Fic: Marble Angels
Word count: ~6k
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco, just a slight hint of Blaise/Pansy
Rating: R - for mentions of masturbation, really, I don't know what the appropriate rating will be, so I'm rating R just to be sure.
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a well known model, and his biggest misfortunes are those artists that insist in treating him as a luxury whore. However, in the moment when he's hired by Harry Potter, a strange and mysterious man, he can't control his own thoughts about who is that man and what does he hides.
Content: No smut, no kissing, actually this is a "so slow built" story that they don't even hug each other.
Author’s Notes: I had this fic hanging on for ages and never translated it. I hope it's okay to show it now. Thank you my lovely stardustsketchr for beta'ing my fic!
Draco got into the room completely naked. He could feel the artist’s eyes all over him, but just sat on the stool that was in the middle of the room, in the requested position. His thoughts flew away, as they always did at such times, and he wasn’t ashamed of being naked, only feeling a slight discomfort as the environment was getting colder, little by little as the time passed. He was used to spend hours sitting in the same position, as a true marble statue, so he didn’t care to be there, sitting naked and deeply observed by the painter’s watchful eyes. His pale complexion was even paler with the opaque light that came through the studio’s windows, showing the delicate curves of his body, slightly bent over himself. It was calming to see the soft bump of his stomach, marking a line before his navel, then the small curve of his abdomen followed by smooth, pale curls over his softened cock. Long legs, one supported by a ledge on the stool, the other loose, the tip of his pale pink toes touching the floor. His hands looked like delicate branches that supported him in their divine beauty, showing all of his incredible features to the eyes of the man who hired him.
After so long time immobile, Draco heard the voice saying that he could relax. He felt all his muscles stiffen because of the long period stuck in the same position, but struggled not to let out a painful groan.
“You did a great job.” The man, who was about 40, said, turning away from the canvas and approaching the blond. Draco recognised the lust shining in his eyes and immediately grabbed the robe that was reserved in a side table, dressing and feeling much better about it. “Would you like to see the work?”
The blond accepted, slightly curious. The artist was good, and the picture showed his figure in a diaphanous and metaphorical drawing. Its smooth lines wrapped in a veil of delicate lights. The man had made his hair longer and removed his pubes, but Draco didn’t care much. He didn’t harbour feelings for the arts which he posed for.
“It is very beautiful.” He praised, and felt a hand on his shoulder, a feeling that disgusted him.
“Surely, you are a wonderful model. I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to finish this night in my mansion...”
Draco looked at him with cold gray eyes, passing his fingers through the platinum strands that were his hair.
“I'm sorry, but my job has been completed. I have no intentions of going to bed with you.” He said, and saw the man's eyes narrowing. He knew that it wasn’t uncommon for models to lie down with the artists, but Draco loved his dignity too much and had a lot of pride in his reputation.
“You could win a lot by giving in, boy.” He heard, but his lips moved in a mocking smile.
“And you could find someone who wants you. Good day.” Draco said finally, heading to the next room, where he changed and left the studio, going home. He had received in advance and his work was done, so he didn’t have to worry about it.
He was modelling for quite some time. When he noticed that his father, an influential businessman in the technology industry, wanted him to take over his business, Draco saw it as a cut of his freedom, but gladly accepted. He wanted to please his parents. A few years later, unable to keep his secret for a long time, he revealed his sexuality to his family and even without being rejected or something like this, the air in his home has become too heavy to bear, and as he couldn’t endure for long. Draco Malfoy left his emerging career and luxuries to live on his own. He began modelling for magazines, but even if he knew he was damn handsome, he wasn’t comfortable with that. After some time he discovered the artistic modelling and it was like a cry for salvation. He was well paid to be absolutely naked in front of strangers. He never let anyone touch him, nor fall for the sly words of his employers, living exactly as he wanted: free.
He had one night stands with other models, but never fell in love. In fact, he thought he was incapable of that kind of thing, and lived without great expectations that his heart would beat differently for anyone in particular.
He came home, being received by the only company that he had for most of the days: Donatello, the cat. The cat had black fur with intense green eyes and purred, rubbing the legs of his owner until Draco caught him in his arms, stroked his ears as he walked into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Even without the money he had when he lived with his parents, Malfoy certainly lived comfortably. His home was decorated with an almost surgical white tone, with custom-made furniture, comfortable and efficient. There was a bookcase in the living room, full of books, and a large picture with an emerald snake on the wall in front of it, that gave colour to the environment. He picked up a glass of juice and was returning to the living room when he was startled, stopped in the same place and asked with his voice hoarser than he would like:
“Pansy! How did you get here?” And just received a giggle in return. The model, who was his friend for many years and the reason why he was now posing for old perverts, closed the door of his home, being greeted by Donatello, who apparently didn’t care for the discomfort of his owner.
“You left the door open, honey.” She said, smiling slightly, ignoring the cat and giving Draco a sideway hug, who looked at her with a scowl. She had short Chanel black hair, eyes of a beautiful brown and was tall, but shorter than him. She put her designer handbag on the couch, sat next to it and invited Draco to sit at her side, what the blond did unwillingly. “So, how was it today?”
The blond sighed, taking a long sip of his juice before answering.
“Another old perv. I think I'll stop posing naked.” The reply was a light laugh.
“It’s not your fault for being perfect, ok?” He had to agree with his friend, smiling lightly with her reactions. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking. When it was almost dark, Draco received a call from a phone number that he didn’t know. It was no surprise after all, many called him for a modelling session.
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” He heard the voice on the other side, a mixture of hoarseness and seriousness.
“Good night Sir...?”
“Potter. Harry Potter. I wanted to know if you had any free time. I need a model.” The voice said, and the blond pulled a book from his desk, on which his commitments were noted.
“I am free on Tuesday and Thursday all day.” Draco said. He was careful to accept only one work per day. The schedules of the artists were always inaccurate, and they changed the payment or the schedule when he was already there. Draco never wanted to risk losing a customer.
“Thursday is great.” Potter said, and passed the address so Draco would come to his studio on Thursday at 9 A.M.
“Don’t you want to know about the payment ...?” Draco asked finally, and heard the man mutter something from his side.
“You can talk to my secretary when you get here. The value doesn’t matter.” The voice said, and the blond sighed. Another rich man who would want a bit of him at the end of the session. At least he could charge those guys more money without feeling minimally guilty later. He confirmed his presence and hung up under the curious gaze of Pansy. He informed her about the session, and she just nodded. One among many...
“But I have to admit, Pans... He had a very sexy voice.” Draco said, making his friend laugh before picking up her designer handbag and walking away, throwing him a kiss then walking out the door. This time, the blond made sure to get up and lock the door before going to shower and preparing his dinner.
--- X ---
On Thursday, he arrived at the studio on time. He was welcomed by Potter’s secretary, a girl named Luna, who seemed to be more on the Moon than on Earth, with pardon for the pun. He told her the price, and the girl wasn’t surprised by the high amount, simply pressed a buzzer on her table and told the artist, who agreed to transfer the money as soon as the blond left the studio.
“I must warn you that Harry is somewhat eccentric.” Luna said, and her voice sounded like the soft singing of a nightingale. Her eyes were disperse, but she transmitted him a calmness, while at the same time, a strange feeling, caused by her light complexion along with her hair of a strange hue, like a dirty blond, and badly cut bangs. “So it would be lovely if you just follow his instructions.” She said, leading him to a small room. In this room there was a stool that appeared to be comfortable, and a large mirror on the other side. “Harry is on the other side of the mirror. He wants you to only hear his voice. When it’s finished, you can go back to my office and I will transfer the money.”
She left, closing the door and Draco was surprised by that. He saw his own reflection in the mirror and sighed, putting his bag on the floor near the wall and began to take off his shirt when he heard the voice that had spoken to him on the phone.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy. Today I just need your arms.” Harry said, and the blond stopped with the sound of his voice, coming from behind the mirror. “Sit on the floor, then support your arms on the stool, side by side. Let only your hands relaxed.”
Draco was surprised again by that, but did what was asked, putting his bare arms on the stool and relaxing. Staying in that position was good for the first half an hour, but then became quite tiring and even painful, but he resisted. It was his job. After nearly two hours in complete silence, he heard the voice again.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You can go to the office pick up your payment.” Simple and straightforward. Draco wasted no time, grabbing his bag again and going to the room where Luna made the transfer as scheduled.
When leaving the studio, Draco immediately called Pansy, stating with a slight wonder what had happened.
“Those were the easiest two thousand pounds I have ever received!” He said as he reached out to order a taxi. Actually, it had been so much easier than that. For the first time since he started posing for artists he didn’t get naked. For the first time he didn’t feel cold, he wasn’t controlling himself to hide the shame within him as he saw those lustful eyes on his body. That made him so immensely happy that he decided to celebrate. He invited Pansy and Blaise, along with the Greengrass sisters and bought Chinese for everyone. They spent the night talking and laughing at the jerks flirtations that Blaise played at Pansy, talking about projects in which they were participating and all the rest.
The next day, in the morning, he received another call from Harry Potter asking him to a session next week. Draco quickly accepted. It would be easy money and, heavens, he could just stay in those jobs without exposing more than enough. It was great, little work, a lot of money, little display... and it had that sexy voice that only greeted him and sent him away.
In the coming weeks he accepted only one work per week: Harry Potter’s. A thousand pounds per hour, and sometimes he was just there, standing in a comfortable position for several hours. Potter had that husky, calm voice as ever, and the blond longed to know why he couldn’t see his face. The secretary, on the other hand, was all love and sweet, always asking if he wanted something, passing by the small room every two hours to offer him tea, or a snack. Sometimes she entered the room and just sat watching the blond, motionless throughout the time she was there. Luna was definitely strange, and Harry Potter was equally strange.
“I think he is a dirty old man, Pansy. With a sexy voice, but a dirty old man. Really. Sometimes I imagine that he is doing nothing behind that mirror, looking at me while sitting, just... You know? Wanking that old, flaccid cock until he has an orgasm and dismisses me. That's why it takes so long.” He said one day, making the brunette laugh out loud.
“Stop, that’s disgusting! Why didn’t he just pay for you to go to bed with him? I think you would go just for the sexy voice.” She teased, tasting her diet milkshake that she had bought in the hidden cafe they worshiped. No presence of fans, without looks for them, with nothing of their famous lives.
“The sexy voice wouldn’t disguise all the flaccid skin and the smell of cigarette smoke and old perfume.” He said, not realizing that that sounded like prejudice. “Besides, everyone has their fetish. Well, I don’t care if he’s wanking behind the mirror. I don’t see and it pays well.” He laughed. “But that it is very strange... It is.”
“Well, enjoy. Easy things like that don’t last.” She said, and Draco had to agree, as he proved his tea. He needed to keep his contacts, because after that service was over he would have no work, and consequently, would be poor.
After a few weeks, Luna recommended him to take off his shirt. In that day, he hasn’t heard Harry's voice, just the incessant tic tic tic, that he heard every time he went there.
“Why he doesn’t show his face?” He asked Luna later, as he pulled on his shirt. “Is he one of those artists who doesn’t like to reveal?”
Luna smiled in a cute way before answering.
“Mr. Potter was a prodigious child. He was very famous in childhood and adolescence, but not only because of his talent. It's easy to find the story on the internet if you want to know. But after his 17th birthday, he decided to disappear with his godfather, and since his return, no one saw his face. Or at least they don’t recognize him. And it's great. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, you know?”
There was no need to say that that night Draco searched for Harry Potter on the web. He was amazing to find that, in fact, he wasn’t an old man. He was only a month younger than Draco. There were no pictures of adult Harry Potter, but there were several pictures of a child looking lost and a nasty lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Talented and wealthy parents, killed in an attack by a serial killer. The child came out almost unscathed, protected by the dead body of the mother. Harry spent a lot of time being sought until the group that was hunting him was dismembered by Harry himself, at age 17. How such a young boy could do that was a mystery, and he never gave an interview how it was possible, since shortly after he disappeared with his godfather and was never seen again. Draco was also surprised to find that Harry's godfather was actually Sirius Black, a second cousin of his mother. The story became increasingly interesting, and Draco couldn’t wait to have a new meeting with Potter. He wouldn’t ask for it, but it was obviously a different feeling to be so close to a mysterious celebrity. He looked at the picture of the boy that was opened on Google. A thin young man with round glasses, unruly jet-black hair and a lost expression. But the eyes... The incredible green eyes that glittered even in that old photograph, were like a fire igniting inside his skull. The blond was extremely curious to know how Harry Potter was at 27.
Not long after Potter called again. This time, as the last week, he had only to take off his shirt. The position in which he was sitting was somewhat uncomfortable, however. He sat on a high stool, with his full body erect, arms rested between his legs with long neck completely exposed. His eyes closed, his chin lifted in an almost arrogant expression, but still angelic. He spent three long hours in the same position, stopping just ten minutes after an hour and a half to rest and drink something that Luna had given him. He couldn’t complain about the money and Potter’s treatment, and despite being the only work in which he longed to find the artist, it was also the only one in which the artist didn’t wish to be found. Potter was extremely professional, and even giving him all he could so the blond was comfortable, if Draco moved one centimetre off the place, he would hear a ‘Mr. Malfoy, you moved’, and had to fight to stay immobile for the next half hour before he heard another ‘Mr. Malfoy’ from behind the mirror.
At home, he wondered how it would be to hear that voice calling his name. ‘Draco,’ he'd heard in his head. ‘Oh, Draco...’. It was inevitable that his hands went down his pale body, one of them getting over his small, pink nipple, the other going down into his pants as he imagined an older version of the boy from the pictures, touching him with his hands, calloused from the chisel and hammer with which he worked, those eyes burning his body with green fire, and that delicious voice muttering obscenities in his ear. He regret every time he had an orgasm, thinking how it was dishonourable to wank to a man that Draco didn’t know the face of, and could only assume how it was.
Falling in love with a voice. Tsk. How stupid.
Maybe it wasn’t the voice. Maybe it was the admired way that Luna talked about her boss. Maybe it was the information that Wikipedia had given him about the boy-who-lived, who avenged the death of his parents virtually alone. Maybe it was the concern for the well being of his model. ‘Are you cold, Mr. Malfoy?’ or ‘Are you tired? We can take a break.’ Maybe it was the fact that Harry Potter had never tried to go to bed with him or made indecent proposals. Of course, he could be straight. Why had Draco never thought of that possibility? He could be Luna’s boyfriend, too, and that would be why she was always talking good things about him. But Draco couldn’t help. His imagination created a mysterious and seductive man, full of past traumas, but who had a sweet and wild heart. He did know that the reality could destroy his dreams, but talking seriously, he would never be with Potter, so he could imagine at will and live deliciously with the dark green eyes of his imagination. He was like an improved Christian Grey, a 2.0 version of that rich, successful and powerful man with burning sexual desires. He slept smiling at the thought of scenarios in which Harry would come out of his hiding place behind the mirror and take him right there in the studio, on the cold wooden floor while he shivered because of Potter kisses and the cold floor.
Since then, he was always trying not to blush every time he heard Potter's voice behind the mirror. He was immobile in this position for a long moment, thinking of anything that wasn’t imaginary hands working with marble, carving it with his body, while Potter's eyes went from stone to the slight curve that his belly did when it went over to his stomach. His eyes would travel over his body, memorizing every curve, every edge, every little detail of the man who was there, standing, only to be seen and adored. There were weeks... no, months that he saw no other customers. He was completely absorbed by Potter and that unknown aura that was around him, no longer wanting to accept other jobs. Artists who could pay him well for his work were in the waiting line, because his main artist could call at any time, and he wanted to be available every day that Harry needed him.
It was on Tuesday that Draco heard a phrase that seemed strange to his ears.
"Today, I want you naked."
He didn’t know what to do at the time. Draco didn’t expect that request and took a few seconds to do what the other had asked, remembering that this was a job and he was a model. Luna told him the position he needed to stay in, and the blond couldn’t help but blushing when she smiled in a gentle way and said:
“You are the most beautiful model I've seen.” Her words were sincere, and even if she always appeared to be over the moon, Luna was quite insightful, not because she said that Draco was beautiful, but for all the worry and good treatment, in addition to the conversations she had with the man.
Draco was there, sitting on the bench, completely exposed. One leg bent, the other dangling toward the floor while his arms were up, held by some silk cloths hanging from the ceiling. The silk fell behind him like a wind curtain, matching his straight blond hair that fell over his face gently. On that day he won seven thousand pounds, and when he left the studio he was so sore and stiff that the only thought he was having was to take a shower and sleep soundly until the next day.
But he couldn’t sleep. That day, after the payment, Luna told him that this was his last work with Harry.
“Couldn’t I see his face just once?” Draco asked, frowning because it was so unfair.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Potter insists that he doesn’t want anyone to see him often.” She said with a look of those who understand. “But don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy. One time or another, Harry always appears.” Luna smiled, shaking hands and waving to the blond soon after he moved away.
He was rolling in bed that night, thinking about when he could finally see Harry Potter’s face as an adult. Apparently, he would have to stay with his imagination.
“You are definitely crazy.” Was Pansy’s comment when Draco told her his misadventures, and he made a disgusted noise before tasting his own beer, which he drank sitting on his couch carelessly. She sat on the floor, leaning on the other sofa, some bottles accumulated in the space between the two. “He's just a voice, Drake. So what if he isn’t a perverted old man? Maybe he came out with his face all torn by this fight with the mafia. What if he’s fat, with a horrible beard?”
“I don’t know, Pansy! And I'll never know! That's what bothers me...!” Draco said, letting out a sigh and covering his eyes with his hands. “I’ll never know his face, and I'll never stop imagining how it would be because I’ll simply never have the answer.”
“That is true.” She said, twisting her lips. “I also want to know how he looks. From what you describe, he must be like Christian Bale dressed as Batman.”
Draco laughed, pulling his hands from his face and gazing at her seriously, but with a line that could almost feel like a wandering soul.
“He has a firm, hoarse voice, you know? As if he didn’t know how to talk... I just needed to take my clothes off once, in the last session, and when he gave me the order, he stammered nervously... It was so cute!” Draco laughed awkwardly. “Harry seems to be very shy, even when I can’t see him... Maybe that's why he hides.”
“Since when he turned ‘Harry’?” Pansy teased, making Draco look at her with a scowl.
“Since he is a fruit of my imagination.” Draco countered, taking another sip of his drink. “In my imagination, he can be whatever I want. Even Christian Bale. Moreover, I spent seven hours sitting in a completely fucked hard stool waiting for him to do whatever he was doing behind that mirror, I have all the rights to imagine him naked.”
They both laughed, but Draco couldn’t stop thinking about him. In the coming weeks he hadn’t even one call, thus he considered himself on vacation. He had received a lot of money from Potter and couldn’t spend it all in such a short time. He could buy a car, and that's what he did. A simple car, but beautiful and elegant, just like Draco.
Slowly his life was back to normal. One work per day, exploring old rich man who paid him as well as Potter, but that didn’t give him the same pleasure it gave him for posing for an extremely sexy male voice. Not all of them were old rich and lustful. There was a lot of female artists, with a clear smile and a kindness out of the ordinary, but even though they left Draco comfortable, they didn’t cause him all that feeling he had to pose for Harry. It was as if the muse was disgusted with the poet, as it no longer felt like it to give him any inspiration.
After a particularly stressful day at work, Draco came home, taking Donatello in his arms and stroking the cat ears as he walked to the kitchen, warming water to make tea. He left the cat on a bench, took some toast and put them on a plate, placing herbs for infusion and taking the water off the fire. He went to the bathroom, where he took a relatively long shower, feeling his muscles relax before returning to his "dinner". The tea wasn’t so warm, but he liked like this because then he wouldn’t have to worry about burning his tongue. He put a sugar cube in it and headed for his small office, where he turned on his laptop and began to check his emails. Some contracts that he didn’t accept immediately, but analysed the days, hours and payments, some advertisements, and an invitation. He gulped as he read.
The National Public Secretariat invites you to honour one of the greatest artists of our time. In this Saturday, 3/21, at the National Museum, there will be a display by artist Harry Potter, with his new collection "Marble Angels". Free admission to guests only.
Print your attached invitation, or display the code number at the entrance.
That was it. That's what Luna had talked about when she said ‘Harry always appears.’ It was his chance to meet the man in person, and he couldn’t hide the joy he felt at that. They were still a few days until the exhibition and Draco could show up with all his glamour, one that has always attracted people from everywhere, all sexes and ages. He invited Pansy and Blaise, and he knew that they would appear extremely elegant as ever.
On Saturday, he put on his best suit, combed his hair meticulously, put on a very well polished pair of shoes and looked in the mirror. He was beautiful, as always. His completely black clothes, from his shirt to his tie, his hair back with gel, the suit perfect in the line of his waist. He took Pansy and Zabini in their houses, simply because they wanted to go together, and parked on the site, getting out of the car and opening the door for Pansy, who looked stunning in her green tight tube dress, which matched perfectly with her active eyes and black hair. Zabini was also handsome, with his straight cut Italian suit, which together with the man's olive skin tone, made him throw an air of pure lust.
Zabini and Pansy paid their entries, and Draco presented his invitation. The presence of the three attracted attention, and they walked by the front desk to the marble stairs to the first floor where the exhibition was being shown. Passing through the gates, Draco felt his heart drop to a place lost between his stomach and his kidneys. There were a total of 14 statues, six on each side of the great room and two in the middle, the back of one to the back of the other. People walked around looking at the work pieces, very well dressed and looking important. He looked around, his eyes recognizing artists with whom he already worked with, others that he knew only because he was in the business. Pansy shook Draco's arm, making him to look at her.
“Wow.” That was what the brunette said, putting a hand with the snakeskin pouch she held against her chest.
Yes. Wow. He didn’t expect Harry to be so extremely skilled. He walked to the sculptures. They looked like a succession, a story. The first was a young man with long hair, sitting on the floor with arms resting on a rock. Draco noticed how perfectly as Harry had made his hands... Yes, the hands of Draco himself. The long fingers, the slightly apparent tendons, somewhat delicate. The statue was looking lost and tired, and his clothes were rumpled.
In the second the same boy is still sitting, but his arms were resting on the stone as if supporting himself, and not just leaning. His eyes are open and active, head looking up as if listening to something, and so the statues followed, with the progression of the boy out of his misery state until the state of elevation, which led them to one of the statues in centre. The same boy, sitting on a Greek stone column, erected neck, hands resting on his legs, long wings dropping behind his back. At the base of the statue, there was some words saying "Redemption". The angel was with his chest showing, silk covering his bottom. Draco saw his own proportions in the work, that same line of belly, the size of the arms, long neck, chin line, almost anxious look, but the face cold. He struggled not to show his feelings with those statues.
The statues on the other side were the opposite. If you started on the other hand, you would see another kind of story. The same young man sitting with his arms in stone, but soon after he heard a sound from below. The statues portrayed the boy out of the state of misery until domination, and in every statue, a less piece of clothing, to the central statue, where silk cloths hung from the ceiling and held the arms of the angel up, his wings dropped and demoniac, his body naked.
“Draco Malfoy.” He heard a voice behind him and turned, bumping into a director he had met a few years ago. The man practically monopolized the area, the most asked for and most well paid.
“Igor Karkaroff.” The young man replied, raising his chin almost defiantly, and shook his hand. He never agreed to work with the man, and perhaps it was why he still had an independent work, that despite paying him well, would never have the proportions of a job with Karkaroff. Draco preferred it that way.
“Harry Potter made his best show in years. I’ve heard that you were the only model for this collection.” The man said with his heavy accent, and Draco nodded.
“Well, it's the first time I’ve heard that I was the only model, but apparently yes.” The model didn’t smile, just looked around as if to illustrate what he was saying. “It was great working with him.”
“Rumour has it that he is a perfect hero, isn’t he?” Karkaroff said with a fake smile. “Tell me, how is he? For years we all wanted to see this man's face and there isn’t the slightest hint of where we can find him.”
“Unfortunately...”
“Unfortunately Mr. Malfoy didn’t know until today.” Draco was interrupted by the voice... that delicious voice of which he had dreamed about for so long. He gulped, breathing calmly, without showing the will he had to turn his head and look at the man who had stopped beside him. Zabini had been lost in the exhibition, but he could hear Pansy groaning softly beside him. “It is an honour that you had visited my exhibition, Karkaroff. It's a great opportunity. A few months ago I was planning my comeback, and I'm apparently doing well.”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. A great comeback.” Karkaroff shook hands with the sculptor, and only then Draco turned to face him. He had to swallow. Harry Potter looked young, with rumpled hair as if he had just run out of wherever he was, dressed in a white shirt with a black blazer over, but wearing jeans and black converse. He had a ridiculous pair of round spectacles, apparently the same as the one on his teen photos, and the scar on his forehead. The blond cringed when those incredibly green eyes turned to him and couldn’t concentrate on anything. The night passed like a breath, simply because, despite the serious and focused face, Draco couldn’t take his eyes from Harry for any second. He was a little lower than Draco himself, but his body was stronger, and he had a sexy aura that the blond didn’t identify in himself.
At the end of the night Blaise said he and Pansy wouldn’t go back together with Draco because they had made "plans" and would return by taxi. Draco was well aware what plans were these, and almost felt grateful, because he was about to give up talking to Harry - who was apparently too busy to spend five whole minutes talking to Draco - until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and came face to face with those amazing green eyes.
“It is very nice to see you, Draco.” Harry said, and Draco felt a huge shiver go through his body while having his name spoken like that by that voice, along with those eyes. “The night is almost over, but... Do you have a little time for coffee?” He asked, and Draco tried to control all the muscles of his face, but couldn’t resist the small side smile that formed on his lips.
Yes. He had all the time in the world.
End~
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco, just a slight hint of Blaise/Pansy
Rating: R - for mentions of masturbation, really, I don't know what the appropriate rating will be, so I'm rating R just to be sure.
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a well known model, and his biggest misfortunes are those artists that insist in treating him as a luxury whore. However, in the moment when he's hired by Harry Potter, a strange and mysterious man, he can't control his own thoughts about who is that man and what does he hides.
Content: No smut, no kissing, actually this is a "so slow built" story that they don't even hug each other.
Author’s Notes: I had this fic hanging on for ages and never translated it. I hope it's okay to show it now. Thank you my lovely stardustsketchr for beta'ing my fic!
Draco got into the room completely naked. He could feel the artist’s eyes all over him, but just sat on the stool that was in the middle of the room, in the requested position. His thoughts flew away, as they always did at such times, and he wasn’t ashamed of being naked, only feeling a slight discomfort as the environment was getting colder, little by little as the time passed. He was used to spend hours sitting in the same position, as a true marble statue, so he didn’t care to be there, sitting naked and deeply observed by the painter’s watchful eyes. His pale complexion was even paler with the opaque light that came through the studio’s windows, showing the delicate curves of his body, slightly bent over himself. It was calming to see the soft bump of his stomach, marking a line before his navel, then the small curve of his abdomen followed by smooth, pale curls over his softened cock. Long legs, one supported by a ledge on the stool, the other loose, the tip of his pale pink toes touching the floor. His hands looked like delicate branches that supported him in their divine beauty, showing all of his incredible features to the eyes of the man who hired him.
After so long time immobile, Draco heard the voice saying that he could relax. He felt all his muscles stiffen because of the long period stuck in the same position, but struggled not to let out a painful groan.
“You did a great job.” The man, who was about 40, said, turning away from the canvas and approaching the blond. Draco recognised the lust shining in his eyes and immediately grabbed the robe that was reserved in a side table, dressing and feeling much better about it. “Would you like to see the work?”
The blond accepted, slightly curious. The artist was good, and the picture showed his figure in a diaphanous and metaphorical drawing. Its smooth lines wrapped in a veil of delicate lights. The man had made his hair longer and removed his pubes, but Draco didn’t care much. He didn’t harbour feelings for the arts which he posed for.
“It is very beautiful.” He praised, and felt a hand on his shoulder, a feeling that disgusted him.
“Surely, you are a wonderful model. I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to finish this night in my mansion...”
Draco looked at him with cold gray eyes, passing his fingers through the platinum strands that were his hair.
“I'm sorry, but my job has been completed. I have no intentions of going to bed with you.” He said, and saw the man's eyes narrowing. He knew that it wasn’t uncommon for models to lie down with the artists, but Draco loved his dignity too much and had a lot of pride in his reputation.
“You could win a lot by giving in, boy.” He heard, but his lips moved in a mocking smile.
“And you could find someone who wants you. Good day.” Draco said finally, heading to the next room, where he changed and left the studio, going home. He had received in advance and his work was done, so he didn’t have to worry about it.
He was modelling for quite some time. When he noticed that his father, an influential businessman in the technology industry, wanted him to take over his business, Draco saw it as a cut of his freedom, but gladly accepted. He wanted to please his parents. A few years later, unable to keep his secret for a long time, he revealed his sexuality to his family and even without being rejected or something like this, the air in his home has become too heavy to bear, and as he couldn’t endure for long. Draco Malfoy left his emerging career and luxuries to live on his own. He began modelling for magazines, but even if he knew he was damn handsome, he wasn’t comfortable with that. After some time he discovered the artistic modelling and it was like a cry for salvation. He was well paid to be absolutely naked in front of strangers. He never let anyone touch him, nor fall for the sly words of his employers, living exactly as he wanted: free.
He had one night stands with other models, but never fell in love. In fact, he thought he was incapable of that kind of thing, and lived without great expectations that his heart would beat differently for anyone in particular.
He came home, being received by the only company that he had for most of the days: Donatello, the cat. The cat had black fur with intense green eyes and purred, rubbing the legs of his owner until Draco caught him in his arms, stroked his ears as he walked into the kitchen looking for something to eat. Even without the money he had when he lived with his parents, Malfoy certainly lived comfortably. His home was decorated with an almost surgical white tone, with custom-made furniture, comfortable and efficient. There was a bookcase in the living room, full of books, and a large picture with an emerald snake on the wall in front of it, that gave colour to the environment. He picked up a glass of juice and was returning to the living room when he was startled, stopped in the same place and asked with his voice hoarser than he would like:
“Pansy! How did you get here?” And just received a giggle in return. The model, who was his friend for many years and the reason why he was now posing for old perverts, closed the door of his home, being greeted by Donatello, who apparently didn’t care for the discomfort of his owner.
“You left the door open, honey.” She said, smiling slightly, ignoring the cat and giving Draco a sideway hug, who looked at her with a scowl. She had short Chanel black hair, eyes of a beautiful brown and was tall, but shorter than him. She put her designer handbag on the couch, sat next to it and invited Draco to sit at her side, what the blond did unwillingly. “So, how was it today?”
The blond sighed, taking a long sip of his juice before answering.
“Another old perv. I think I'll stop posing naked.” The reply was a light laugh.
“It’s not your fault for being perfect, ok?” He had to agree with his friend, smiling lightly with her reactions. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking. When it was almost dark, Draco received a call from a phone number that he didn’t know. It was no surprise after all, many called him for a modelling session.
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” He heard the voice on the other side, a mixture of hoarseness and seriousness.
“Good night Sir...?”
“Potter. Harry Potter. I wanted to know if you had any free time. I need a model.” The voice said, and the blond pulled a book from his desk, on which his commitments were noted.
“I am free on Tuesday and Thursday all day.” Draco said. He was careful to accept only one work per day. The schedules of the artists were always inaccurate, and they changed the payment or the schedule when he was already there. Draco never wanted to risk losing a customer.
“Thursday is great.” Potter said, and passed the address so Draco would come to his studio on Thursday at 9 A.M.
“Don’t you want to know about the payment ...?” Draco asked finally, and heard the man mutter something from his side.
“You can talk to my secretary when you get here. The value doesn’t matter.” The voice said, and the blond sighed. Another rich man who would want a bit of him at the end of the session. At least he could charge those guys more money without feeling minimally guilty later. He confirmed his presence and hung up under the curious gaze of Pansy. He informed her about the session, and she just nodded. One among many...
“But I have to admit, Pans... He had a very sexy voice.” Draco said, making his friend laugh before picking up her designer handbag and walking away, throwing him a kiss then walking out the door. This time, the blond made sure to get up and lock the door before going to shower and preparing his dinner.
--- X ---
On Thursday, he arrived at the studio on time. He was welcomed by Potter’s secretary, a girl named Luna, who seemed to be more on the Moon than on Earth, with pardon for the pun. He told her the price, and the girl wasn’t surprised by the high amount, simply pressed a buzzer on her table and told the artist, who agreed to transfer the money as soon as the blond left the studio.
“I must warn you that Harry is somewhat eccentric.” Luna said, and her voice sounded like the soft singing of a nightingale. Her eyes were disperse, but she transmitted him a calmness, while at the same time, a strange feeling, caused by her light complexion along with her hair of a strange hue, like a dirty blond, and badly cut bangs. “So it would be lovely if you just follow his instructions.” She said, leading him to a small room. In this room there was a stool that appeared to be comfortable, and a large mirror on the other side. “Harry is on the other side of the mirror. He wants you to only hear his voice. When it’s finished, you can go back to my office and I will transfer the money.”
She left, closing the door and Draco was surprised by that. He saw his own reflection in the mirror and sighed, putting his bag on the floor near the wall and began to take off his shirt when he heard the voice that had spoken to him on the phone.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy. Today I just need your arms.” Harry said, and the blond stopped with the sound of his voice, coming from behind the mirror. “Sit on the floor, then support your arms on the stool, side by side. Let only your hands relaxed.”
Draco was surprised again by that, but did what was asked, putting his bare arms on the stool and relaxing. Staying in that position was good for the first half an hour, but then became quite tiring and even painful, but he resisted. It was his job. After nearly two hours in complete silence, he heard the voice again.
“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You can go to the office pick up your payment.” Simple and straightforward. Draco wasted no time, grabbing his bag again and going to the room where Luna made the transfer as scheduled.
When leaving the studio, Draco immediately called Pansy, stating with a slight wonder what had happened.
“Those were the easiest two thousand pounds I have ever received!” He said as he reached out to order a taxi. Actually, it had been so much easier than that. For the first time since he started posing for artists he didn’t get naked. For the first time he didn’t feel cold, he wasn’t controlling himself to hide the shame within him as he saw those lustful eyes on his body. That made him so immensely happy that he decided to celebrate. He invited Pansy and Blaise, along with the Greengrass sisters and bought Chinese for everyone. They spent the night talking and laughing at the jerks flirtations that Blaise played at Pansy, talking about projects in which they were participating and all the rest.
The next day, in the morning, he received another call from Harry Potter asking him to a session next week. Draco quickly accepted. It would be easy money and, heavens, he could just stay in those jobs without exposing more than enough. It was great, little work, a lot of money, little display... and it had that sexy voice that only greeted him and sent him away.
In the coming weeks he accepted only one work per week: Harry Potter’s. A thousand pounds per hour, and sometimes he was just there, standing in a comfortable position for several hours. Potter had that husky, calm voice as ever, and the blond longed to know why he couldn’t see his face. The secretary, on the other hand, was all love and sweet, always asking if he wanted something, passing by the small room every two hours to offer him tea, or a snack. Sometimes she entered the room and just sat watching the blond, motionless throughout the time she was there. Luna was definitely strange, and Harry Potter was equally strange.
“I think he is a dirty old man, Pansy. With a sexy voice, but a dirty old man. Really. Sometimes I imagine that he is doing nothing behind that mirror, looking at me while sitting, just... You know? Wanking that old, flaccid cock until he has an orgasm and dismisses me. That's why it takes so long.” He said one day, making the brunette laugh out loud.
“Stop, that’s disgusting! Why didn’t he just pay for you to go to bed with him? I think you would go just for the sexy voice.” She teased, tasting her diet milkshake that she had bought in the hidden cafe they worshiped. No presence of fans, without looks for them, with nothing of their famous lives.
“The sexy voice wouldn’t disguise all the flaccid skin and the smell of cigarette smoke and old perfume.” He said, not realizing that that sounded like prejudice. “Besides, everyone has their fetish. Well, I don’t care if he’s wanking behind the mirror. I don’t see and it pays well.” He laughed. “But that it is very strange... It is.”
“Well, enjoy. Easy things like that don’t last.” She said, and Draco had to agree, as he proved his tea. He needed to keep his contacts, because after that service was over he would have no work, and consequently, would be poor.
After a few weeks, Luna recommended him to take off his shirt. In that day, he hasn’t heard Harry's voice, just the incessant tic tic tic, that he heard every time he went there.
“Why he doesn’t show his face?” He asked Luna later, as he pulled on his shirt. “Is he one of those artists who doesn’t like to reveal?”
Luna smiled in a cute way before answering.
“Mr. Potter was a prodigious child. He was very famous in childhood and adolescence, but not only because of his talent. It's easy to find the story on the internet if you want to know. But after his 17th birthday, he decided to disappear with his godfather, and since his return, no one saw his face. Or at least they don’t recognize him. And it's great. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention, you know?”
There was no need to say that that night Draco searched for Harry Potter on the web. He was amazing to find that, in fact, he wasn’t an old man. He was only a month younger than Draco. There were no pictures of adult Harry Potter, but there were several pictures of a child looking lost and a nasty lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Talented and wealthy parents, killed in an attack by a serial killer. The child came out almost unscathed, protected by the dead body of the mother. Harry spent a lot of time being sought until the group that was hunting him was dismembered by Harry himself, at age 17. How such a young boy could do that was a mystery, and he never gave an interview how it was possible, since shortly after he disappeared with his godfather and was never seen again. Draco was also surprised to find that Harry's godfather was actually Sirius Black, a second cousin of his mother. The story became increasingly interesting, and Draco couldn’t wait to have a new meeting with Potter. He wouldn’t ask for it, but it was obviously a different feeling to be so close to a mysterious celebrity. He looked at the picture of the boy that was opened on Google. A thin young man with round glasses, unruly jet-black hair and a lost expression. But the eyes... The incredible green eyes that glittered even in that old photograph, were like a fire igniting inside his skull. The blond was extremely curious to know how Harry Potter was at 27.
Not long after Potter called again. This time, as the last week, he had only to take off his shirt. The position in which he was sitting was somewhat uncomfortable, however. He sat on a high stool, with his full body erect, arms rested between his legs with long neck completely exposed. His eyes closed, his chin lifted in an almost arrogant expression, but still angelic. He spent three long hours in the same position, stopping just ten minutes after an hour and a half to rest and drink something that Luna had given him. He couldn’t complain about the money and Potter’s treatment, and despite being the only work in which he longed to find the artist, it was also the only one in which the artist didn’t wish to be found. Potter was extremely professional, and even giving him all he could so the blond was comfortable, if Draco moved one centimetre off the place, he would hear a ‘Mr. Malfoy, you moved’, and had to fight to stay immobile for the next half hour before he heard another ‘Mr. Malfoy’ from behind the mirror.
At home, he wondered how it would be to hear that voice calling his name. ‘Draco,’ he'd heard in his head. ‘Oh, Draco...’. It was inevitable that his hands went down his pale body, one of them getting over his small, pink nipple, the other going down into his pants as he imagined an older version of the boy from the pictures, touching him with his hands, calloused from the chisel and hammer with which he worked, those eyes burning his body with green fire, and that delicious voice muttering obscenities in his ear. He regret every time he had an orgasm, thinking how it was dishonourable to wank to a man that Draco didn’t know the face of, and could only assume how it was.
Falling in love with a voice. Tsk. How stupid.
Maybe it wasn’t the voice. Maybe it was the admired way that Luna talked about her boss. Maybe it was the information that Wikipedia had given him about the boy-who-lived, who avenged the death of his parents virtually alone. Maybe it was the concern for the well being of his model. ‘Are you cold, Mr. Malfoy?’ or ‘Are you tired? We can take a break.’ Maybe it was the fact that Harry Potter had never tried to go to bed with him or made indecent proposals. Of course, he could be straight. Why had Draco never thought of that possibility? He could be Luna’s boyfriend, too, and that would be why she was always talking good things about him. But Draco couldn’t help. His imagination created a mysterious and seductive man, full of past traumas, but who had a sweet and wild heart. He did know that the reality could destroy his dreams, but talking seriously, he would never be with Potter, so he could imagine at will and live deliciously with the dark green eyes of his imagination. He was like an improved Christian Grey, a 2.0 version of that rich, successful and powerful man with burning sexual desires. He slept smiling at the thought of scenarios in which Harry would come out of his hiding place behind the mirror and take him right there in the studio, on the cold wooden floor while he shivered because of Potter kisses and the cold floor.
Since then, he was always trying not to blush every time he heard Potter's voice behind the mirror. He was immobile in this position for a long moment, thinking of anything that wasn’t imaginary hands working with marble, carving it with his body, while Potter's eyes went from stone to the slight curve that his belly did when it went over to his stomach. His eyes would travel over his body, memorizing every curve, every edge, every little detail of the man who was there, standing, only to be seen and adored. There were weeks... no, months that he saw no other customers. He was completely absorbed by Potter and that unknown aura that was around him, no longer wanting to accept other jobs. Artists who could pay him well for his work were in the waiting line, because his main artist could call at any time, and he wanted to be available every day that Harry needed him.
It was on Tuesday that Draco heard a phrase that seemed strange to his ears.
"Today, I want you naked."
He didn’t know what to do at the time. Draco didn’t expect that request and took a few seconds to do what the other had asked, remembering that this was a job and he was a model. Luna told him the position he needed to stay in, and the blond couldn’t help but blushing when she smiled in a gentle way and said:
“You are the most beautiful model I've seen.” Her words were sincere, and even if she always appeared to be over the moon, Luna was quite insightful, not because she said that Draco was beautiful, but for all the worry and good treatment, in addition to the conversations she had with the man.
Draco was there, sitting on the bench, completely exposed. One leg bent, the other dangling toward the floor while his arms were up, held by some silk cloths hanging from the ceiling. The silk fell behind him like a wind curtain, matching his straight blond hair that fell over his face gently. On that day he won seven thousand pounds, and when he left the studio he was so sore and stiff that the only thought he was having was to take a shower and sleep soundly until the next day.
But he couldn’t sleep. That day, after the payment, Luna told him that this was his last work with Harry.
“Couldn’t I see his face just once?” Draco asked, frowning because it was so unfair.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Potter insists that he doesn’t want anyone to see him often.” She said with a look of those who understand. “But don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy. One time or another, Harry always appears.” Luna smiled, shaking hands and waving to the blond soon after he moved away.
He was rolling in bed that night, thinking about when he could finally see Harry Potter’s face as an adult. Apparently, he would have to stay with his imagination.
“You are definitely crazy.” Was Pansy’s comment when Draco told her his misadventures, and he made a disgusted noise before tasting his own beer, which he drank sitting on his couch carelessly. She sat on the floor, leaning on the other sofa, some bottles accumulated in the space between the two. “He's just a voice, Drake. So what if he isn’t a perverted old man? Maybe he came out with his face all torn by this fight with the mafia. What if he’s fat, with a horrible beard?”
“I don’t know, Pansy! And I'll never know! That's what bothers me...!” Draco said, letting out a sigh and covering his eyes with his hands. “I’ll never know his face, and I'll never stop imagining how it would be because I’ll simply never have the answer.”
“That is true.” She said, twisting her lips. “I also want to know how he looks. From what you describe, he must be like Christian Bale dressed as Batman.”
Draco laughed, pulling his hands from his face and gazing at her seriously, but with a line that could almost feel like a wandering soul.
“He has a firm, hoarse voice, you know? As if he didn’t know how to talk... I just needed to take my clothes off once, in the last session, and when he gave me the order, he stammered nervously... It was so cute!” Draco laughed awkwardly. “Harry seems to be very shy, even when I can’t see him... Maybe that's why he hides.”
“Since when he turned ‘Harry’?” Pansy teased, making Draco look at her with a scowl.
“Since he is a fruit of my imagination.” Draco countered, taking another sip of his drink. “In my imagination, he can be whatever I want. Even Christian Bale. Moreover, I spent seven hours sitting in a completely fucked hard stool waiting for him to do whatever he was doing behind that mirror, I have all the rights to imagine him naked.”
They both laughed, but Draco couldn’t stop thinking about him. In the coming weeks he hadn’t even one call, thus he considered himself on vacation. He had received a lot of money from Potter and couldn’t spend it all in such a short time. He could buy a car, and that's what he did. A simple car, but beautiful and elegant, just like Draco.
Slowly his life was back to normal. One work per day, exploring old rich man who paid him as well as Potter, but that didn’t give him the same pleasure it gave him for posing for an extremely sexy male voice. Not all of them were old rich and lustful. There was a lot of female artists, with a clear smile and a kindness out of the ordinary, but even though they left Draco comfortable, they didn’t cause him all that feeling he had to pose for Harry. It was as if the muse was disgusted with the poet, as it no longer felt like it to give him any inspiration.
After a particularly stressful day at work, Draco came home, taking Donatello in his arms and stroking the cat ears as he walked to the kitchen, warming water to make tea. He left the cat on a bench, took some toast and put them on a plate, placing herbs for infusion and taking the water off the fire. He went to the bathroom, where he took a relatively long shower, feeling his muscles relax before returning to his "dinner". The tea wasn’t so warm, but he liked like this because then he wouldn’t have to worry about burning his tongue. He put a sugar cube in it and headed for his small office, where he turned on his laptop and began to check his emails. Some contracts that he didn’t accept immediately, but analysed the days, hours and payments, some advertisements, and an invitation. He gulped as he read.
The National Public Secretariat invites you to honour one of the greatest artists of our time. In this Saturday, 3/21, at the National Museum, there will be a display by artist Harry Potter, with his new collection "Marble Angels". Free admission to guests only.
Print your attached invitation, or display the code number at the entrance.
That was it. That's what Luna had talked about when she said ‘Harry always appears.’ It was his chance to meet the man in person, and he couldn’t hide the joy he felt at that. They were still a few days until the exhibition and Draco could show up with all his glamour, one that has always attracted people from everywhere, all sexes and ages. He invited Pansy and Blaise, and he knew that they would appear extremely elegant as ever.
On Saturday, he put on his best suit, combed his hair meticulously, put on a very well polished pair of shoes and looked in the mirror. He was beautiful, as always. His completely black clothes, from his shirt to his tie, his hair back with gel, the suit perfect in the line of his waist. He took Pansy and Zabini in their houses, simply because they wanted to go together, and parked on the site, getting out of the car and opening the door for Pansy, who looked stunning in her green tight tube dress, which matched perfectly with her active eyes and black hair. Zabini was also handsome, with his straight cut Italian suit, which together with the man's olive skin tone, made him throw an air of pure lust.
Zabini and Pansy paid their entries, and Draco presented his invitation. The presence of the three attracted attention, and they walked by the front desk to the marble stairs to the first floor where the exhibition was being shown. Passing through the gates, Draco felt his heart drop to a place lost between his stomach and his kidneys. There were a total of 14 statues, six on each side of the great room and two in the middle, the back of one to the back of the other. People walked around looking at the work pieces, very well dressed and looking important. He looked around, his eyes recognizing artists with whom he already worked with, others that he knew only because he was in the business. Pansy shook Draco's arm, making him to look at her.
“Wow.” That was what the brunette said, putting a hand with the snakeskin pouch she held against her chest.
Yes. Wow. He didn’t expect Harry to be so extremely skilled. He walked to the sculptures. They looked like a succession, a story. The first was a young man with long hair, sitting on the floor with arms resting on a rock. Draco noticed how perfectly as Harry had made his hands... Yes, the hands of Draco himself. The long fingers, the slightly apparent tendons, somewhat delicate. The statue was looking lost and tired, and his clothes were rumpled.
In the second the same boy is still sitting, but his arms were resting on the stone as if supporting himself, and not just leaning. His eyes are open and active, head looking up as if listening to something, and so the statues followed, with the progression of the boy out of his misery state until the state of elevation, which led them to one of the statues in centre. The same boy, sitting on a Greek stone column, erected neck, hands resting on his legs, long wings dropping behind his back. At the base of the statue, there was some words saying "Redemption". The angel was with his chest showing, silk covering his bottom. Draco saw his own proportions in the work, that same line of belly, the size of the arms, long neck, chin line, almost anxious look, but the face cold. He struggled not to show his feelings with those statues.
The statues on the other side were the opposite. If you started on the other hand, you would see another kind of story. The same young man sitting with his arms in stone, but soon after he heard a sound from below. The statues portrayed the boy out of the state of misery until domination, and in every statue, a less piece of clothing, to the central statue, where silk cloths hung from the ceiling and held the arms of the angel up, his wings dropped and demoniac, his body naked.
“Draco Malfoy.” He heard a voice behind him and turned, bumping into a director he had met a few years ago. The man practically monopolized the area, the most asked for and most well paid.
“Igor Karkaroff.” The young man replied, raising his chin almost defiantly, and shook his hand. He never agreed to work with the man, and perhaps it was why he still had an independent work, that despite paying him well, would never have the proportions of a job with Karkaroff. Draco preferred it that way.
“Harry Potter made his best show in years. I’ve heard that you were the only model for this collection.” The man said with his heavy accent, and Draco nodded.
“Well, it's the first time I’ve heard that I was the only model, but apparently yes.” The model didn’t smile, just looked around as if to illustrate what he was saying. “It was great working with him.”
“Rumour has it that he is a perfect hero, isn’t he?” Karkaroff said with a fake smile. “Tell me, how is he? For years we all wanted to see this man's face and there isn’t the slightest hint of where we can find him.”
“Unfortunately...”
“Unfortunately Mr. Malfoy didn’t know until today.” Draco was interrupted by the voice... that delicious voice of which he had dreamed about for so long. He gulped, breathing calmly, without showing the will he had to turn his head and look at the man who had stopped beside him. Zabini had been lost in the exhibition, but he could hear Pansy groaning softly beside him. “It is an honour that you had visited my exhibition, Karkaroff. It's a great opportunity. A few months ago I was planning my comeback, and I'm apparently doing well.”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. A great comeback.” Karkaroff shook hands with the sculptor, and only then Draco turned to face him. He had to swallow. Harry Potter looked young, with rumpled hair as if he had just run out of wherever he was, dressed in a white shirt with a black blazer over, but wearing jeans and black converse. He had a ridiculous pair of round spectacles, apparently the same as the one on his teen photos, and the scar on his forehead. The blond cringed when those incredibly green eyes turned to him and couldn’t concentrate on anything. The night passed like a breath, simply because, despite the serious and focused face, Draco couldn’t take his eyes from Harry for any second. He was a little lower than Draco himself, but his body was stronger, and he had a sexy aura that the blond didn’t identify in himself.
At the end of the night Blaise said he and Pansy wouldn’t go back together with Draco because they had made "plans" and would return by taxi. Draco was well aware what plans were these, and almost felt grateful, because he was about to give up talking to Harry - who was apparently too busy to spend five whole minutes talking to Draco - until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and came face to face with those amazing green eyes.
“It is very nice to see you, Draco.” Harry said, and Draco felt a huge shiver go through his body while having his name spoken like that by that voice, along with those eyes. “The night is almost over, but... Do you have a little time for coffee?” He asked, and Draco tried to control all the muscles of his face, but couldn’t resist the small side smile that formed on his lips.
Yes. He had all the time in the world.
End~