Harry took a look around the bustling room at the grand manor house he'd found himself in, and wondered if he'd ever get used to days like this.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, enjoying the seconds he had before someone caught sight of him and whisked him way, into the madness. Sure enough, his publicist Lisa Turpin appeared from another room and her eyes lit up with urgency at the sight of him.

"Good, you're here," she said, rushing over and placing her hand on the small of his back to escort him around the various people dashing back and forth. She was a shrewd woman who Harry had always liked from their days at school together. How she kept Harry's impossible schedule straight for him he had no idea, but he was always extremely grateful.

"Sorry I'm late, work-"

Lisa, a tall black woman with neat braids that flowed all the way down her shoulder blades, gave him her Look, and he fell quiet. She knew he had a real job at the Ministry, but that wasn't her concern. Her concern was The Boy That Lived.

"What's the deal today then," Harry said, changing tactics, and she nodded business like. People had lights being set up and reflectors and notepads and paper airplane memos zipping over their heads in a general air of chaos, but Harry guessed everything was probably in hand if Lisa had anything to do with it.

"Fluff piece," Lisa informed him, plonking him in a chair next to a sink nestled in a short pillar, a mirror and a trolley littered with hair products. "They want mostly photos, and a few words about how you're getting on."

Harry sighed. "So this is literally one of those ones where people just like to see I'm still alive?" he asked. At least there wouldn't a lengthy interview, he hated those, but he felt aggravated when his celebrity status was seen as being more important than actually being an Auror.

"Smile and be a good boy now," Lisa smirked, already halfway across the room, her heals clacking on the polished wooden floorboards. "Your stylist is on his way."

"Did you get-" Harry asked, unable to help jolting up in his seat as she made to leave the room.

"Yes," she said kindly, poking her head back in and leaning on the doorframe. "I got him."

She vanished and left Harry alone in the relatively small room with everyone else bustling about, getting the shoot ready in the manor's impressive master bedroom. Harry cringed and begged to the gods he wouldn't be asked to writhe around on the plush bedding. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Missed me Potter?" a familiar voice drawled, and Harry looked around with a smile as Draco Malfoy entered the room, slapping a fine-toothed comb repeatedly on his palm as he smirked back down at Harry.

As always, his long legs were clad in black leather trousers and his white shirt had one too many buttons undone, not that Harry was complaining. His sleeves were rolled up, unabashedly revealing his Dark Mark tattoo, and his pale blond hair draped into his eyes as he swivelled Harry's chair to face the mirror surrounded by soft, glowing lights. "Goodness me," he drawled playfully. "Do you even wash your own hair, or do you simply roll around in twigs before our appointments just to spite me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny Malfoy," he said, pulling self-consciously at his as ever unruly hair. "You know it just does this all by itself."

Draco batted his hand away and began training his slender fingers across Harry's scalp, letting his course black hair slide through them.

Harry felt his eyes flutter just a little.

"Well it's a good job you have me then," he said, talking into their reflections in the mirror. Unlike a lot of wizarding mirrors, this one just displayed their regular reflection back, as it made it easier for Draco to work. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded, and he was spun around again to lean his head back into the basin, the sound of Draco playing with the water soothing him and allowing him to close his eyes and relax.