to be told twice that I'd hit the nail on the head. Potter fancied someone. He clearly did. He just didn't want to tell me who it was. I wondered why, though. He'd confessed the deep-rooted secrets of his failed marriage to me, came out as obviously gay-not even bisexual-in all of five minutes, but wouldn't tell me who he wanted to shag? Even secretly? Even if that man was straight, married, had children, and lived in another country?
It was probably Torbjørn.
-----
The cake was out of this world. It was in the shape of a dragon and every time someone cut through it for a piece, it snorted fire, which was really confetti. That's where I found the kid with my camera, she was taking pictures of people cutting the cake. At least now I knew that the pictures were going to be somewhat relevant. I always had fantastic instincts.
She thanked me for lending her my camera and asked to take a picture together. I hesitated. I didn't like being on camera, it was pretty much why I worked behind it. On top of that, Potter of all people, volunteered to take our picture.
Lovegood approached me as I was finishing up my piece of cake and reminded me that it was time to take the Portkey back to England. Mrs Weasley insisted that we spend the night. "It's so late. Stay here, and have breakfast with the family in the morning!" she insisted.
I don't know why, nor did I want to know why, I looked around the room searching for Potter. Maybe I wanted to see his reaction to the possibility that I was going to stay. I was curious to see what Potter looked like when he'd just woken up in the morning. Did he wear pyjamas to the breakfast table or dress properly? Knowing how the Weasleys operated, there probably wasn't any formality to breakfast, anyway.
Nevertheless, Potter was nowhere to be seen, and I told Lovegood that it'd be better if we left. Besides, the shrinking magic on the camera lens on my clothing had a time limit. I wouldn't have been able re-shrink them without damaging the film quality.
As always, I promised the Weasleys that I'd send them copies of the pictures before I gave them to my editor to publish with the article, and the ones we would be allowed to sell to other magazines.
Again, the ones I'd taken of Potter's expressions, I was going to keep for myself.
-----
The next morning, Pansy Flooed first thing.
"How was the party?" she asked.
"Good morning to you, too, Pansy. How are you doing today?" I retorted.
"Draco, do you want me to come by and enter your darkroom?"
"No," I said immediately. Potter's pictures were all over the room, and I didn't want her to find them.
"Fine. Then, how was the party?"
"It was fine."
"Do anything interesting?"
"I took a picture with a few of the guests. Actually, Potter took one. Of me, I mean. Also the cake was brilliant."
"Potter took a picture of you?"
"Yes."
"Did the two of you talk?"
"Yes."
"About what?"
I shrugged. "His wife's Quidditch career." It wasn't a lie. Not technically.
"Fascinating."
"Not really. If you ask me she's being rather selfish." Shite, why did I just say that?
"Why?" Even via the weak Floo connection, and me being half-awake, I felt the arch of the eyebrow Pansy had.
"I don't know. Just get the feeling. I don't think she's making him happy."
"And who would make him happy?"
I shrugged again. "Fuck if I know."
Pansy sighed, and I knew that she wasn't saying what she was really thinking. But I just didn't have the energy to argue with her. I hadn't even had my morning coffee yet.
"I'm going to owl them the pictures shortly. So, I'll get back to you as soon as I get them."
"Very well, then," she said. Seriously, what was wrong with her? "Patil wants to touch base with you about the museum heist."
"What about it?"
"She thinks it was an inside job. She wants to go to the curator's home and interview him. So she'll need you-since Jones isn't exactly discreet."
"Very well then," I said, mimicking her from earlier. She had something on her mind, but she wouldn't just say it, and I wasn't going to ask her. READ PART TWO