Before anything else:

I have edited these first few chapters after I uploaded chapter five. Forgive any discrepancies that I might miss, such as a Snape mentioned where a toad should rightfully be, but the aim is too fix these up!

It wasn't the way Harry Potter posed that was annoying Draco Malfoy, photographer to the stars. No, it wasn't the way he smirked at the camera or the way he had more buttons open then were strictly necessary. What annoyed Draco Malfoy about Harry Potter was the way the conceited rock star was casually palming himself off in the middle of Draco's photo shoot.

Harry freaking Potter had his hand in his pocket and was wanking as thoroughly as one can subtly wank through a pocket. No one else but Potter's precious band mates seemed to notice, and neither the redhead nor Granger seemed to care.

He didn't need to put up with the arseholes but Draco Malfoy had been photographing The Golden Trio since his father told him it was the one thing that could bring more shame to their family, and that was the only reason he stuck with this shit-hole gig. Sure, they were famous and the photos made him money – a fucking lot of money – but Draco had options now, and photographing his old high school rivals would never be high on his list of fun things to do.

"Potter!" he barked, "Get your slutty little hands behind your head where I put them! This is not a Hogwarts dormitory!"

Potter smirked – he didn't even have the decency to blush – and Draco sighed, clicking the camera absently as he waited for the douche bag to get back into the position that would make money rather then supply a cheap pornographic website and provide fodder for dirty photo-shopped photos of himself and the Golden Boy. Draco could understand the delusion that the beautiful Harry Potter, boy of sunshine and rock and roll would fall for his unusual little Enemy Limpet Photographer and Ex Hogwarts Bad Boy Draco Malfoy, in fact he had even shared the dream a little in his final year of school. What he couldn't understand was why the public focussed on the photographer almost as much as they focussed on the rest of The Golden Trio. They shouldn't have even known who Draco Malfoy was, let alone be potentially editing his face next to Potter's hard on when these photos got released. Well, they should have known who he was but not because of Potter and his hard won reputation.

No, they should know the name Malfoy because his father worked for the biggest arsehole in the music industry. They shouldn't like him.

"Mr. Malfoy!" The voice of his boss – Dolores Umbridge, a deluded and recently demoted toad – cut through his thoughts, "You should know by now that you are hired to take photographs. You would do well to remember that."

Potter laughed heartily and kept stroking his fucking cock.

It was something in the way his impassive face slipped away when he concentrated. His face didn't really looked constipated to Harry Potter like Ron had suggested. No, to Harry Potter the way Draco Malfoy brushed his eyes up and down Harry's body, worrying his tongue at the corner of his lip, was positively sinful.

"Harry, that's hardly subtle," commented Hermione Granger, drummer of The Golden Trio.

"Pardon?"

"Get your hand out of your pants mate," said Ron, "It's a wonder he hasn't noticed." The bassist sounded bored, as though he'd had to say that sentence to his friend more times then he'd care to remember.

Because he had.

"You know, Ron," smirked Harry, watching Draco's eyes burn with anger and irritation, "I think he already has."

"You are a twisted little kink you know that mate?"
"Yep, isn't it brilliant?"

"Hermione. This is a stupid stupid idea!" Ron was pacing in the living room of the bands relatively large and relatively awesome London town-house, his cheeks growing redder and his arms flailing in erratic circles.

"No, it's perfect. Look, he's pretty much the only guy still willing to photograph us-"

"Only cause of that twisted wanky hate shit he's got going with Harry! If that doesn't say he's weird I don't know what fucking else is!"

"Actually Ronald, it's pretty much him saying fuck you to Malfoy senior. I'm pretty sure that 'twisted wanky hate shit' is Harry's one sided delusion, and you've lived with him pretty easily for... how long now?"

"Eight years," Ron muttered absently before returning to the topic at hand, "So, he's bitter and vindictive then! Not to mention conceited and irritating and vain as fucking shit!"

"What? And Harry's not? Come on Ron, it's only a few months and we need to do this or that Lavender witch will beat us in the polls again! Our hands are tied Ron!"

"What do polls matter? Are we a band or are we sell out whores for the media? And what's wrong with Lavender anyway?"

"What's wrong with Lavender? You're asking me that? You know what, Ron, why don't you go play guitar for her instead? I'm sure you'd make a beautiful couple but don't you dare come back to us "sell outs whores" if you leave again; I swear to God I will murder you if you do!"

"Ok, fine! Forget what I said about Lavender! We'll do majority! Harry?" Ron looked over at Harry pleadingly, begging him with his eyes to disagree with Hermione, to send the Ministry Record Company photographer bad boy packing before he even thought of arriving.

Harry barely looked up from his magazine and muttered between bites of his apple, "Malfoy's hot. We'll accept."

"Oh, thank you Harry!" muttered Ron shuffling stacks of lyrics and music that didn't need shuffling and walking around the room shaking his arms at things and pointing at his band mates, "I am so glad we're all taking this so seriously! I'm glad that we've all decided to act like adults for once! He's hot? He's hot? Fuck you Harry Potter! Fuck. You." Ron's mumbling followed him out the door and into his bedroom and was abruptly cut of by the sound of Metallica pumping through Ron's bedroom door.

"He'll come around," sighed Hermione as she peered up the stairwell after him.

Harry laughed his deep full laugh, "No he won't, Mione. Don't be such an optimist. He won't be happy unless we decide he was right and Malfoy will kill us in our sleep."

"Well, it's his own fault. He chose to go by majority vote," Hermione bit her lip as Harry played with her hair, "Harry, he's not right, is he? I mean, this is the right way to go, isn't it?"

"You tell me Mione; you're the one who spent all this time thinking about it and if your reasons sound good to you then they're probably brilliant to the rest of us. Besides, it's just a temporary room mate. You need to stop making things seem more serious then they are or you'll go spare worrying about us all."

"But, you have to admit, it's going to be hard for you two to live together with histories like yours. Not to mention that you're all weird when you're around him."

"Mione, I'm like that around a lot of boys."

"No, you just think you are. It's different with him, I'm there whenever he is. I think-"

"I think you're being to serious again Mione. Rejoice as we are young and free!"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Now shape up Mione. We have work to do on the house and then the recordings on top of that and we won't get anything done if you're all bent out of shape over a photographer taking a few action shots. Come on!"

Draco Malfoy's taxi pulled up in front of Harry's town-house on Grimmauld Place and he stepped out, surveying the quiet, upper class neighbourhood that had striking similarities his childhood home – the ornate white buildings reeked of superiority complexes and limited intelligence. When he first found out Harry was living there (his mother kept up with the selling and buying of Legacy properties and this one had belonged the Blacks, so she had told him straight away under the impression that Draco might be interested) Draco was shocked he could afford the place – this was when Harry was swimming through bad reviews like they were the treacle in a treacle filled pool called Harry Potter Has A Shit Band – but on review it seemed fitting that Potter would live here. He probably fit in rather well despite his band shirts and obvious lack of decorum.

Draco sighed, once again weighing up the chances of Umbridge realising this was a bad idea and letting him drop the project against the chances of pigs flying as he walked up to number 12 and pressed the doorbell. He rolled his eyes when the doorbell didn't chime, but played Hells Bells by AC/DC. It figured that Potter was still as ostentatious and obsessed with classic rock as he was in high school; Lord knew he was still as immature as he was when he stuck a sign to Draco's back in their graduation photos. It was probably why Draco was taking the photos these days instead of being in them, well that and his Father's pressure to choose in Slytherin – Hogwart's law program – over "Gryffindor for the Musically and Theatrically Gifted"; there had been a fad of photography in the Slytherin house, during Draco's second year, inspired by one of the fifth years' Hufflepuff girlfriend and Draco had taken it to heart, much to his father's disappointment. The irony was that Draco probably would have continued to the desired barrister position in the family firm had he been in Ravenclaw like he wanted, but his father had put his foot down and insisted on Slytherin, unwittingly paving Draco's way into a career in photography.

"I'll get it! I'm on my way out anyway," came a shout from upstairs. Female, so either Granger or one of the boy's sluts. Probably Weasley's; rumour had it that Potter was more inclined towards house guests of the male variety. Which Draco did not care about, Harry Potter could (and probably would) fuck anyone as long as anyone was not Draco Malfoy, which was not possible, let alone likely. They hated each other. But not because Potter was a slut. Yes, Potter was a whore but Draco could understand that and even sympathise. The reason really was that Potter was simply crude. He was classless and obvious and paid no attention to the rules of things and quite frankly that was unforgivable.

A flurry of giggling preceded a blonde opening the front door. He vaguely recognised her as a Gryffindor from his year – Lavender Brown, the most recent media darling – and wondered disinterestedly how Granger felt about that. Weasley was easier to read though; the boy probably brought home a girl they knew because he lost the argument over whether Draco would stay and do his "few months in the life of" photography collection. It was a brilliant idea, Draco's of course; he just wished he could have chosen who's life he would spend three months in. But, no matter how much he hated Harry and his 'biffles', he had to admit that following the Trio as per Toad Umbridge's orders would allow him both the time and finances to focus on serious photography instead of magazine covers that sold merely for the stars included in them rather then his own considerable merit. Draco wouldn't get that following Lavender Brown and her mediocre touring band. He also had to grudgingly admit that Lavender Brown and co. would not provide the opportunity for great work that following the Trio would.

He cocked his head and looked into the hallway, looking at surprisingly formal decorations and recognising the traditional formula's and layouts from his childhood home in the architecture as Harry wondered past, "Get in or shut the door Malfoy."

And so Malfoy stood for another moment, walked in and indicated for the men carrying his bags to follow.

"Blimey Malfoy," he heard Weasley practically yell, "Did you leave anything at your own fucking house?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Just show them where to put them Weasley," and pointed imperiously to the stairs.

Hermione smiled weakly at Ron, "At least he's making himself at home?"

"Hermione."

"Yes Ron?"

"Don't talk to me."

The End. Read on dear readers, read on.