8 The Price of Fame

Harry watched and listened carefully, clearly thinking about what had just happened. They sat in silence for a minute, both contemplating the future, but for very different reasons, with just as different goals.

Lockhart knew the contract wasn't worth the parchment it occupied, but it did provide a framework for them. Plus, he knew that the only person to object to the contract wouldn't as it would out him as the boy's illegal guardian. And in the absence of challenges, the contract would stand.

"There is one more thing, Harry."

The black-haired boy looked up curiously.

"Photographs and autographs," the Wizard said.

Harry groaned.

"Hear me out, Harry. This could make it much easier for you here in Hogwarts for the long term."

The boy sighed dramatically and crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair.

"Colin Creepy . . . ."

Harry's eyebrows went up again.

". . . is going to be stalking you. I know the type, I really do. He's going to be taking pictures of you all the time. Whether you want him to or not. He is your very own, personal paparazzi." He paused a moment, reminiscing, "This takes me back to the beginning of my career when I realized I had my first, real fan." He sighed theatrically.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Creepy's a nice kid, he really is, but he's like a bull terrier. Once he gets after you, he never stops. All you can do is set some boundaries. Took me a few years to figure out that little tidbit, I tell you now!" He grinned conspiratorially at Harry.

Harry sighed again.

It was funny how Harry never asked just how Gilderoy knew this about a student he had only met that day.

"You can either threaten him or you can work with him. The first will make everyone hate you for being mean to a Firstie. The second can make a huge difference in making you look like a good guy.

"Here's how it works. Tell him to meet you after dinner Saturday next, tell him to bring plenty of film. He'll be giddy with excitement, but make him promise not to tell anyone, at all, or everyone will show up and interfere with what the two of you will be doing.

"When you get together, make a deal with him. You will make him your official photographer. Once a month, the two of you will get together and he will take pictures of you around the castle. Once a month, the two of you will get together and review those pictures. He has to give you a copy of every picture he takes, and you together will select which pictures he can sell.

Harry sat up straight in astonishment, opening his mouth to protest.

"Wait," the professor held up his finger.

Looking mutinous, Harry sank back in his chair.

"In exchange, Mr. Creepy will agree to not take pictures of you anywhere else, and to not bother you at all!"

Harry was doing a fair imitation of a goldfish — bulging eyes and gaping mouth.

"And this way you control what people see! I guarantee you that he already has people asking him for pictures of you. And you really don't want every picture he takes available to everyone in the Castle. I'm sure the Slytherins would queue up by the dozens to buy pictures of you picking your nose, scratching your arse, or falling on your face after someone trips you."

Harry was looking alarmed.

"So, you set a price of a six knuts for each photograph, and he has to split it with you fifty-fifty. And if anyone brings you a picture and wants your autograph, you charge them two sickles."

"Two sickles!"

The boy was going to get emotional whiplash if he wasn't careful.

"Yes, two sickles. This does several things. First, it keeps hundreds of students from swamping you, every day, wanting you to sign the picture they just bought.

"When your friends ask why you're charging for the autographs you say it is to keep the arseholes away, as only someone serious will be willing to pay two sickles for your autograph. Plus, you can use the autographed pictures as a reward to select people. Knowing that you are giving them something free that normally people have to buy will raise its value in their eyes.

"But to everyone else you say, 'Because it's going to buy the Houses new Quidditch Brooms.'"

Harry stared at him, astonished.

"That's right, you're going to use that photograph and autograph income to make sure all the teams, not just the Slytherins, have modern brooms. No longer will it matter if one team has better brooms than the other because they'll all have the same brooms!"

Harry sat back thinking.

"You see how this works, don't you? You control what pictures people see. Nothing embarrassing, nothing that might be scandalous. You don't have to worry about picture hungry fans following you — they all go bother Mr. Creepy if they want a proper picture. If someone does want your autograph, then they have to buy Mr. Creevey's authorized pictures because you will only autograph pictures taken by Mr. Creevey. That will cut down dramatically on the number of people surreptitiously taking pictures of you.

"And when someone grumbles about having to pay money for an autograph, remind them that you aren't making any money, all the money coming in to you is going to a good cause — new Quidditch brooms. And how can anyone hate you for doing that? And that makes you a good guy!"

Lockhart sat back. "Anyway, you think about that. If you're smart, you'll do it. Otherwise you might find someone selling pictures of you taking a shower in the bathroom." Which had happened to Harry in the other timeline. He had been most embarrassed to discover the poster-sized image. He had found it near the end of the war in the ruined remains of some unknown Witch's demolished house, on a bedroom wall. It was quite scandalous, even by Muggle standards, truthfully, and taken in the Quidditch locker-room sometime in his Sixth Year when he was Captain of the team.

Harry stared at him in horror. Lockhart raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"So, you think about that.

"If you want to go ahead with that plan," Gilderoy opened a drawer in his desk and took out a scroll, "here's the contract I suggest you use." He handed it to Harry.

.....

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