Chapter Two: The Sitting
Ginny had hardly knocked on the towering door of Theodore’s family mansion—quaintly nicknamed The Fortress of Nott by Theo but in actuality it had a long and complicated name in Latin that he had deemed unimportant enough to tell her—and nearly jumped when it creaked open immediately.
“Mimsy welcomes Miss Wheezey,” a house elf squeaked from the vicinity of her shoes. She looked down curiously. The tiny thing looked like it was almost a house elf-in-training or a baby house elf. It was so ugly it was endearing. Ginny felt her heart swell at the hideous cuteness of it.
“If Miss Wheezey would follow Mimsy…” it trailed off, gesturing further into the mansion.
Even knowing that Theodore was currently the only Nott alive and therefore the only one that actively lived in the brute of a home, she was still a bit nervous about entering the building. Outside, it was bright and sunny, if a bit brisk, but inside the darkness looked almost oppressive.
Clutching her brushes closer to her—Theodore had already picked up her canvases and paints a few days ago—she tentatively took a step inside, and had to nearly throw herself aside as the door attempted to slam her back out.
Shooting a glare at the heavy wood (or where she assumed the door was, since she couldn’t see a blasted thing), Ginny stood where she was.
“This way, Miss Wheezey,” she heard the elf call from a significant distance away and scowled as she dug for her wand. After a quick Lumos, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the thin beam of light was cast onto a grotesque looking animal head directly to the left of her, looking as if it had just died a few moments ago and had been slapped onto a slab of dark wood. She was pretty positive that the dark stains on said piece of wood were blood, but didn’t want to stick around to find out.
She made sure to give the statue to the right of the hallway a wide berth as she hurried down the hallway where she could see the tiny little house elf walking steadily along. The statue looked disturbingly real with two people locked into a vicious battle. However, instead of anger and rage, as typical fighting people would have, their expressions were twisted into fear and agony.
She also was afraid that if she bumped into it, she would be able to tell if the small pieces of fabric that were placed carefully over various parts of the statue would turn out to be real skin, as she suspected it to be. Determined not to look anywhere but the house elf, she shuffled down the hallway with surprising speed and caught up with the house elf just in time to see it turn the corner.
Around the corner the hallway was bare and the only important feature was the elaborately carved door at the end. The house elf waved its hand and the door opened, revealing a well-lit room that made Ginny squint and distractedly say, “Nox,” before tucking her wand away.
Stepping into the room, she gaped at the vast contrast between this one and the previous room. This one was bright, sunny, and painted in a light green, with elegant black leather sofas ranging in a circle with white marble details on the fireplace and around the tall windows to her right. On the far wall was a tall bookshelf, the dark wood filled with hundreds of books that she was betting hadn’t been read in the last century.
“Miss Wheezey will wait here,” Mimsy told Ginny before cracking out of the room and off to wherever house elves went whenever they weren’t needed. Ginny felt her scowl fade away into a thoughtful one as she caught sight of a painting on the wall. Naturally, she ambled her way over to it, distractedly placing her bag that contained her brushes on a table as she passed.
The painting was of a man, sadly leaning with his right arm resting on a table, with two sprigs of foxglove in a glass.
Ginny thought it was the man’s expression that was the most profound, most heart wrenching. He looked sorrowful, as if he had seen all that the world had to offer and realized that it wasn’t enough to continue living. His eyes were the most expressive part of him, showing that he knew about the world’s shortcomings, something that most people never realized. He was full of melancholy and intelligence, weary and sad yet gentle, as if he knew that to treat the world with anything but tenderness would be a mistake.
If the foxgloves had been poison, she was positive he would have taken it; he looked positively suicidal.
Still spellbound by the painting, she didn’t hear when someone entered the room. She did, however, hear the throat clearing imperiously, so she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Theo.
It was with horror that her gaze froze on the figure sinuously leaning against the doorway. Pale, silky skin covered every inch of his body, the color consistent and revealing sensuous muscles that rippled as he adjusted his position. Tousled blonde hair scraped across his forehead over a cocked eyebrow and smirking expression. She tried not to concentrate on his distinctive lack of clothing, her face turning fourteen different shades of red before settling on a color close to carmine.
“Merlin’s balls,” she muttered to herself, snapping her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of a naked Draco Malfoy. It was impossible, however, since his bare body seemed to be seared into her irises. She cracked an eye, in the hopes that he had somehow found some clothes, but realized that he was still very much in the buff, and closed them again.
She didn’t want to admit how much his body had affected her. After only previously seeing him in well-tailored clothes, she was forced to admit that he had a nice body; in the same way that one would comment on the weather. It was a fact of life: it was sunny today and Draco Malfoy was positively sinful looking. Before this, however, she had generally only admitted it under extreme duress, and even then it was grudgingly admitted and only to herself.
“Actually,” Malfoy drawled from the door, causing Ginny to crack open an eye, “they’re Draco’s balls.” The Malfoy impersonator gave Ginny a slow wink, and she rolled her eyes, huffing.
“Oh, lord, Theo, put some bloody clothes back on Malfoy—er, well, yourself?” Ginny asked uncertainly, utterly confused at how to treat the situation. Malfoy laughed, a low sound that caused trills in her stomach that she utterly refused to acknowledge, choosing instead to pretend that they were trills of her stomach telling her to eat since she hadn’t had breakfast yet.
“Actually, love, I’m right here,” Theo said, walking in the room from a door that she hadn’t seen since it was part of the bookshelf. Turning confusedly from between the naked Malfoy and Theodore, who was casually sipping some wine, Ginny opened her mouth and closed it, attempting to catch up. Theodore seemed to take pity on her poor sanity, and filled her in.
“Ginevra Molly Weasley,” he stated stuffily, “let me introduce you to Draco Endymion Malfoy,” he paused for a breath as Ginny raised an eyebrow, demanding that he continue, “also known as Pansy Juliana Parkinson.” She gaped for a moment, before bursting out laughing.
“Pansy?!” she gasped incredulously, leaning against the wall for support. Pansy-Malfoy huffed indignantly.
“What?” she demanded. “I look fine!”
This just caused more peals of laughter from Ginny, and when she finally had the ability to speak, she turned to Theo.
“Why not you?” she questioned honestly. A look of disgust crossed his face.
“I don’t think I could stand to be in my best mate’s body and keep my food down,” he stated, before looking past Ginny and turning a curious shade of green. Ginny turned to Pansy, wondering what had Theo so sickened, and was greeted with the sight of Pansy prodding Malfoy’s…well, her rather extended part of the male anatomy that she hadn’t had previously.
“This is seriously bizarre,” she commented to the room in general as she pulled on it experimentally, wincing at the pain of it when she jerked too hard. Ginny heard a sound like a gag behind her, and found Theodore fighting to hold down his breakfast. She held her laughter in, instead attempting to help Theo.
“Why don’t you just…go do whatever it is you usually do,” she advised helpfully. He didn’t have to be told twice before darting out of the room like a bludger was on his tail. Ginny turned back to Pansy and watched almost impassively as Pansy continued to tug on her recently-acquired manhood.
Ginny supposed that knowing that it was Pansy Parkinson beneath the Malfoy exterior helped tremendously when distancing herself from the situation; it wouldn’t do to be salivating over the person she was supposed to be drawing calmly. She cleared her throat to regain Pansy’s attention away from her newly acquired extra protrusion.
“What?” Pansy asked distractedly, stroking her hand up and down. “You know,” she continued thoughtfully, “this is an entirely different sensation on this end than it is on the other. You should definitely try it out sometime.” Ginny shuddered at an errant thought that whipped through her mind: was it possible that some twisted couples got their rocks off on Polyjuicing each other and experiencing it from the other end, so to speak? She didn’t want to think about it.
“As fascinating as this is to watch, I think we should hurry up and get this over with,” Ginny said dryly. Pansy looked up, disappointed and pouting.
“Alright, I guess we should,” she said, shooting a longing glance at Malfoy’s member. Ginny fought to not let her eyes join Pansy’s in observing her source of interest, but it was nearly impossible. She sated herself with a tiny glance—No more, her conscious commanded. Or, at least don’t openly stare. You can look once every…second. Yes, that should work.—before looking back up into Malfoy’s eyes.
Ginny saw her painting from the previous day flash before her eyes. She remembered the haunted expression. She knew it wouldn’t be appropriate for the kind of portrait that Pansy wanted her to paint, but still…she couldn’t get the look out of her head.
“You’re in the mood,” Pansy commented, recognizing the look in Ginny’s eyes. “Okay, let’s get down to business. We can discuss payment after.”
Ginny nodded mechanically, reaching for her wand to wave at her easel and a canvas that was to the left of the door she had originally entered. She gave a cursory glance around the room, searching for the perfect place to place Malfoy, and decided on the window.
After looking at the assortment of black couches and cushions, she settled on a black fainting couch and levitated it to underneath the window. She waved her wand at her easel and canvas to set them up in front of the couch and reached for her brushes before looking critically at Malfoy.
“Turn,” she said.
Malfoy shot her a smirk before spinning as slowly as possible, flexing each of his muscles as she went. Unfortunately for Pansy, however, she was completely unaware of exactly how detached Ginny had gotten the instant she had sunk into painter-mode; all it did for her was make her consider what muscles would be used best in the portrait.
“What look were you looking for?” Ginny asked.
“I just wanted to capture the essence of Draco,” Pansy explained, if a bit wistfully. That shocked Ginny enough to shake her out of her daze; Draco Malfoy didn’t “wistfully” do anything. She blushed when she realized what she had been looking at—trying to figure out how to pose him that displayed his prominent features best, and unfortunately his member was quite prominent—and busied herself with walking around the easel.
“Come here,” she told Pansy, analyzing the couch and the lighting. The black couch would be an excellent contrast to the fair Malfoy; it would look wonderful like that, with the black on the white. She could even fade out the rest of the painting around the couch, making it dark as well so the only sources of light would be the faint smudge of sun and Draco Malfoy himself—
“Here,” she said, taking Malfoy’s wrist and tugging him forward. She was surprised at how good his skin felt on hers, and forced herself back into painting mode. No thinking of that kind of stuff, she told herself sternly.
“Lay down in a way you think is good, and I’ll adjust you,” she told Pansy, and she did that, casually collapsing on top of the couch as if she did it every day. Considering whose house it was, Ginny didn’t think that was unlikely.
Thoughtfully, she took Malfoy’s arm and draped it across the curved piece of the couch, the front end of his arm hanging delicately into the empty space. She planted his left arm in front of his stomach, pressed to the velvet and seeming to be in the act of stroking it. His legs were a different matter, since it was difficult to lay a man out on a fainting couch and allow them to remain masculine. She figured that it didn’t help that he was already girly enough as it was, so she was already working against nature in attempting to make him manly.
“Bloody hell,” Ginny said, rocking back on her heels and scratching her head thoughtfully.
“What?” Pansy queried, and Ginny spared her a glance.
“I can’t figure out what to do with Malfoy’s—er, your—lower half,” she admitted, gesturing vaguely towards the direction of the three problem limbs. A slow smirk traced across Malfoy’s face and Ginny had to stop herself from staring. It was a good thing that Pansy was the one playing Malfoy; between her and Theo, she was the only one Slytherin enough to match his mannerisms.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s nearly impossible to make Malfoy look not like a girl,” she said dryly, “even without you inhabiting his skin and doing those…girly things,” she said, looking pointedly at where Pansy had been examining her nails critically and digging the dirt out from under them. She rolled her eyes.
“Treat him a like a girl, then. Salazar knows he acts more like a sissy every day.” Ginny grinned, hastily deciding on the way things were going to work.
“Here,” she said, pushing Pansy back a little on the couch so her chest was angled a bit flatter. She pushed up his left knee so it was bent, while adjusting his arm so it framed his favorite feature a bit better.
Ginny couldn’t contain the blush as her fingernails scraped dangerously close to the top of his curls, and he shuddered delicately.
“Oh, dear,” Pansy said quaintly, looking down at where her member had suddenly acquired a bit more muscle and was floating half mast. Ginny glanced down and closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t seen that.
I’m never ever going to be able to imagine a guy without imaging Malfoy’s penis, she thought dryly, giving it another appreciative glance before realizing what she was doing and mentally shaking herself.
Ginny backed away, taking in the scene as she had set it up. Something was wrong, however; the light was too bright. It was beautiful outside and Theo had an excellent view of a garden, but still…it was far too harsh to be on Malfoy.
Thoughtfully, she waved her wand and suddenly there were sheer white curtains on the windows, filtering the sunlight so it was a silky glow that caressed his skin rather than reflecting off violently. Another wave of her wand and the lights were off on the inside of the room and the other windows were covered in heavy drapes, so the only source of light was the single window.
“Okay, Pansy, I need you to adopt his expression,” she said quietly, as if afraid to break the spell. Pansy sucked in a breath, released it, and then focused those mesmerizing grey eyes directly on Ginny. Ginny felt her breath leave her in a quiet whoosh, scrambling for her brush.
“Perfect,” she breathed out softly. “Absolutely perfect.” Real Malfoy or not, this portrait was going to be simply breathtaking.
________________________________________
Theodore had escaped when he could, seeking refuge with the only other male who could understand Pansy’s insanity. At least I didn’t have to actually reveal the specifics of her insanity, he thought with a glance to the blond walking beside them. They had both decided that staying at Malfoy Manor and doing nothing would be no use and, since it was so early, getting drunk was out of the question too. Theo couldn’t let anything too valuable slip out and if he was inebriated he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he wanted to.
Now, they were cruising the streets of Wizarding Paris, looking for something to do. Theodore was pretty sure they were going to stop at a café and eat there instead of doing something productive, so he was more on the lookout for a nice, secluded café instead of looking at the latest fashions as Draco was. He already had one in mind, but he knew it wasn’t for a few more stores more. They had been at this for hours now and his stomach had been going through various threats for the past two at least.
“Oooh, look there, Theo!” Draco nearly squealed, pointing at some particularly expensive looking dragonhide pants, posed in a raunchy position on the mannequin as it strutted around the window. Theo just rolled his eyes. Draco could be just as bad as Pansy was on her good days, and that was really saying something. They had been raised knowing that money was meant to be spent, not saved, since they had so bloody much of it.
“I’m hungry,” he nearly whined when Draco began pulling him into the store. Draco stopped, sending a glare at Theo that should have knocked him in his tracks. Instead, Theo just pouted, jutting out his lower lip and widening his eyes into a pleading expression.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young witch stop and pause, faltering in her steps as she almost ran into someone. Theo smirked triumphantly, breaking the spell.
Draco raised an eyebrow imperiously as if to say, You think your puppy dog eyes can stop me? Well, think again. Draco turned around and stormed off into the store. Theo opted to wait for him outside. Thankfully, however, Draco only had interest in the pants. He came back out with a bag in hand and his wand in the other, shrinking it and dropping it into his pocket filled with many other boxes.
“Let’s go eat,” Theo proposed, and started striding confidently towards the location of a particularly notorious café. He didn’t bother looking back at Draco, but he knew that the other blond would be dragging his feet as much as he could while still managing to look like a runway model striding down the catwalk. Theo shook his head at the image of Draco posing in some garish looking French clothing, and dropped back a bit so he could talk to Draco and remove said image from the depths of his mind.
“Let’s talk,” he said, and Draco’s shoulders only gave a miniscule jerk upwards that was his way of saying, Talk all you want, but I probably won’t reply.
“I want to talk about your latest woman, Elizabeth,” he began, hoping that he’d be able to loop the conversation back over to Ginny somehow. The café was ahead of them now, a quaint little building that seemed to be squished between two other towering shops. He knew the entrance wasn’t that impressive; it was the back that was the impressive part. He nodded at the maitre de. The French man bowed elegantly and rushed to get them a table in a prime location.
He led the way through the hazy red atmosphere to the back terrace where a number of young couples were sighing happily at each other and looking at the magnificent view of the Seine and many other old buildings. It was a beautiful sight, yes, but Theo had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life, so this one wasn’t all too high on his list.
After they were seated their waiter arrived almost immediately and offered a translation for the menu, which both blonds declined. French hadn’t been his first language, but it had been Draco’s, so they certainly didn’t need to know what the food was in English. After ordering, Draco turned to Theo and shot him a dirty look.
“Elizabeth was last month’s,” he said coldly, and Theo shrugged indifferently. What did it matter which one was this month’s or last? They were all the same to him; pretty, somewhat smart, and typically a second daughter of a rich, pureblood family. It didn’t matter who they were, just as long as they assumed that Draco was going to marry them. That way, Theo knew, they really put out.
“So who’s this month? Giselle? Tamora? Vasiliki? Amelia?” Draco just sighed exasperatedly.
“No one’s this month,” he said, running a hand through light blond locks and mussing them distractedly.
Theo immediately noticed just how tired Draco looked. Maybe he was sick of dealing with breakups every month? He knew they always got pretty ugly, so this could be the perfect moment to suggest settling down with someone…
“Why not?” he questioned innocently. Draco shot him a glare.
“Why aren’t you and Pansy together yet?” he snapped back.
Theodore scowled angrily. Why did he have to bring that up? His love life with Pansy—or lack thereof—was none of Draco’s business.
He conveniently forgot that meddling in Draco’s love life was none of his, either.
“That’s beside the point. I mean, even Ginny—“ He was cut off midsentence by a scoff of derision.
“Don’t talk to me about Ginny’s love life,” he instructed, sneering her name. “I still don’t understand why you two put up with that poor bohemian waif, anyway,” he continued.
Theodore rolled his eyes. “Please, Draco, she’s not even close to being poor anymore. The only reason she’s not as rich as she could be is because she donates three-fourths of her profits to charities. And she’s an artist, for Salazar’s sake, of course she’s going to be a bit loopy.”
Draco nodded firmly, agreeing, but Theo wasn’t going to let him off that easily. He was interrupted from continuing his tirade by the appearance of their meals, which they tucked into with gusto. He began talking again when his stomach wasn’t going to immediately self implode from lack of sustenance.
“Artist or not, you haven’t really seen her, have you? Quit painting her as a Weasley and look at her as someone without a name or anything.”
Theodore gave Draco a chance to do that. He knew he didn’t fully succeed since the frown remained on Draco’s face. He sighed when Draco shot him a look that clearly meant he doubted Theodore’s sanity.
“Okay, now picture her not insulting every last hair on you,” he added.
Draco shot him a glare before attempting again. This time a look of incredulous wonder swept over his face, before his eyes fluttered open and it was replaced with repulsed interest.
“Salazar’s balls, she’s fucking beautiful!” he hissed.
Theo smirked triumphantly. Even though Draco looked supremely pissed at this revelation, it meant he was now willing to be open to options. He had figuratively opened the door; now it was time for him to walk through it.
Theodore shook his head in embarrassment at the clichéd turn his thoughts had taken. Who knew that he could be so Hufflepuff?
They finished up their meal quickly, sinking into silence. Unlike their female acquaintances, they didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter. They were men, and ex-Slytherin manly men did not chatter. They spoke gruffly about Quidditch and curses.
“I want to see Pansy,” Draco said abruptly, causing Theo to nearly spit out his wine in panic. Pansy? No, of course not, he couldn’t see Pansy. Pansy was him right now, being painted by Ginny.
“Why?” he asked instead, discreetly gauging Draco’s emotions. Draco’s face was currently set on his Brooding face, but that could also be his Thinking face. Theo was quite positive it was also a bit of his Fanatic Drive face, if the eye twitch had anything to say about it.
“Because I’m in the mood for some post-lunch shagging,” Draco snapped at Theo, scanning the tables for their waiter. He gave a tiny jerk of his head when he finally saw the man and made eye contact.
Theo tried to ignore the spasm his heart gave and the indescribable urge to leap across the tiny table and strangle his best mate when he heard those words. He was only joking, but…
“Malfoy, if you even think about it,” he said menacingly in an undertone.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I just want to talk to her, you paranoid wanker,” he said exasperatedly.
Theo blinked, the animosity leaving in an instant. “About what?” Theo questioned.
Draco shot Theo an annoyed glare. “About Ginny Weasley. Salazar, Theodore, you’re her friend, but Pansy’s the bloody woman’s agent. She’ll know more about her. I need to find out if she’s sane.”
Theodore resisted the urge to jump for joy. “Sane? Why?”
Draco shot him another look that was basically the equivalent of a growl. “Because all artists are lunatics and if I’m going to shag her I need to make sure she isn’t loony and isn’t speaking. I can solve one with a Silencio, but the other one I’m going need some inside knowledge on.”
Theo felt his mouth drop open and hastily closed it. That was fast, he thought to himself. He had assumed it would take Draco at least until the unveiling of the painting to decide that he wanted to get with Ginny—at this rate, all they’d have to do is convince him to want to actually have a relationship with her, and then beyond that…well, they hadn’t really planned that far yet.
At least, he hadn’t. He couldn’t speak for Pansy, who he knew secretly had a book full of wedding plans for whenever Ginny and Draco ever got together. She had been saying that they would marry since she had first seen how fiery and heated their arguments were; Theo had taken some persuasion, but eventually he too had seen that their arguments were just a disguise for their unrecognized lust.
“So, where is she?” Draco demanded, and Theo mentally shook himself.
“Pansy?”
“No, Weasley,” he sneered as he rolled his eyes.
“She’s at my place,” Theo responded automatically, before mentally cursing.
“Well, then raise the wards and let us Apparate in!” Draco demanded. Knowing that Draco wasn’t going to relent until he had spoken to Pansy, he prayed to all the gods that Ginny was finished with her painting and Pansy was back to being Pansy.
“In three,” he told Draco, bringing his finger down to his ring.
They’d better be done…
Ginny had hardly knocked on the towering door of Theodore’s family mansion—quaintly nicknamed The Fortress of Nott by Theo but in actuality it had a long and complicated name in Latin that he had deemed unimportant enough to tell her—and nearly jumped when it creaked open immediately.
“Mimsy welcomes Miss Wheezey,” a house elf squeaked from the vicinity of her shoes. She looked down curiously. The tiny thing looked like it was almost a house elf-in-training or a baby house elf. It was so ugly it was endearing. Ginny felt her heart swell at the hideous cuteness of it.
“If Miss Wheezey would follow Mimsy…” it trailed off, gesturing further into the mansion.
Even knowing that Theodore was currently the only Nott alive and therefore the only one that actively lived in the brute of a home, she was still a bit nervous about entering the building. Outside, it was bright and sunny, if a bit brisk, but inside the darkness looked almost oppressive.
Clutching her brushes closer to her—Theodore had already picked up her canvases and paints a few days ago—she tentatively took a step inside, and had to nearly throw herself aside as the door attempted to slam her back out.
Shooting a glare at the heavy wood (or where she assumed the door was, since she couldn’t see a blasted thing), Ginny stood where she was.
“This way, Miss Wheezey,” she heard the elf call from a significant distance away and scowled as she dug for her wand. After a quick Lumos, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the thin beam of light was cast onto a grotesque looking animal head directly to the left of her, looking as if it had just died a few moments ago and had been slapped onto a slab of dark wood. She was pretty positive that the dark stains on said piece of wood were blood, but didn’t want to stick around to find out.
She made sure to give the statue to the right of the hallway a wide berth as she hurried down the hallway where she could see the tiny little house elf walking steadily along. The statue looked disturbingly real with two people locked into a vicious battle. However, instead of anger and rage, as typical fighting people would have, their expressions were twisted into fear and agony.
She also was afraid that if she bumped into it, she would be able to tell if the small pieces of fabric that were placed carefully over various parts of the statue would turn out to be real skin, as she suspected it to be. Determined not to look anywhere but the house elf, she shuffled down the hallway with surprising speed and caught up with the house elf just in time to see it turn the corner.
Around the corner the hallway was bare and the only important feature was the elaborately carved door at the end. The house elf waved its hand and the door opened, revealing a well-lit room that made Ginny squint and distractedly say, “Nox,” before tucking her wand away.
Stepping into the room, she gaped at the vast contrast between this one and the previous room. This one was bright, sunny, and painted in a light green, with elegant black leather sofas ranging in a circle with white marble details on the fireplace and around the tall windows to her right. On the far wall was a tall bookshelf, the dark wood filled with hundreds of books that she was betting hadn’t been read in the last century.
“Miss Wheezey will wait here,” Mimsy told Ginny before cracking out of the room and off to wherever house elves went whenever they weren’t needed. Ginny felt her scowl fade away into a thoughtful one as she caught sight of a painting on the wall. Naturally, she ambled her way over to it, distractedly placing her bag that contained her brushes on a table as she passed.
The painting was of a man, sadly leaning with his right arm resting on a table, with two sprigs of foxglove in a glass.
Ginny thought it was the man’s expression that was the most profound, most heart wrenching. He looked sorrowful, as if he had seen all that the world had to offer and realized that it wasn’t enough to continue living. His eyes were the most expressive part of him, showing that he knew about the world’s shortcomings, something that most people never realized. He was full of melancholy and intelligence, weary and sad yet gentle, as if he knew that to treat the world with anything but tenderness would be a mistake.
If the foxgloves had been poison, she was positive he would have taken it; he looked positively suicidal.
Still spellbound by the painting, she didn’t hear when someone entered the room. She did, however, hear the throat clearing imperiously, so she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Theo.
It was with horror that her gaze froze on the figure sinuously leaning against the doorway. Pale, silky skin covered every inch of his body, the color consistent and revealing sensuous muscles that rippled as he adjusted his position. Tousled blonde hair scraped across his forehead over a cocked eyebrow and smirking expression. She tried not to concentrate on his distinctive lack of clothing, her face turning fourteen different shades of red before settling on a color close to carmine.
“Merlin’s balls,” she muttered to herself, snapping her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the image of a naked Draco Malfoy. It was impossible, however, since his bare body seemed to be seared into her irises. She cracked an eye, in the hopes that he had somehow found some clothes, but realized that he was still very much in the buff, and closed them again.
She didn’t want to admit how much his body had affected her. After only previously seeing him in well-tailored clothes, she was forced to admit that he had a nice body; in the same way that one would comment on the weather. It was a fact of life: it was sunny today and Draco Malfoy was positively sinful looking. Before this, however, she had generally only admitted it under extreme duress, and even then it was grudgingly admitted and only to herself.
“Actually,” Malfoy drawled from the door, causing Ginny to crack open an eye, “they’re Draco’s balls.” The Malfoy impersonator gave Ginny a slow wink, and she rolled her eyes, huffing.
“Oh, lord, Theo, put some bloody clothes back on Malfoy—er, well, yourself?” Ginny asked uncertainly, utterly confused at how to treat the situation. Malfoy laughed, a low sound that caused trills in her stomach that she utterly refused to acknowledge, choosing instead to pretend that they were trills of her stomach telling her to eat since she hadn’t had breakfast yet.
“Actually, love, I’m right here,” Theo said, walking in the room from a door that she hadn’t seen since it was part of the bookshelf. Turning confusedly from between the naked Malfoy and Theodore, who was casually sipping some wine, Ginny opened her mouth and closed it, attempting to catch up. Theodore seemed to take pity on her poor sanity, and filled her in.
“Ginevra Molly Weasley,” he stated stuffily, “let me introduce you to Draco Endymion Malfoy,” he paused for a breath as Ginny raised an eyebrow, demanding that he continue, “also known as Pansy Juliana Parkinson.” She gaped for a moment, before bursting out laughing.
“Pansy?!” she gasped incredulously, leaning against the wall for support. Pansy-Malfoy huffed indignantly.
“What?” she demanded. “I look fine!”
This just caused more peals of laughter from Ginny, and when she finally had the ability to speak, she turned to Theo.
“Why not you?” she questioned honestly. A look of disgust crossed his face.
“I don’t think I could stand to be in my best mate’s body and keep my food down,” he stated, before looking past Ginny and turning a curious shade of green. Ginny turned to Pansy, wondering what had Theo so sickened, and was greeted with the sight of Pansy prodding Malfoy’s…well, her rather extended part of the male anatomy that she hadn’t had previously.
“This is seriously bizarre,” she commented to the room in general as she pulled on it experimentally, wincing at the pain of it when she jerked too hard. Ginny heard a sound like a gag behind her, and found Theodore fighting to hold down his breakfast. She held her laughter in, instead attempting to help Theo.
“Why don’t you just…go do whatever it is you usually do,” she advised helpfully. He didn’t have to be told twice before darting out of the room like a bludger was on his tail. Ginny turned back to Pansy and watched almost impassively as Pansy continued to tug on her recently-acquired manhood.
Ginny supposed that knowing that it was Pansy Parkinson beneath the Malfoy exterior helped tremendously when distancing herself from the situation; it wouldn’t do to be salivating over the person she was supposed to be drawing calmly. She cleared her throat to regain Pansy’s attention away from her newly acquired extra protrusion.
“What?” Pansy asked distractedly, stroking her hand up and down. “You know,” she continued thoughtfully, “this is an entirely different sensation on this end than it is on the other. You should definitely try it out sometime.” Ginny shuddered at an errant thought that whipped through her mind: was it possible that some twisted couples got their rocks off on Polyjuicing each other and experiencing it from the other end, so to speak? She didn’t want to think about it.
“As fascinating as this is to watch, I think we should hurry up and get this over with,” Ginny said dryly. Pansy looked up, disappointed and pouting.
“Alright, I guess we should,” she said, shooting a longing glance at Malfoy’s member. Ginny fought to not let her eyes join Pansy’s in observing her source of interest, but it was nearly impossible. She sated herself with a tiny glance—No more, her conscious commanded. Or, at least don’t openly stare. You can look once every…second. Yes, that should work.—before looking back up into Malfoy’s eyes.
Ginny saw her painting from the previous day flash before her eyes. She remembered the haunted expression. She knew it wouldn’t be appropriate for the kind of portrait that Pansy wanted her to paint, but still…she couldn’t get the look out of her head.
“You’re in the mood,” Pansy commented, recognizing the look in Ginny’s eyes. “Okay, let’s get down to business. We can discuss payment after.”
Ginny nodded mechanically, reaching for her wand to wave at her easel and a canvas that was to the left of the door she had originally entered. She gave a cursory glance around the room, searching for the perfect place to place Malfoy, and decided on the window.
After looking at the assortment of black couches and cushions, she settled on a black fainting couch and levitated it to underneath the window. She waved her wand at her easel and canvas to set them up in front of the couch and reached for her brushes before looking critically at Malfoy.
“Turn,” she said.
Malfoy shot her a smirk before spinning as slowly as possible, flexing each of his muscles as she went. Unfortunately for Pansy, however, she was completely unaware of exactly how detached Ginny had gotten the instant she had sunk into painter-mode; all it did for her was make her consider what muscles would be used best in the portrait.
“What look were you looking for?” Ginny asked.
“I just wanted to capture the essence of Draco,” Pansy explained, if a bit wistfully. That shocked Ginny enough to shake her out of her daze; Draco Malfoy didn’t “wistfully” do anything. She blushed when she realized what she had been looking at—trying to figure out how to pose him that displayed his prominent features best, and unfortunately his member was quite prominent—and busied herself with walking around the easel.
“Come here,” she told Pansy, analyzing the couch and the lighting. The black couch would be an excellent contrast to the fair Malfoy; it would look wonderful like that, with the black on the white. She could even fade out the rest of the painting around the couch, making it dark as well so the only sources of light would be the faint smudge of sun and Draco Malfoy himself—
“Here,” she said, taking Malfoy’s wrist and tugging him forward. She was surprised at how good his skin felt on hers, and forced herself back into painting mode. No thinking of that kind of stuff, she told herself sternly.
“Lay down in a way you think is good, and I’ll adjust you,” she told Pansy, and she did that, casually collapsing on top of the couch as if she did it every day. Considering whose house it was, Ginny didn’t think that was unlikely.
Thoughtfully, she took Malfoy’s arm and draped it across the curved piece of the couch, the front end of his arm hanging delicately into the empty space. She planted his left arm in front of his stomach, pressed to the velvet and seeming to be in the act of stroking it. His legs were a different matter, since it was difficult to lay a man out on a fainting couch and allow them to remain masculine. She figured that it didn’t help that he was already girly enough as it was, so she was already working against nature in attempting to make him manly.
“Bloody hell,” Ginny said, rocking back on her heels and scratching her head thoughtfully.
“What?” Pansy queried, and Ginny spared her a glance.
“I can’t figure out what to do with Malfoy’s—er, your—lower half,” she admitted, gesturing vaguely towards the direction of the three problem limbs. A slow smirk traced across Malfoy’s face and Ginny had to stop herself from staring. It was a good thing that Pansy was the one playing Malfoy; between her and Theo, she was the only one Slytherin enough to match his mannerisms.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s nearly impossible to make Malfoy look not like a girl,” she said dryly, “even without you inhabiting his skin and doing those…girly things,” she said, looking pointedly at where Pansy had been examining her nails critically and digging the dirt out from under them. She rolled her eyes.
“Treat him a like a girl, then. Salazar knows he acts more like a sissy every day.” Ginny grinned, hastily deciding on the way things were going to work.
“Here,” she said, pushing Pansy back a little on the couch so her chest was angled a bit flatter. She pushed up his left knee so it was bent, while adjusting his arm so it framed his favorite feature a bit better.
Ginny couldn’t contain the blush as her fingernails scraped dangerously close to the top of his curls, and he shuddered delicately.
“Oh, dear,” Pansy said quaintly, looking down at where her member had suddenly acquired a bit more muscle and was floating half mast. Ginny glanced down and closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t seen that.
I’m never ever going to be able to imagine a guy without imaging Malfoy’s penis, she thought dryly, giving it another appreciative glance before realizing what she was doing and mentally shaking herself.
Ginny backed away, taking in the scene as she had set it up. Something was wrong, however; the light was too bright. It was beautiful outside and Theo had an excellent view of a garden, but still…it was far too harsh to be on Malfoy.
Thoughtfully, she waved her wand and suddenly there were sheer white curtains on the windows, filtering the sunlight so it was a silky glow that caressed his skin rather than reflecting off violently. Another wave of her wand and the lights were off on the inside of the room and the other windows were covered in heavy drapes, so the only source of light was the single window.
“Okay, Pansy, I need you to adopt his expression,” she said quietly, as if afraid to break the spell. Pansy sucked in a breath, released it, and then focused those mesmerizing grey eyes directly on Ginny. Ginny felt her breath leave her in a quiet whoosh, scrambling for her brush.
“Perfect,” she breathed out softly. “Absolutely perfect.” Real Malfoy or not, this portrait was going to be simply breathtaking.
________________________________________
Theodore had escaped when he could, seeking refuge with the only other male who could understand Pansy’s insanity. At least I didn’t have to actually reveal the specifics of her insanity, he thought with a glance to the blond walking beside them. They had both decided that staying at Malfoy Manor and doing nothing would be no use and, since it was so early, getting drunk was out of the question too. Theo couldn’t let anything too valuable slip out and if he was inebriated he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he wanted to.
Now, they were cruising the streets of Wizarding Paris, looking for something to do. Theodore was pretty sure they were going to stop at a café and eat there instead of doing something productive, so he was more on the lookout for a nice, secluded café instead of looking at the latest fashions as Draco was. He already had one in mind, but he knew it wasn’t for a few more stores more. They had been at this for hours now and his stomach had been going through various threats for the past two at least.
“Oooh, look there, Theo!” Draco nearly squealed, pointing at some particularly expensive looking dragonhide pants, posed in a raunchy position on the mannequin as it strutted around the window. Theo just rolled his eyes. Draco could be just as bad as Pansy was on her good days, and that was really saying something. They had been raised knowing that money was meant to be spent, not saved, since they had so bloody much of it.
“I’m hungry,” he nearly whined when Draco began pulling him into the store. Draco stopped, sending a glare at Theo that should have knocked him in his tracks. Instead, Theo just pouted, jutting out his lower lip and widening his eyes into a pleading expression.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young witch stop and pause, faltering in her steps as she almost ran into someone. Theo smirked triumphantly, breaking the spell.
Draco raised an eyebrow imperiously as if to say, You think your puppy dog eyes can stop me? Well, think again. Draco turned around and stormed off into the store. Theo opted to wait for him outside. Thankfully, however, Draco only had interest in the pants. He came back out with a bag in hand and his wand in the other, shrinking it and dropping it into his pocket filled with many other boxes.
“Let’s go eat,” Theo proposed, and started striding confidently towards the location of a particularly notorious café. He didn’t bother looking back at Draco, but he knew that the other blond would be dragging his feet as much as he could while still managing to look like a runway model striding down the catwalk. Theo shook his head at the image of Draco posing in some garish looking French clothing, and dropped back a bit so he could talk to Draco and remove said image from the depths of his mind.
“Let’s talk,” he said, and Draco’s shoulders only gave a miniscule jerk upwards that was his way of saying, Talk all you want, but I probably won’t reply.
“I want to talk about your latest woman, Elizabeth,” he began, hoping that he’d be able to loop the conversation back over to Ginny somehow. The café was ahead of them now, a quaint little building that seemed to be squished between two other towering shops. He knew the entrance wasn’t that impressive; it was the back that was the impressive part. He nodded at the maitre de. The French man bowed elegantly and rushed to get them a table in a prime location.
He led the way through the hazy red atmosphere to the back terrace where a number of young couples were sighing happily at each other and looking at the magnificent view of the Seine and many other old buildings. It was a beautiful sight, yes, but Theo had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life, so this one wasn’t all too high on his list.
After they were seated their waiter arrived almost immediately and offered a translation for the menu, which both blonds declined. French hadn’t been his first language, but it had been Draco’s, so they certainly didn’t need to know what the food was in English. After ordering, Draco turned to Theo and shot him a dirty look.
“Elizabeth was last month’s,” he said coldly, and Theo shrugged indifferently. What did it matter which one was this month’s or last? They were all the same to him; pretty, somewhat smart, and typically a second daughter of a rich, pureblood family. It didn’t matter who they were, just as long as they assumed that Draco was going to marry them. That way, Theo knew, they really put out.
“So who’s this month? Giselle? Tamora? Vasiliki? Amelia?” Draco just sighed exasperatedly.
“No one’s this month,” he said, running a hand through light blond locks and mussing them distractedly.
Theo immediately noticed just how tired Draco looked. Maybe he was sick of dealing with breakups every month? He knew they always got pretty ugly, so this could be the perfect moment to suggest settling down with someone…
“Why not?” he questioned innocently. Draco shot him a glare.
“Why aren’t you and Pansy together yet?” he snapped back.
Theodore scowled angrily. Why did he have to bring that up? His love life with Pansy—or lack thereof—was none of Draco’s business.
He conveniently forgot that meddling in Draco’s love life was none of his, either.
“That’s beside the point. I mean, even Ginny—“ He was cut off midsentence by a scoff of derision.
“Don’t talk to me about Ginny’s love life,” he instructed, sneering her name. “I still don’t understand why you two put up with that poor bohemian waif, anyway,” he continued.
Theodore rolled his eyes. “Please, Draco, she’s not even close to being poor anymore. The only reason she’s not as rich as she could be is because she donates three-fourths of her profits to charities. And she’s an artist, for Salazar’s sake, of course she’s going to be a bit loopy.”
Draco nodded firmly, agreeing, but Theo wasn’t going to let him off that easily. He was interrupted from continuing his tirade by the appearance of their meals, which they tucked into with gusto. He began talking again when his stomach wasn’t going to immediately self implode from lack of sustenance.
“Artist or not, you haven’t really seen her, have you? Quit painting her as a Weasley and look at her as someone without a name or anything.”
Theodore gave Draco a chance to do that. He knew he didn’t fully succeed since the frown remained on Draco’s face. He sighed when Draco shot him a look that clearly meant he doubted Theodore’s sanity.
“Okay, now picture her not insulting every last hair on you,” he added.
Draco shot him a glare before attempting again. This time a look of incredulous wonder swept over his face, before his eyes fluttered open and it was replaced with repulsed interest.
“Salazar’s balls, she’s fucking beautiful!” he hissed.
Theo smirked triumphantly. Even though Draco looked supremely pissed at this revelation, it meant he was now willing to be open to options. He had figuratively opened the door; now it was time for him to walk through it.
Theodore shook his head in embarrassment at the clichéd turn his thoughts had taken. Who knew that he could be so Hufflepuff?
They finished up their meal quickly, sinking into silence. Unlike their female acquaintances, they didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter. They were men, and ex-Slytherin manly men did not chatter. They spoke gruffly about Quidditch and curses.
“I want to see Pansy,” Draco said abruptly, causing Theo to nearly spit out his wine in panic. Pansy? No, of course not, he couldn’t see Pansy. Pansy was him right now, being painted by Ginny.
“Why?” he asked instead, discreetly gauging Draco’s emotions. Draco’s face was currently set on his Brooding face, but that could also be his Thinking face. Theo was quite positive it was also a bit of his Fanatic Drive face, if the eye twitch had anything to say about it.
“Because I’m in the mood for some post-lunch shagging,” Draco snapped at Theo, scanning the tables for their waiter. He gave a tiny jerk of his head when he finally saw the man and made eye contact.
Theo tried to ignore the spasm his heart gave and the indescribable urge to leap across the tiny table and strangle his best mate when he heard those words. He was only joking, but…
“Malfoy, if you even think about it,” he said menacingly in an undertone.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I just want to talk to her, you paranoid wanker,” he said exasperatedly.
Theo blinked, the animosity leaving in an instant. “About what?” Theo questioned.
Draco shot Theo an annoyed glare. “About Ginny Weasley. Salazar, Theodore, you’re her friend, but Pansy’s the bloody woman’s agent. She’ll know more about her. I need to find out if she’s sane.”
Theodore resisted the urge to jump for joy. “Sane? Why?”
Draco shot him another look that was basically the equivalent of a growl. “Because all artists are lunatics and if I’m going to shag her I need to make sure she isn’t loony and isn’t speaking. I can solve one with a Silencio, but the other one I’m going need some inside knowledge on.”
Theo felt his mouth drop open and hastily closed it. That was fast, he thought to himself. He had assumed it would take Draco at least until the unveiling of the painting to decide that he wanted to get with Ginny—at this rate, all they’d have to do is convince him to want to actually have a relationship with her, and then beyond that…well, they hadn’t really planned that far yet.
At least, he hadn’t. He couldn’t speak for Pansy, who he knew secretly had a book full of wedding plans for whenever Ginny and Draco ever got together. She had been saying that they would marry since she had first seen how fiery and heated their arguments were; Theo had taken some persuasion, but eventually he too had seen that their arguments were just a disguise for their unrecognized lust.
“So, where is she?” Draco demanded, and Theo mentally shook himself.
“Pansy?”
“No, Weasley,” he sneered as he rolled his eyes.
“She’s at my place,” Theo responded automatically, before mentally cursing.
“Well, then raise the wards and let us Apparate in!” Draco demanded. Knowing that Draco wasn’t going to relent until he had spoken to Pansy, he prayed to all the gods that Ginny was finished with her painting and Pansy was back to being Pansy.
“In three,” he told Draco, bringing his finger down to his ring.
They’d better be done…
Author notes: I am terribly sorry for the delay! It's certainly not a week later that I'm updating this, and it's because I've always had difficulties uploading chapters/fics to this site, so when it goes wonky I get a little pissy and ignore it for months at a time. I'm writing a note to myself right now to update it in a week, though, so hopefully I won't forget! Thanks again to Melissa for the beta, and thank you for reading! :)
Notes: the painting is Vincent van Gogh's Portrait of Dr. Gachet and the thing about Draco imagining Ginny without talking is taken from That 70's Show.
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