Chapter Text
"Stupid bloody exams."
Harry sighed and ruffled his hair. Madame Pince was at her desk yelling at a few second years who were causing too much ruckus over a game of Wizard's Chess. "No tomfoolery in this library!" she screeched, and Harry had half a mind to cover his ears. He winced and bent his head down. Even Hermione had the left the library for Prefect duty; she was a bossy Prefect once again now that they were back, which left Harry alone in the library, bored to tears and wishing he was by the Great Lake or even at Hagrid's eating stale cakes as tough as stones, at least. Then again, if he left the library it would mean running into Ginny, and honestly, he didn't want to come face to face with her just yet. He broke it off first, she wasn't exactly happy about it and ran back to Dean.
Harry didn't have the heart to tell Ginny that he finally came to terms with the fact that he'd rather be throwing Dean's ankles up in the air than hers.
A loud thump came from deeper in the library. Harry jolted; it was just habit now after the War. He glanced discreetly at Pince, who was still demeaning the second years. The noise came from the Restricted Section.
Well, it wouldn't be much of a fuss to go and see what fell. Harry was simply too stubborn and curious to resist. He scooted his chair back and snuck through the aisle to where he first heard the sound.
Hmm. A book lay on its cover, the shiny red paperback devoid of script. He bent down to pick it up and look at the cover. He choked.
It was himself. It was Harry on the cover...shirtless and leaning back into a strong embrace. With a wiry armed man—it was most definitely a man—hard, lean, lightly muscled chest with a fine, soft dusting of hair, black pants slung low but not low enough. But there was only one tiny problem, though there seemed to be a lot of problematic things where this book was concerned.
The man had no face. Or hair on his head. It was just a blank, fleshy oval.
"What..." Harry flipped through the book. The pages were blank too. The book looked like the stereotypical trashy Muggle smut novel, except Harry was on the cover, not some rogue duke or rugged police officer with metal handcuffs. It was just a strikingly accurate picture of Harry, who was now animated and rubbing his bum enthusiastically against the faceless man's covered groin. The only thing written on it was the title: 'Steamed Seduction.'
Harry swallowed and tucked the book into his robes. He had to investigate this further.
Harry lay in bed studying the book, his wand raised. It wasn't a Horcrux, those were all gone, and Harry would be able to tell if it was dark magic...he hoped. But who knew what kind of sick joke this was? Maybe it was charmed to turn into whoever touches it. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Harry opened the blank book. Neat, typewriter style words ticked on the page.
Greetings, Harry Potter.
Harry didn't write in it. He gaped at the book instead.
I know you've had a rough time of it. Poor thing.
Harry nodded slowly. He and the book could agree on that, at least.
Well, I'm here to help. It's obvious you aren't succeeding much on your own.
"I'm succeeding!" Harry huffed. He was doing pretty well in his classes, save for Potions of course. But he had a sneaky feeling the book wasn't talking about his grades.
Lonely, sad little boy, the book typed, and Harry glared at the page. Looking for a bit of deep, hot spice in your tea, are we? The Boy Who Lived To Be A Lukewarm Cup Of Sugar Water.
"Hey!" Harry cried, slamming (if he could slam a paperback closed, at least) the book shut and shoving it under his bed. What the bloody hell?
He shook his head, cast a Nox, since he had the room to himself for now, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Harry woke up to harsh sunlight beating through his eyelids. He stretched with a yawn and hopped out of bed, pulling on his trousers and tie. He glanced over at the bed. The book lay cover down, barely hidden by his blankets. Harry bent down to pick it up and opened it to the page that scathingly tore him down the other night. It was blank. He sighed and tossed it in his bag before heading out of the Common Room to have breakfast.
"Hi Harry," came a timid voice. Harry glanced down; he may be pretty damn short, but Dennis Creevey was even shorter.
"Hullo," Harry said. "I'm sorry about Colin, I really--"
"Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me?" Dennis blurted out and then clasped his hands over his mouth as he turned a brilliant shade of purple-red.
"Er..." Harry started, as Dennis giggled frantically.
"Harry!"
Harry turned. Seamus was rushing towards him with purpose.
"Creevey," Seamus said coldly. Dennis turned and fled down the corridor. "So, Harry. Do you want to hang out in Hogsmeade sometime? I'm good at making things...explode," Seamus winked, as Harry gaped.
"Well, er, I..."
Seamus patted him on the back. "I can cancel with Alecia, so I'm free this weekend."
Words caught in Harry's throat. What the...Seamus was dating Alecia Spinnet. And...well, he actually didn't know about Dennis, but he knew that the Creevey brothers had always worshipped him so that made sense at least. What in the bloody hell was happening?
"Er, thanks, Seamus, but I'm going to study with Hermione this weekend," Harry lied. Seamus' face clouded and his smile turned downcast.
"Hussy," Seamus muttered, and marched off as Harry stared after him. Inhaling sharply, he made his way down to the Great Hall.
When he walked through the door, the chatter in the Hall dimmed a bit. Faces that he didn't even recognize well enough turned to stare at him.
Male faces.
Girlfriends poked boyfriends, who seemed to be fixated on every motion Harry made. He sat down next to Hermione and buried his face in his hands.
"Harry?"
"Huh," Harry sighed.
Hermione poked his shoulder. "Everyone's staring at you."
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Who the hell knows," Harry moaned, and lifted his head up to clutch a fork in his trembling hand, trying to ignore the eyes that bored into him.
"Pay. ATTENTION."
Ladles started stirring potions again, as Harry stared into his cauldron silently. He glanced up; most of the boys were still staring at him, only their hands were gripped around their ladles again. Thank Merlin.
"Counterclockwise, you twits," Snape snapped. At least Snape was always an instant boner killer. The class bent their heads down and focused on their potions once more.
Finally class was over, and Potions was the last class of the day. Harry could escape...the Common Room was too accessible, but he could go to Hagrid's. Only the students seemed to be after him, thank God, and Harry was going to make a quick exit any minute now.
"You idiots have managed to bungle up yet another basic potion. Only Miss Parkinson and..." Snape paused, as Hermione huffed, "...Miss Granger have seemed to accomplished something. Potter, stay after class."
Or not. Harry scowled into his cauldron as the rest of the class filtered out of the room. Harry didn't lift his face, but Snape started to speak anyway.
"I see that defeating the Dark Lord has inflated your already planet-sized ego, Potter. Your fan club has expanded even more."
Harry gnashed his teeth. He had half a mind to pull the book out of his bag and ask Snape what kind of...curse the book had placed on him, (because it HAD to be the book,) but he didn't really want to brandish a book with him humping a faceless man in Snape's face. Ugh.
"I didn't ask for it, you know," Harry muttered and glanced up to catch Snape's face twist, his crooked teeth bared.
"Ah, yes, the illustrious Potter," Snape started, and Harry sighed. This could go on for hours, and Harry didn't want to spend any more time with Snape than was necessary. He'd rather hang with even Creevey. "Never to blame, despite hoards of enthusiastic fans worshipping at his feet. Surely he wouldn't preen his feathers, and he wouldn't indulge them because that's simply too...pedestrian."
Harry nearly saw red. He wanted to smash his metal ladle in Snape's sneering face and knock a few yellow teeth out. It might fix his nose, though.
"May I leave, sir?" Harry forced the words out, his hand clutched around his ladle, ready to smash Snape's face in. He didn't care how many points he would lose. He was even willing to take on Azkaban.
"Ten points," Snape said.
"For what?" Harry screeched. Snape smirked.
"For distracting my class. Now go find someone to salivate over you. I'm sure it won't be hard." Snape turned his back on Harry and made his way toward his desk as Harry grabbed his bag and marched off.
The day seemed to go on forever. Harry was exhausted. He managed to reject all offers to meet in Hogsmeade (and the Astronomy Tower) and he was bloody well sick of it. Couldn't he ever catch a break?
He tore through his bag to grab the book and open it, wand brandished. "What the hell are you?"
Have fun today, Harry?
"Absolutely not!" Harry hissed. "What kind of dark magic are you?"
I'll tell if you tell me all of your dirty little secrets, the book wrote, and Harry flushed. He didn't really have any, and that was the problem. The book seemed to know that somehow. Not to worry. I'm nothing bad, not really. I'll help you out more than you know.
"You're more trouble than you're worth, you cheap piece of tree bark," Harry seethed. He knew the book couldn't hear him, but it seemed to because words kept pouring on the page.
I know you're upset with me, but this is for your own good. I think you deserve a little bit of love in your life.
"I don't need help from a magical porn book," Harry muttered. If books could smirk, Harry was certain that this one would.
Just you wait, the book wrote. You'll thank me in the end. Now get some beauty sleep. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.
And today was only Tuesday. Harry groaned, closed the book, and curled up in his bed. He flopped down and pressed the pillow over his head. How could this get any worse?