Summary: Colin Creevey is extremely pleased. Things are going exactly according to plan. And he is loving it!
Characters/Pairings: Colin Creevey + cameos by various characters and surprise pairings
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; CRACK fic! and lots of innuendo
Word Count: 1,652
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: nope =P
Author’s Note: This was written for the July 4.0. The prompt was “a Harry Potter spin off.” So, naturally, things took a crack-y turn. Title borrowed from SQ's current fic fest. I hope you like it, because it was lots of fun to write! =)
Lights flashed repeatedly as numerous cameras shot over and over again, capturing the ongoing photo shoot from various angles.
“Yes, yes, that’s perfect, darling. You look positively ravishing!” Colin Creevey paced back and forth behind the main photographer. He studied the models before him with a calculating eye, delighting in their natural charisma in front of the camera. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair was styled just so, giving him a “just-shagged” look. The tight, red leather pants he wore showed off his well-toned thighs and ridiculously fit bottom, and the see-through, snakeskin print top he wore did nothing to hide his washboard abs, honed with years of core-focused workouts. Colin Creevey, the twenty-nine year old Wizard bachelor who now lived and worked in Muggle London, was every man’s dream (and many a woman’s, but unfortunately for them, he never gave them the time of day). And, boy, did he know it.
His swagger was enough to distract the photographer, who kept eyeing him up and down surreptitiously as though he were undressing him in his mind (which, to be fair, he probably was). The two gophers, both females and both teenagers, did not even bother disguising their interested stares. They gawked openly at him as if he were a piece of meat. Even the models—the ones-and-only Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood, Adrian Pucey, and Seamus Finnigan—who were completely decked out in their Quidditch gear—threw flirtatious winks and air kisses at the blonde bombshell, so often that the photographer had loudly chastised them on their inappropriate and unprofessional behavior (but, really, the man was just jealous).
Yes, Colin attracted a lot of attention and promises for late-night (and early morning, mid-morning, lunch time, mid-afternoon, and early evening) promiscuity. And he loved it. He soaked up the attention like a dried-up sponge tossed in a bucket of soapy water.
“Yes, this angle is perfect. Marcus, love, do that lovely growly thing—yes, that one. Oh, you look amazing. And Oliver, flex those pecs this way, baby. You know the camera loves it. Hell, I love it!” Colin shouted orders and encouragements in his usual flamboyant manner, goading his models into striking daring, sensual poses that was sure to attract thousands of viewers as soon as the graphic designers finished the first season’s posters.
“Oh, Adrian, that shy, docile look of yours is just splendid. I bet you make a great bottom, don’t you, doll? Mmm…I’ll have to test that out sometime. I’m a pitcher, you know.” Colin threw a blushing Adrian Pucey a salacious wink, and the camera kept snapping. “And Seamus, it’s too bad these Muggle posters can’t have moving images. I would love for those Muggle teenage girls to watch you stroke those luscious locks of yours. After this releases, darling, you will have a bevy of women at your doorstep. Oh, they are going to die when they hear your Irish brogue in their living rooms. I absolutely cannot wait!” Colin clapped gleefully, hopping a bit in his delight. Things were going extremely well so far, everything according to plan, and as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
And truly, they were. The staff that Colin’s brother, Dennis Creevey, had rounded up for this project had proved to be not only competent, but creative, daring, and spontaneous to boot. The stylists and make-up artists had completely rolled with the punches, as they say, and had worked from dawn to dusk on various hair styles and looks that suited each character perfectly. The camera crew had worked diligently round the clock with set-up and shooting. Dennis, who was also the co-director and co-producer of this little project, had finished nearly twenty-seven minutes worth of the pilot episode and several exclusive “trailer scenes” (which were not traditional trailers, as the brothers really wanted to break the mold with this series, and were, instead, ‘mini-sodes’ that they would fully air on the Internet, with smaller, sixty-second versions on television) in the past thirty-six hours.
The actors themselves, moreover, had been quite spectacular. The lad casted to play Harry Potter (who, as Colin and Dennis had decided, would be in his fourth year when the series began) looked perfect for the part, with just the right amount of shaggy, unkempt hair, and a long-lashed, somewhat sullen gaze that made women want to cuddle him. He played the heartbroken hero really rather well. The woman who would be playing Hermione Granger was also rather fetching, with her heart-stopping grin and riotous, dark brown curls that framed her sweet face (and that body of hers had Dennis practically panting after her). And the man playing Ronald Weasley, well, he was Colin’s personal favorite. He had just the right amount of mischief glinting in his soulful blue eyes, a playful grin, a disarming wink, and a bum so tight you could bounce a knut off it (and Colin had definitely done that—in more ways than one). Not to mention, his potion-red hair was perfect for a man to run his fingers through when snogging (and Colin had undoubtedly done that, too).
Indeed, Colin was extremely pleased with the way things were going so far. If this kept up, they would hit the deadline with time to spare. He grinned in anticipation.
“Crikey, it’s a mad house in here, isn’t it, Col?”
A familiar voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to see the original members of the Golden Trio—accompanied by their dashing spouses—approaching him.
“My darlings! I’m so glad you made it!” He rushed forward and enveloped them all in hugs, cheekily kissing the four gentlemen, who blushed profusely at the gesture. “I was afraid that at this rate you’d never see the behind-the-scenes action before the actual action showed up on TV.” He beamed at them, arms akimbo before stretching them out to acknowledge the room at large. “Well, what do you think? Isn’t it all positively brilliant?”
Ginny Potter giggled, her red hair flipping as she turned this way and that to take in the full effect. “It’s incredible, Col,” she enthused. “I admit, dear, I had my doubts when you and Den first approached us with this concept, but it all looks like it’s going quite swimmingly.”
“Indeed,” Blaise Zabini-Weasley piped up, his arm going around his husband of four years. “I’ve got to hand it to you and your brother, mate. I didn’t think this was going to work out, but those demos you sent to us are hilarious. And those Quidditch players,” he nodded his head to the four former-schoolmates-come-models, an appreciative smile on his handsome face, “they look ravishing.”
That last comment earned him an elbow in the ribs from Ron, who looked none too pleased. “Excuse me?” he rumbled, leaning forward to nip Blaise’s earlobe in chastisement.
“Aw, come on, love. You know it’d be fun to invite them home for a night. Oliver, at least? Or Marcus? I still don’t think Seamus will take my offer up, unfortunately. He always refuses my advances.”
“You know threesomes make me uncomfortable, Blaise.” The tips of Ron’s ears were turning slightly pink, a sure sign that he was growing steadily embarrassed.
“That’s just because you haven’t had a good one, love. Your first experience with those Patil twins was not at all a good introduction, and that one with Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson? Please. You know I’ll make this experience better, you just have to—”
“Ahem.” Hermione glared at the Italian, making her husband chuckle. “Blaise Giovanni Zabini-Weasley, please do us all a favor and keep those anecdotes of your sexual escapades to yourself. Or at least in a private conversation, where we aren’t subjected to your inappropriate conduct.”
“Ah, cut him a break, kitten,” Draco Malfoy drawled, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “He was hardly being inappropriate.” His grin turned wicked, and his eyes dropped down very obviously to peek at Hermione’s creamy cleavage. “Besides, I think anecdotes of our sexual escapades could put all of theirs to shame.”
“Draco Malfoy!” Hermione’s voice was shrill, cheeks flushing a bright red in her embarrassment, and the group laughed merrily.
“Lighten up, ‘Mione,” Colin coaxed. “Besides, I need you in a good mood when you witness the first kiss scene between the Houses of Hogwarts’ own Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. And wait ‘til you see the bloke playing Draco. He is sexy! Mmm, mm. Oh, don’t worry, Draco. He doesn’t swing her way; he prefers my type.” With a wink, he led the group further into the room. “Ooh, look, the photo shoot is winding up. I’ve got to give it to him, Dennis was spot on when he said we should get some of the former house team players to play this season’s seventh year Quidditch hot shots. They look absolutely lethal. Mmm, look at Marcus go. That’s right, baby! You work those hips!”
Harry Potter stayed behind, a small grin on his face as he watched his wife and friends tour the studio. He would have never thought, when he’d been a tiny eleven-year-old seeing Hogwarts for the first time, or a fourth year trying to survive a Triwizard Tournament, or a seventh year searching for Horcruxes, that, over a decade later, he would be married with three children. Or that his two best friends would have made it through with him and been married—both to Slytherins, oddly enough—with families of their own. Or that their story would eventually be plastered over Muggle and Wizarding media alike (though televisions were still not terribly wide-spread in the Wizarding world, but Houses of Hogwarts would definitely be made available to interested magical consumers). No, Harry really had not ever imagined that any of this could be possible.
It just goes to show you that life can really surprise you sometimes.
And, you know, Harry was quite all right with that.