• 1-When Do I Get to Have That?
• 2-How Tight are We?
• 3-Do You Want to F--K or What?
• 4-What About My Image?
• 5-Did You Know That S/M was Your Thing?
• 6-You Know that its all Your Fault Right?
• 7-The Rita Skeeter Effect ?
• 8-And Your Plan Is ?

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What About My Image?

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Harry stepped out of the fireplace expecting loud entrancing, sensual music to ensnare him. He expected to see shadows of bodies moving in rhythm to the beat. He expected to see men and exotic muggle strobe lights highlighting the most sexually active parts of the club. He did not expect to see an odd red curtain a few feet in front of him. It made Harry think of the veil that had ended his godfather, Sirius’ life. Ignoring the twist in his gut, Harry marched forward and searched for the curtain opening.

An audible gasp met Harry as he moved through the fabric and stood in shock at the brightly light room filled with reporters with their Quick Quills moving avidly. The silence ended abruptly and the crowd surged forward, questions growing louder as the group moved forward as one entity. Harry backed up and searched for the curtain entrance only to find a solid brick wall behind him. There was no way out. It was a trap and for the first time in a long time, Harry cursed magic and its ability to transform the mundane into something spectacular. Of course, the wall itself was not great by any stretch of the imagination. It was just an ordinary brick wall that was currently preventing him from escaping the cluster of persistent reporters.

“Stand aside! Stand aside, this will definitely make the front page of The Daily Prophet!” Another voice lauded as he jostled his way to the forefront of the group. The cluster of reporters didn’t seem to want to budge as he began elbowing forward, his camera snapping pictures causing flashes of bright white light to momentarily blind him.

“Au contraire, this could be the work of a sophisticated polyjuice potion.” Harry watched as the woman tapped her lips with a sharp fingernail. He Quick Quills pen moving at an alarming rate. Harry’s breath hitched as he waited for her to continue. If he allowed her to cover for him, Harry knew that something very big and very personal would be exchanged in return. Rita Skeeter never did anything for free unless coerced.

Harry kept his hands peeled for a crack in the wall behind him. Anything that would get him away from the room without the reporters knowing that he was who they thought he was. Harry moved further to the left and caught the intense gaze of an older reporter. The light gray eyes reminded Harry of something or someone that he had forgotten. Frowning, Harry stilled a hand that would have characteristically rubbed his scar and possibly identified him as the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort. Their eyes met for a few moments before the reporters around him began to verbally doubt the authenticity of his appearance.

“There’s no story here. He’s just some pathetic wizard trying to tarnish the memory of the one who defeated You-Know-Who.” The old man Harry had been starring at spoke up. His voice trembled from his old age. Harry fought the urge to smile. The senile old coot had believed him. It was a moment later that the hand resting on the firm brick found itself grasping the velvet fabric of the curtain that had disappeared. Harry moved as fast as he could manage and vaulted himself through an opening in the fabric. In the process, Harry pulled another unsuspecting wizard past him and into the snare of the reporters. Harry turned just as the curtain closed and breathed a sigh of relief. This wouldn’t be the last time he heard from Rita Skeeter.

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Harry flooed back to his flat and sat down on in an armchair. He knew that he would have to find out the new location for Hidden or miss out on meeting the man who caused his friends to think he was a vampire. Growling lightly, Harry reclined in his chair and watched as the sun died down behind his curtains. He waited until the darkness of the night stole over the sky before standing to finish three final files on his current case. If he couldn’t focus on his mystery man, then he would focus instead on Greyback. The werewolf would pay for what he did to aid Voldemort. It was only just that Harry be the one to offer him the Wolfsbane potion or Azkaban. After all, the werewolf had evaded capture by Aurors for this long. There was no reason why Harry couldn’t enjoy the hunt for the notorious Fenrir Greyback.

As Harry made his way to his briefcase, he knew that he would be hearing from Rita Skeeter in a matter of hours or days confirming her knowledge his sexual interests. Harry tried not to think of what story The Daily Prophet would run about him. Not to mention the flak he would receive from Hermione and Ron about his sexual misadventures. They would be coming around his flat to bother him, again. There was no way that he was just going to lay in wait for them show up. Acting on compulsion, Harry stood over his desk, the makeshift home office wasn’t as impressive as Hermione’s or even Ron’s for that matter. The room had only a barely used desk and three chairs, one behind the desk and two in front. Similar to his office at work, there were no plethora pictures of his family or friends on the walls or desk nor was there a bookshelf. Harry liked to keep things simple. The fewer things he had in plain sight, the less he had to think about his public obligations and private pains.

Reaching for his briefcase that was lying limply on top of his desk, Harry began shoving the loose case files on the desk and on the chairs into the bag. Once he finished, he headed to his bedroom and chucked a few shirts, pairs of trousers into the briefcase and two pairs of shoes in to it as well. In the bathroom, he recovered an unopened pack of toothbrushes and tube of toothpaste. He placed those in the bag a long with a waxed bar of soap and two wash clothes. Harry smirked at his use of the extendable charm placed inside of his briefcase save him from having to pack another bag. It wasn’t too long ago that he’d regretted magic. A nagging feeling in the back of Harry’s mind made him think that he would regret it again when his friends came calling.

Harry opened his front door and turned to set the wards as soon as the door was closed. He needed some time to clear his head and headed for The Leaky Cauldron. The inn was sketchy but it would provide him with a night to get a head start on the search he should have begun days ago. A part of Harry supposed that the public discovery of Hidden pushed him to work on his Greyback case. He would have to report into the office soon as it was. He was not looking forward to hearing the howler Auror Bungard would surely send him when he discovered the morning’s Daily Prophet.

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It was amazing how wonderful a crescent moon could be when experienced in the right mood. Fenrir reclined back against the rough tree he had been lounging against for some time now. He ignored how warm the weather felt against his skin. He ignored the odd fly that kept buzzing by his ear.

Fenrir ignored the witch’s muttering. He didn’t need to acknowledge her presence. He just needed her money and her knowledge. “How is life in the freeworld?” Fenrir inquired not too concerned about the answer.

He turned to face the witch as she adjusted her glasses and reached for her wand. The appearance of it made Fenrir bare his teeth. If that infernal witch took out her floating pad once more, he would have to make an example of her magical capabilities, again. The pause in her movement established who was in charge of this transaction. In the faint moonlight and using his inhuman sense of sight in the dark, Fenrir could see the slight tremble in her fingers. Had Fenrir been closer, he was sure he would be able to hear the quickening of her heartbeat and the affect it would have upon the fabric of her simple pale jade robes. Perhaps perspiration was gathering under her arms as well? Fenrir sniffed conspicuously and bared his teeth again for good measure.

“I have given you your story, now I want my end of the deal satisfied.” Fenrir watched the woman tap her wand against her bottom lip. He knew by that expression that the witch was deciding how to best manipulate the situation to her favor.

Fenrir knew when his emotions were being played with, “I gave you Harry Potter, not some night club. He appeared did he not?” Fenrir resisted the urge to stand and threaten her by the sheer magnitude of his physical presence. He would gain nothing that way.

The tightly curled blonde coils rocked to and fro as she nodded in agreement. “Potter is right where I want him. I am writing an exclusive about him and his sexuality you know. I always knew that the Weasley girl wouldn’t be enough to tame a wild man like that.”

Fenrir watched her excitement with quiet satisfaction. Rita Skeeter would do anything for the big story and this was no exception. “Yes, you are quite exceptional. You have me in the palm of your hand. Now, will you pay me for your exclusive?”

”I would, but I haven’t got everything I need for the story just yet. I need something more than Harry being a mere poof. I need something more substantial on him. Did you bite him?”

Fenrir stood with amazing speed causing Rita Skeeter to jump back in surprise and barely suppressed fear. “I asked you a question and I expect answer. I gave you your inside scoop. I don’t understand why you are wasting time here with me when you could be writing your silly column.”

Overcoming whatever had caused her to back away, Rita moved forward with an impressive expression of control, “I will not be one of the dozens that will be running such a story tomorrow. No one knows that that was the real Harry Potter. I publically doubted the authenticity of such an appearance. The power of a mere polyjuice potion could have caused that Boy-Who-Lived sighting.”

Fenrir roared with laughter. When he was able to regain control, he spoke, “It looks to me like you have ruined your own good fortune. For your information,” Fenrir stepped closer to the desperate witch, “I have not ceremonially bitten the boy.”

Fenrir shook his head, “And how, pray tell, do you expect me to find him after you’ve worked so hard to shut down and expose the only place where he frequented to quench his sexual appetite? The rumor that Hidden was protected by a Secret Keeper and other non-verbal measures will not work again for another location. It took time and money to create that club. The atmosphere alone used some complicated charms. I haven’t used a wand in over decade. I detest the use of such lowly things. Wandless magic is my strength. I have done what you have asked. I wanted my cut.”

Flexing his biceps for emphasis, Fenrir watched as the witch removed a small pouch from inside her robes. He knew that it was filled with gold. It would be like the last payment a pouch full of enough gold to live without interacting with the Wizarding World. Fenrir supposed that that was his contribution to the community. No, he had not fought for the side of the Order. He had fought and lost for himself. There was no reason for him to continue to be hunted by weak wizards who were more afraid of what he was rather than what he represented. He was not a freak, a cursed animal who needed to be dominated. He was in tune with nature and with is magic. There was no need for him to interact with the toxic environment of the Wizarding World. He had closed himself to it for this long, there was no reason to open that door again. Being with Harry had been wonderful, but he was sure that the boy thought he was nothing more than a vampire.

Fenrir sighed, “If the moment is right and the pay is worth the trip to Azkaban.” A ghost of a smile etched itself onto his face. How had it been since he’d sunk his teeth into another human? He was much too old to be creating a pack and watching over them, but he was no less intrigued by the idea. A distant howl brought Fenrir out of his thoughts and caused Rita to shudder. He was still a monster to her, but she had kept her mouth shut about him.

Rita closed her eyes as she pocketed her wand, “You do know that there is no payment large enough, no fortune so great that it will transcend death and follow you into the afterlife. You would be killed for turning Harry Potter, just as surely as I would be given the kiss.”

“There’s no harm in coming close. Write about his odd habits: eating raw meat, night vision and insomnia. Turn his most private thoughts of what could be going wrong with his body and magic into a public scandal.” Fenrir consoled. He knew, he understood Rita’s urge for wider readership. Fenrir had often looked forward to the fear he incited in his victims and his victims’ families and his soon-to-be victims.

Rita nodded as she opened her eyes. Her characteristic Quick Quills pen was scribbling furiously. “So, he was bitten, but not by you?”

Fenrir grinned toothily, “No comment” and walked away. Rita knew better than to follow him as he disappeared further into the forest.

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Is the Savior of the Wizarding World A Vampire?

Every respectable witch and wizard has been waiting for the most famous and revered wizard of this generation to take a bride. With bated breath, the well-known blood traitor clan, the Weasley’s have been patiently awaiting a letter or firecall carrying the message of undying love from a wealthy prince to their impoverished redheaded, freckle-faced daughter, Ginerva Weasley. Atlas, this message shall never come. For the prince, the favorite of the ill-famed deceased Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’s students suffers from a fate worse than an unnatural desire for members of the same sex. No, this misguided youth from the days of boyhood has most likely divulged in his secret desire for other boys.

Mr. Harry James Potter has hidden well his lust for men and become entranced in an unhealthy relationship with creatures shunned from society. Who might these cursed creatures be? You may be asking yourself. Those that fear the night and the dangers that afflict those who dwell in the light know of these cursed beings. Their skill at seduction is unrivaled. Their insatiable quest for blood cannot be quelled. These being seek solitude and shelter from the sunlight and exist for the call of the full moon and sanctity of night.

The proclivities of Mr. James Potter is for men and among all the wizards in our world, he has turned to Vampires! Mr. Potter indulges in feasts involving raw meat, uncooked running red with blood. He has been entrusted with the agility of their kind. The ability to see in the darkness of the night is merely one of his new talents. Recently, Mr. Potter was relinquished from his day job at the Auror Office at the Ministry for Magic. One can only infer that his inability to stay alert during waking hours had impeded him from his duties to you, the public. (The Auror Office was unable to comment on the abrupt change in Mr. Potter’s working environment from the public communal office to a solitary home office.)

While no witch or wizard is safe from the transformative qualities of intimate relations with creatures allotted certain respectability within the magical hierarchy, Mr. Potter must be held accountable. Similar to his role model and predecessor, Mr. Potter is not above reproach. It is our duty as lawful witches and wizards who survived the attempted reign of a madman to ask ourselves what kind standards we have. As new citizens of a new era of freedom, it is up to you to monitor the behavior of prominent public figures who affect our lives. Rita Skeeter.

This article is a special presentation that will rely on the comments of readers to guide the leading the topics.