*
Part I
*
Unless you have been living in an isolated cave, without a fireplace, on the shores of some deserted island, you’ve heard of the Namesake Chronicles. The novels stand at eight in number and are reputed to be so popular that even Muggles have been spotted with several copies. This column has seen everyone – mermaid, goblin and even a hag or two – with their noses stuck in these books. Renowned author of the saga, Draco Malfoy has carved out quite a niche for himself in the literary sphere, and for the last four years he’s had the critics clamouring like a bunch Bowtruckles with a bowl of wood lice.
For those of you unfamiliar with the stories, we recommend putting down the tea leaves and visiting your nearest bookstore. Namesake is a series of separate yet connected tales about a peculiar group of wizards who are reborn each time they die, with all the knowledge and experience of their former lives. The majority of the narrative concerns the Reincarnate’s search for his other half, while battling their arch-enemies – a Society of Avengers with their own axes to grind. However, the discovery a reincarnate’s other half usually presages death for them both, and the cycle continues.
Malfoy’s Reincarnates have been described as elitist, arrogant chauvinists by many a female critic but the highest demographic of his readership remains housewives and young career witches (who this column believes were questioned under the influence of Veritaserum). Malfoy’s Namesake remains a dirty secret for many of its readers, beloved only under the cover of night.
But where is Malfoy now? With a longstanding trend of a new book on the shelves every summer and fall, Malfoy has missed last fall’s release date with no word from his publishers. He appears to have simply gone. Here at Witch Weekly, we are doing our best to seek out the elusive author and will keep you posted on our efforts.
Meanwhile…
The magazine was crumpled by an annoyed hand. Draco frowned down at it in contempt. Seek out the elusive author, indeed. He wasn’t hiding, for Salazar’s sake, just taking a break. Couldn’t anyone take a sabbatical without the entire public getting worked up?
At the snap of his fingers, a house elf popped into appearance.
“My coat, elf,” he said imperiously.
The house elf bowed and summoned Draco’s travelling cloak before helping his master into the garment. Much as he detested the method of travel, Draco headed for the fireplace to Floo to Pansy’s house. When he stepped out of the fireplace in the drawing room of Pansy’s manor, Pansy was seated with a glass of something no doubt alcoholic.
Draco arched a brow. Pansy wasn’t even dressed and it was nearly one in the afternoon.
“Don’t you have agently duties to attend to?” he quipped, reaching for the glass.
Pansy glared at him while swatting at his hand. “You’ve driven me to drink, Draco. Have you written anything?”
Draco’s glance was dismissing. He waved a hand airily. “No, but I’m sure it’ll happen soon.”
“You can’t even admit you have a problem! Draco, you’ve been blocked for –“
“Don’t,” Draco interrupted harshly, “use that word!” He looked around warily. “I do not have writer’s block,” he hissed, lowering his voice dramatically on the last two words.
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Draco, you haven’t written anything in nine months. I think that calls for an intervention.”
“I’m gestating,” Draco deadpanned.
Pansy glared again. “As your agent,” she began firmly, ignoring Draco’s leer, “I have a right to intervene in your affairs as a writer.”
“And what about my other affairs?” Draco asked with a heated look.
“I hardly care about your imagination when we’re in bed, Draco,” Pansy replied dryly.
Draco scoffed. “I must disagree. You care a great deal about everything I do in bed.”
Pansy rolled her eyes again and pushed at his chest. He was leaning into her in an attempt to get at the glass of scotch.
“We should at least try something… or someone. I heard about this company – Daughters of something they’re called. It’s run by that Muggle-loving Lovegood girl, but I think it might be worth a try.”
Draco leaned away from her and crossed his arms. He looked like a petulant little boy. “I am not getting a Muse,” he stated flatly. “The entire system is a complete sham.”
“Draco,” she said in exasperation. “The editor-in-chief is breathing down my neck. One of these days, I may snap and hex the bint – which we both know would be extremely bad for your publicity.”
Draco smirked at the idea of Pansy hexing Hermione Granger, or Granger-Weasley as she was now married to one of the Weasley brood.
“I don’t care how hormonal she is,” Pansy was saying. “If she demands to see what you’re working on one more time, I’ll make her lose that baby.” Pansy was grievously annoyed whenever anyone tried to control her.
“Draco,” she began again, sensing that she had lost his attention. She placed a hand on his chest and began to draw lazy circles with her finger. Her mouth moved closer to his ear as she whispered “I think it’s a good idea – getting a muse.”
Draco smirked. “Are you trying to seduce me into doing what you want?”
Pansy’s laugh was sultry. “Depends,” she said, flicking a tongue across his earlobe. “Is it working?”
“Maybe,” Draco replied noncommittally.
Pansy smirked and continued her ministrations. Draco soon became an active partner in the proceedings.
Hours later as they reclined in Pansy’s enormous Regency era bed, Pansy brought the subject up again. “It’s bound to be fun, Draco, and it couldn’t hurt” she said, her breath fanning his chest. Draco’s hands were playing with Pansy’s short curls, but he remained silent, pensive.
Pansy held her breath, wondering what his decision would be and how she could change his mind. She might have to enlist Blaise’s help next time.
“What exactly would I have to do?” Draco asked at last.
Pansy smiled smugly, her expression hidden from Draco’s eyes. “Nothing much. Just sign a contract and be receptive.”
“How receptive do I have to be?” Draco asked, and Pansy could imagine him narrowing his eyes.
“Just remain open-minded.”
*
Luna Lovegood double-checked the arrangements to ensure that all was in place for her afternoon appointment. At her direction, the throw pillows on the sofa in the centre of the room began to fluff themselves and the paintings hung at their required angles. Several of them were diagonal. She Charmed the fake window to display a tranquil field of sunlight and flowers, before moving to her desk. The room was so small there wasn’t much to do. It was a good thing Luna was just as tiny or her clients would never have fit. With the sofa and armchair, there wasn’t enough room to swing a Kneazle. She could have gotten smaller furniture, but Luna liked her guests to be comfortable. Even if they weren’t inclined to be as such.
Without so much as a knock, Pansy Parkinson arrived first, walking in with a brisk pace. Luna barely had time to invite her to sit before she perched in the edge of the sofa and waited, glancing about the room in obvious distaste. Draco Malfoy followed her more sedately, sauntering over to an armchair in front of her desk, but close to the bogus window. Neither of them said anything but their demeanours spoke volumes. Luna hid a small smile at their discomfort; neither of them wanted very much to be here. And she had gone to so much trouble to sprinkle the room with Essence of Rabbit’s Foot, too. For good luck, of course.
Luna cleared her throat delicately and moved forward. The sooner this meeting got underway, the better.
“Ms. Parkinson, Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted with more warmth than she felt. “Welcome to Daughters of Mnemosyne.”
Draco snorted at the lofty title, but Luna ignored him politely and carried on. “We endeavour to bring out the best in artists by providing them with qualified, compatible Muses. Our services are specific to each client, but the selection process usually begins with a few general questions.”
She fixed her luminous eyes on Draco, ignoring Pansy entirely.
“What kind of Muse do you seek, Mr. Malfoy ?” she asked serenely. “We have nine daughters, each with their own provenance and suited to different works of art.”
Luna deftly spread a row of cards face up on her desk. Each card depicted a different muse, in different stances and attire and each with a different instrument.
“Are these accurate depictions?” Draco asked with a frown. Luna tried not to shake her head. Men could be so predictable at times. Why should it matter if none of the girls were remotely attractive, when they would help a starving imagination find sustenance?
“No,” she assured him anyway. “But you will not see your Muse until the selection is complete.”
Draco glanced at Pansy uneasily and frowned again. He scanned the cards quickly, trying to find a match for the temperament of his story. His final three choices were Erata, the muse of love poetry; Calliope, the muse of epic poetry; and Thalia, the muse of comedy. So really, he had only Calliope and Erata to choose between.
He pointed to the card that showed a woman holding a small lyre. Luna hid another smile as she picked Erata from the deck and placed her squarely in front of Draco.
“Before we can continue,” she said, searching for papers on her desk, “you must sign a contract that releases us of any liability, and which binds you formally to the agreement.” The formal words sounded odd in Luna’s tranquil tones. She produced a stack of papers several inches thick. Draco’s eyebrows raised in a comic expression of surprise.
“We take our business very seriously,” Luna said solemnly, looking Draco firmly in the eye.
“Your agent can look that over, if you’d like,” she continued absently, searching for something else on her desk.
Pansy was already flipping through the tome. Luna made a small sound of triumph when she located a slender gold ring with curious markings all around the band. She proceeded to tap at it with her wand, eliciting gold sparks, and Draco took the moment to study the enormous legal document which Pansy was attempting to keep from his view. Draco was unconcerned; if he had to go along with this charade, then let Pansy handle all the details.
“It’s only a month, Draco,” Pansy reminded him, noticing his sour expression. They had arrived at a compromise of thirty days to try out the silly idea. Draco was still not convinced that it would work, but if it did, a month was suitably long enough for him to get critical work done.
Feeling as though he was about to make an incredibly foolish decision, Draco accepted the quill Luna offered him and signed his name at the bottom of the document. He hesitated expectantly and when nothing happened glanced at Luna. She smiled at him disarmingly before placing the contract in a filing cabinet behind her and returned with the ring lying in her outstretched palm.
Draco reached for the band cautiously. It was warm to the touch, not just a result of residual heat from Luna’s body, but a steady warmth that seemed to increase the longer Draco grasped it. He glanced between the two women, unsure, but reluctant to back down.
“What happens when I put this on?” he asked Luna, more to stall time than out of curiosity.
“That is a ring of Erata – the client’s ring. There are several matching ones for the Daughters of Erata, housed elsewhere in this facility. The ring will select the daughter it feels you are most compatible with and she will be brought up to meet you.” Luna’s explanation was succinct, but it didn’t go a long way to easing Draco’s qualms.
In fact, Draco was rather put off by the idea. After all, it seemed the height of stupidity to purchase something without even laying eyes on it. But what choice did he have, really? The contract was signed, and it stipulated that neither party could break it until the terms were met. On one hand, he could be signing up for a month of misery with an unattractive, nagging harpy. Draco inwardly cringed at the thought. Merlin only knew the sort of riffraff this place employed.
On the other hand, this could all work out and he’d get a month of fabulous entertainment from a willing, and yes, absolutely gorgeous, partner. He smirked and kept that thought firmly in his mind.
Hoping fervently for the latter, Draco slipped the thin ring onto the middle finger of his left hand. It glowed briefly and heated even more. The strange markings, which Draco realized as a language albeit one he couldn’t speak, had been thrown into greater contrast, dark against the burning gold, and the effect was quite beautiful. Draco suspected Lovegood charmed a lot of artists this way.
When the ring had cooled, leaving Draco’s entire hand tingling with the after-effects of ritual magic, Draco tried to remove it. To his surprise and horror, the band wouldn’t budge. He tugged, but it seemed to be plastered to his finger with a Permanent Sticking charm not unlike the ones used on portraits at the Manor. Fuming, he turned to Pansy who lifted her hands in a refined surrender.
“I didn’t know that would happen,” she said defensively.
“Another effect of the contract, I’m afraid, Mr. Malfoy. The ring is not to be removed until the terms of the contract have been fulfilled.”
Draco snarled at her, already frustrated with the entire process. “When am I to meet this Muse?”
“She should be arriving momentarily.” Luna glanced towards the door to confirm her statement but no one came through.
Five minutes later, when they had all but run out of patience, someone burst through the door with a barrage of profanities and a mass of red hair.
Draco’s stomach decided to freefall to his shoes, and he looked at Luna with renewed ire. The blonde had moved to intercept the newcomer.
“Is this a joke?” Draco hissed at Pansy through clenched teeth.
Pansy cut him a swift glance designed to silence any possible outbursts while she attempted to assess the situation. They didn’t know for sure that this girl was Draco’s Muse. Pansy could see no matching ring on the girl’s finger as Lovegood ushered her out of the room. Pansy got up to press her ear to the door when it swung shut behind them.
“Luna, I’m telling you the damn thing nearly scorched my finger and now it’s stuck and – what do you mean you can’t remove it?!” the girl yelled.
Pansy amended her last thought. If a Weasley was to be the Muse, then they would simply have to find a way out of the contract. She was confident that loopholes existed for just this sort of problem.
“What do you mean I’m bound to an artist?! Magically bound? Luna!” The name was said on a wail and Draco winced then covered his ears. Pansy was fairly certain he’d be doing a lot more wincing once the girl noticed who else was in the room.
At that moment, she glanced over Lovegood’s shoulder, locking eyes with Pansy who returned the look with practiced disinterest. Her eyes widened and she immediately dropped her voice. Thank Merlin, Pansy breathed. She wasn’t sure she could have put up with the shrieking much longer.
After a few moments of whispered conversations that nonetheless carried the short distance to Pansy’s seat, Luna returned to her desk, dragging the girl along with her. Pansy studied the hapless Muse again: red hair, freckles and the temper of a cornered hippogriff. She was definitely a Weasley. The urge to bury her head in her hands and call off this entire fiasco was overwhelming, but Pansy was as tenacious as mountain troll.
While Draco attempted to incinerate the Weasley on the spot with the force of his glare, the girl seemed engrossed in ignoring them both.
Luna cleared her throat to begin talking. “It appears there’s been a misunderstanding,” she began.
Pansy immediately began thinking of what they could sue her for while Draco exhaled rather loudly. Ginny, however, remained rigidly cross, her arms folded across her chest in defiance.
“A misunderstanding but, unfortunately, we must continue with the situation as it is.”
Pansy’s senses went on alert as Draco stiffened in his chair. The Weasley girl ignored them studiously. She was becoming quite adept at it.
“Ms. Weasley is not, in fact, a Daughter of Erata – or of Mnemosyne, for that matter.”
“Then how can she be eligible?” Draco demanded.
“She was wearing the ring,” Pansy pointed out wearily. “That’s it, right?” she asked Luna. When she nodded in confirmation, Draco scowled fiercely.
“Why was she wearing a ring?” he asked venomously. “I was assured that only a Daughter would possess one of these.”
“Well, Mr. Malfoy, it seems she asked to try it on,” Luna answered pleasantly. This day was not going at all the way she had planned. She would have to get a refund on the Essence of Rabbit Foot.
“She asked to try it on?” Draco repeated incredulously. “Then was I meant to get the Muse to whom the ring actually belongs? Can we just ignore the Weasley?”
The girl paused in her study of a rabbit hopping outside the charmed window to glare harshly at Draco. Luna made an apologetic face.
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Mr. Malfoy. Once the rings have chosen, the decision cannot be undone, or ignored.”
“But how was she chosen?” Pansy pressed.
“The rings are partially psychic,” Luna explained.
“I thought you said the rings chose the most compatible Muse?” Draco asked angrily.
Luna’s blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on Draco for a moment as she thought about her answer. “They do. The ring obviously thought that Ginny was best suited to you and your preferences.”
Both Draco and Ginny scoffed then glared at each other for the accidentally shared moment and then Ginny remembered that she was supposed to be ignoring him.
Pansy watched the pair with all the cheer of someone walking wandless into a cave full of giants. At this rate, Draco would never write again. For now, though, she’d have to make the most of the situation and accept the fact that Jenny Weasley or whatever-her-name-was was clearly supposed to be Draco’s Muse.
“What do we do now?” she asked Luna dully.
“Ginny and Draco will have to work closely together, and since the contract will be up in a month, I suggest maximizing your efforts by having them spend as much time in each other’s company as possible. Perhaps even living together.”
When Luna mentioned working in close proximity, Ginny had taken a step backwards, away from Draco. By the time Luna had finished speaking, Ginny was gaping at her friend in astonishment and dread while Draco seethed, fists clenched at his side.
“Impossible,” he stated harshly.
Luna shrugged delicately and looked at him. “Mr. Malfoy, it’s up to you. The rings stay on for a month, no matter what you do; you’ve already paid for our services and, quite frankly, I see no other options available to you at this time.” Luna clasped her hands and rested on the edge of the desk, the picture of calm.
Draco was outraged. How could they expect him to put up with a Weasley for thirty days? He’d had to endure their presence for seven years at school and they continued to torment him regularly if he bumped into any of them on the street. This was worse than having an ugly cow harping at him all month! Well, almost, but not quite. The Weasley girl was not bad looking if you could see past the garish hair and plebeian freckles. But she was sure to harp at him, Draco thought crossly. And harping was still harping whether the person doing it was attractive or not.
He glanced at Pansy. Surely her devious little mind was already working on a brilliant scheme to counteract this unfortunate bump in their plans. Maybe he would only have to endure the torture for a week or so. He looked at the Weasley again; she’d burn a hole in the tacky flowery wallpaper with that glare. Salazar give him strength.
“I’ll do it,” he said finally.
Luna smiled, Pansy looked apprehensive and Ginny screeched.
“Luna, am I not allowed a choice?! I didn’t sign a contract! I shouldn’t have to do this!”
“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Luna said softly. And everyone could see that she was. “But you were wearing our property at a most inopportune time, and these are the consequences.”
Ginny threw up her hands in despair. “And you,” she said hotly, rounding on Draco. “Why didn’t you say no? You couldn’t possibly want me to be your Muse.”
True, Draco acknowledged, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “And why wouldn’t I want you, Weasley?” he drawled seductively, raking his gaze over Ginny’s slender frame. She had the build of an athlete – he remembered reading once that she was a Chaser for the Falcons – not an entirely unappealing body. Pansy glanced at him quickly, then looked away.
Weasley blushed crimson in the face of Draco’s smirk and promptly held her tongue, choosing to glare at Draco’s back.
“Of all the arrogant, conceited, chauvinistic pricks,” Ginny muttered just loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I heard that,” Draco commented.
Ginny shot him a venomous look that said he was meant to.
“Are you even a real author, Malfoy?” she demanded.
Draco stiffened, affronted. “Perhaps not, but you’re not a real Muse either, so I believe we’re fairly matched.”
Ginny shut up for a few moments.
“The public isn’t to know I’ve got a Muse,” Draco ordered the rest of the room. “Are we clear?” He looked at each witch in turn. “Don’t breathe word to anyone. I don’t need to have Witch Weekly sniffing around anymore than usual,” he said in contempt.
Luna nodded; a privacy clause was a normal request from her clients. Pansy was feeling decidedly unsettled and very ready to escape to the confines of her home and liquor cabinet.
“I’m going home now,” Ginny declared.
“Very well,” Draco allowed. “You can Floo to the Manor in the morning. I intend to make good use of my thirty days.” He looked at Pansy when he said this, but her thoughts were elsewhere and he frowned momentarily before continuing.
“Goodbye, Lovegood,” he said in clipped tones. Luna was unfazed by his rudeness as he ushered Pansy out the door leaving behind a thoroughly bewildered and not a little irate Ginny Weasley.
My prompt:
Sanctuary-in-dream's Prompt [1]
Basic Outline: Draco, a renowned author, is suffering through a severe writer's block. Pansy, his dedicated agent (and occasional fling) fears that if the writer's block drags on, he will never write again. Pansy coincidentally comes across a wizarding agency that supplies a writer with a Muse, someone who has a degree, and works in the field of creative thinking and is capable of being the always available idea bunny for any paying customer. Pansy calls on the help of a Muse, something writers never like to do, who is no other than Ginny Weasley. Unfortunately for Draco, once you are paired with a Muse, you can't back out, so Draco is stuck with the girl-Weasel he tormented during his school days, and Ginny is stuck with the Boy-Weasel who tormented her constantly in school. Arguments ensue, (harsh) words are exchanged, and sparks fly as the writer and the Muse battle it out.
Must haves:Post-Hogwarts era; Luna is head of the branch that Ginny is under; Draco must be in character; Pansy is a respectable business partner; Hermione is Draco's editor (no real relationship there); Hermione/Fred; other character appearances; lots of Draco/Ginny interaction (snarky banter).
No-nos: Slutty Pansy (at least not a lot - she know her place, and rarely acts out of it); Harry appearance as a romantic interest (can be briefly in the past, but nonein the future); Ron/Hermione; softy!Draco; smut (limes, not lemons); no weird Muse-y outfits for Ginny.
Rating range: T-M
Bonus points: if there is a scene where Ginny supplies a conversation for Draco (preferably during a press conference for the Daily Prophet, but it's up to you) and things go wrong; if Draco doesn't want word getting out that he has a Muse (reason up to you), but Ginny finds a way to do just that; if Draco is forced to eat dinner with the Weasley Clan (reason up to you); if the response to this prompt is chaptered; if Ginny is over-bearing and Mum-ish at times; if there is a scene where Draco is talking out loud to his characters, and Ginny catches him; if Draco and Ginny role-play Draco's characters, and things get a little steamy.
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