Work Text:
Draco Malfoy stood in his studio, lining up his pots of paint by colour and straightening his detail brush that had been pushed to less than a perfect 90 degree angle. He was fidgety today, nervously expecting a new model his father had arranged for him.
Draco was an aspiring artist, having finished at the magical art school at the wizarding subset of King’s College a few months prior upon completing his Hogwarts education, but he had been struggling to find his muse. His father had taken matters into his own hands, booking models, setting up exhibitions, and soliciting trade deals between anyone he knew had their hands in the business. His one caveat, sell a painting once a quarter or pack up his dream and come to work for him in the family business. Draco shuddered just thinking about it, he still wasn’t entirely sure what his father did other than bring home gold to add to their vault, but his time was almost up. He had one week for this last painting and if it didn’t sell, well…he’d deal with it then.
A knock sounded at his studio door, and his head snapped up. Stealing himself with a breath, grabbing his wand as he stepped around his easel, crossing to the door, to reveal his model.
She was breathtaking. Her curly brown hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, brown eyes staring up into his from across the threshold. Her dress was dirty and torn in places, shoes so worn he could almost see the outline of her foot beneath. They must have stood staring at each other for several minutes because it took a door slamming down the street for him to come to his senses.
“The model I presume?” he drawled.
She nodded. “Hermione Granger.”
He sneered down at her, didn’t she understand that she wasn’t supposed to speak to him? Wasn’t supposed to share her name? Did she understand what an outcast she’d be if anyone found out she was modelling? Judging by her clothes, no. She was clearly poor, and this might have been the next best thing to selling herself. Curious how the thought of this Hermione Granger spreading herself wide for a simple few coppers made his blood boil. Shit . She was still staring at him.
“Er, Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the artist,” he stepped to the side to allow her to enter, “Please, come in.”
She scurried past him quickly into the room.
“You can undress and we’ll start with you laying just there,” he indicated the daybed in the centre of the room, facing a large set of bay windows. He turned to his easel and tapped it with his wand, preparing the canvas and settling a mist of magic into it. He looked up at his stock still model, standing in front of the couch staring at it as she clutched her outer robes tightly around her.
“Undress?”
“Well yes, this is a still-life, they’re all the rage right now. Surely my father explained that when he provided the details of the job.”
“Oh,” her face fell. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I don’t know if I can…” Draco didn’t hear the rest.
A white fog seemed to surround him, overwhelming his senses as his blood was pumped hard through his veins, focusing on an area slightly lower than his brain. He was already half hard after hearing her call him ‘sir.’ The rational part of him knew this might be his last chance to paint, and a clothed model was better than no model.
“Fine, you can keep them on, just let me–” he trailed off, flourishing his wand as he scourgified her dirty clothing, transfiguring the high neck smock into something that one of Queen Victoria’s own court would wear, long but lower cut, allowing the swell of her breast to peak over the edge.
“Oh,” she gasped. “Well if this works?” She asked quietly, glancing down at the dark blue velvet gown.
“It’ll be fine,” he said gruffly. “Do you have a pose that you are comfortable in?”
“Uhm, I’ve never modelled before. I thought I could read a book perhaps?”
He snorted, of course his father wouldn’t even have bothered to get him someone with modelling experience. “Sure that’s fine.”
She opened a small book she’d brought with her, cheeks flushed, and sat straight-backed on the daybed. His inner muse preened as the painting came together in his mind. He reached for her arm, and she flinched.
“I’m just going to reposition you for the painting,” he explained quietly.
She didn’t flinch away again as he adjusted her into a new position, cleavage showing just enough over the edge of her book to be enticing.
He stepped back to his easel and began to outline.
Several hours later, he tapped the canvas, locking in the colours and shading as the painting imbued the magic, coming to life. He was exhausted, and she had long since finished her book, asking for a second which she had devoured almost as fast. He was glad to have started with her face. He had captured the way her eyes lit up when she read an amusing passage, the way her brow furrowed, the part of her lips in deep concentration.
She was gorgeous, the woman on the canvas. She was glowing, emulating the likeness of the woman on the couch, who had the sun hitting her just right to appear as if she glowed from within. He smiled, his muse was back.
He signed the painting with a flourish.
“Thank you for your services,” he said, turning to her and passing her a handful of coins.
“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said quietly, ducking out of the room quickly.
That last ‘sir’ had done it, he locked the door behind her with a wave of his wand, popping open the buttons on his britches with his other hand and fisting his already hard cock. He quickened his pace, only seeing her parted lips in his mind, perfectly pink. He wondered what they’d look like as they swallowed him. Would they pout around him? Would she splutter and choke? Her eyes would be large and round, the chocolate brown melting as she took him in, deep in her throat–
His thoughts cut off as he spurted his seed over the daybed she had lounged on. He grinned imagining her frequenting it again, preferably next time with less clothing, before remembering that there would be no future models if he didn’t sell this painting. He turned back to his easel with a sigh.
Three days later, Draco had sent the portrait to the gallery, giving him only a few days for it to sell. He immediately owled his friend, asking to meet for a drink in anticipation of Draco’s either first sold painting or his inevitable return to his father’s side.
-
He awoke the following morning to an owl rapping sharply on his window. He crossed the room, throwing open the glass, only to realise it wasn’t morning but late afternoon. Merlin, he had slept half the day away.
The bird landed gracefully on his desk, holding its leg out. He recognized the purple ribbon and his heart stuttered. It was from the gallery. He’d never received a letter so soon upon submission of a painting. Usually after 30 days, he’d get an owl saying his painting hadn’t sold and they were removing it from active showing.
Was the painting so bad they were already refusing to show it? He hadn’t thought it was terrible, but maybe the dress style or the girl hadn’t been to the gallery taste.
Or, he scoffed, they really were only marketing the nude portraits and Miss Hermione Granger, unwilling to pose sans clothes as she was, was simply too much of a prude.
He swallowed hard, pouring himself a measure of firewhisky and tossing it back before pulling off the ribbon and reading the letter.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that your painting: The Golden Girl has sold for 80 galleons. We will be removing the gallery fee and you will receive the remainder of 72 galleons transferred to your accounts.
Good Day,
Elora Zabini
P.S. Congratulations Draco.
Draco stared at the parchment reading it a second and third time.
“I did it. I DID it!” He yelled, spinning around his studio laughing, until the owl hooted rather indignantly. He quickly penned a response in thanks, sending it back with the owl, and hastily wrote two more letters. One to his father, detailing his success, and therefore his guarantee for another three months, and one to his closest friend Theo, requesting celebratory drinks.
-
“It sold in less than a day Theo!” He hissed at his friend, already piss drunk at the pub they liked to frequent. “I think my muse is back.”
Theo rolled his eyes. He understood the muse as he was a popular musician, but given he didn’t compose, it wasn’t quite the same. “Mate, do you think it was her or can you paint something or someone else?”
“She’s all I want to paint. You should see her…” He trailed off contemplating. “You can play during the next painting!” He exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back.
“You think that would work?”
“Why not? She can’t exactly say no if I’m paying her.” He laughed, waving over the bar wench for another round.
Theo just shrugged, accepting the mead without question.
When they had finished at the pub Draco stumbled home, much too drunk to apparate, and took out his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.
Dear Miss Granger,
He began writing, and when finished sent off the letter with Apollo his eagle owl. He smiled as he fell into a deep sleep, the knowledge he would see his muse again the following week dancing through his mind.
-
Draco stood in his studio, Theo sitting nearby on a small stool, oboe clutched in his hands laying across his lap, as they awaited his curly haired muse.
Moments later, a small knock sounded on the door. Draco smirked, striding forward and throwing it open. Something in his chest sang as he gazed upon the petite woman, her eyes nearly taking his breath away. He waved her into the studio, locking the door behind her.
“Hello, love,” Theo called out from his stool, startling her.
He quickly disarmed her, setting her wand in her eyeline on his desk. “Just a precaution, I forgot last time,” he said to reassure her.
“Now, Miss Granger, I hope you’ve had some time to consider after our last session.” He paused to let the words sink in before continuing on, “I’ve even brought my colleague here to help relax you, though as he’s practising a new piece and it may be a few hours until it is truly relaxing.” Theo rolled his eyes at this.
Hermione hadn’t moved, she was staring at Theo, still standing in the middle of the room.
“Miss Granger,” he waited for her to look up at him, “undress now. Please.” He added the last part as a formality. She would do it.
She slowly walked to the daybed, and began undoing the buttons of her frock. This took several minutes as the buttons came all the way up her neck. Theo began playing, and a soft waning sound filled the small space.
She was now in just her petticoats and bloomers, and his mouth was watering.
“Keep going.” His voice had turned raspy and when her eyes darted up to his, he could see her pupils blown wide. Good , he thought savagely, already feeling the warmth shooting straight for his cock.
She removed the rest of her undergarments, baring herself to both of the men.
“Lay on the chaise,” he instructed. He longed to have her spread herself, to paint the glistening folds of her body. Instead, he took a potion his old schoolmate Marcus Bellby had been working on, a brew designed to calm the mind, and assist with concentration.
He handed her a white sheet, draping it artfully over her, leaving one breast exposed as she lay against the pillows. He levitated grapes over her tilting her head up so they would just touch her bottom lip. He walked back to the easel and began to paint.
Several hours later, as the sun had begun to go down, casting Hermione in a glowing golden light, he began casting, trying to capture the glow on the canvas in front of him.
“You’re done,” he nodded to Hermione, tossing her a galleon. She caught it with surprise.
“Thank you, sir, you’re too generous.” She offered him a small courtesy, still covered in the sheet, breast exposed. He stared at it, having noticed more detail during his painting. The rosie hue of her nipple contrasted against the olive of her skin, a light dusting of freckles stretched from her collarbone.
She dressed quickly, holding her hand out for her wand.
“I’ll be in touch,” he vowed. Though if this painting didn’t sell as well, he’d be forced to find another muse to paint, though he supposed she might just let him fuck her if he paid well enough. He would give half his vault at Gringotts just to fondle that breast, maybe run his tongue down the column of her neck. Theo let out a low whistle, interrupting his train of thought as she disappeared from his studio.
“Well no wonder the last one sold so quickly.”
Draco gave him a wry smile.
When the painting sold in record time, Draco resigned himself to his muse being in the form of one Hermione Granger as he sat down to owl her for another sitting.
-
“Miss Granger, lovely to see you again,” Malfoy drawled as he opened the door to his studio.
“Mr. Malfoy.” She nodded briskly.
“Hello again,” Theo’s voice called from his seat further in the room. Hermione jumped and Draco smirked. This would be fun .
He led her inside, closing and locking the door behind her.
“I’d like to try a true still life portrait today,” he drawled, studying her face. She only nodded, beginning to remove her dress.
“Theo, I’ll need you as well.”
She froze at that. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t understand.”
“I want to capture you in bliss, Theo here will assist.” He stepped behind his easel. “Please sit back.”
She reclined on the chaise, bare to him, though this time he didn’t offer her a sheet.
“Theo, if you please.” He moved forward, opening her legs before she let out a squeal.
“Miss Granger. I give you my word that your virtue will remain intact today, but you will let Theo pleasure you.”
Draco picked up his paintbrush as Theo gripped her thighs, settling in between them as he placed kisses up her leg and down the other.
The moment Theo’s mouth made contact with her core, all hesitation was wiped from her face as she threw her head back in pleasure. She was glorious.
He painted, casting intermittently, as Theo worked her towards climax.
“Come for him, Hermione.”
He captured the ecstasy on her face perfectly as she came.
He stepped around the easel, divesting himself of his smock while Theo stood, moving around to his usual stool. “One more for me, love?” He tilted his head in question, giving her an out, if she chose it. He already had his painting after all.
She blushed, but gave a slight nod, spreading her legs wider as Draco settled in between them. He placed open mouthed kisses directly on her core, tasting the effects of Theo’s ministrations minutes before. He ran his tongue up her slit, circling her entrance, wishing he could sink himself into it. She moaned when he dipped his tongue inside, tasting her and revelling in the sweetness. He replaced his tongue with his finger, as he worked his way up towards the bundle of nerves with his mouth, curling his finger as he circled the nub softly.
Hermione had gripped his hair hard with her hands, grinding herself on his face, but he didn’t care. He was loving every minute of it, and if she would use him for her pleasure he was content to be a vessel.
Her body tensed and he added a second finger, pressing against the spongy patch inside of her as he continued to lap at her, drinking her in as she climaxed on his tongue. His senses were put on pause as the sweet juice spilled into his mouth, seeing white as he ejaculated into his britches, riding out his own ecstasy.
He sat up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, as Hermione caught her breath. She was glowing. If she was his, she’d never stop glowing.
Where had that come from?
He didn’t want her as his witch. He was an artist. It was part of his job to sow wild oats. Though if he was being honest with himself, no brothel whore had ever compared to what they had just done. No one could compare to her taste, and he knew he’d spend forever chasing that taste again once she left his studio.
He cleared his throat awkwardly as she looked at him. The warmth in her eyes, lighting his insides on fire. “You’re, er–welcome to stay while I finish up. If you want, I mean,” he finished rather lamely.
“Thank you. I’d like to see how you finish the paintings. I haven’t seen the final product yet.” She collected herself rather better than he had, dressing quickly and pulling a second stool to sit next to him at the easel to observe his process.
She watched with rapt attention as he added colour to the last few sections of the painting, blending it out as Theo played on his flute behind them, fading into the background. She let out an audible gasp as he cast the final few spells over the canvas bringing her orgasm to life as she flushed pink, the golden tones to her eyes and hair brought forth against the darker background colours.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“You’re beautiful.” She turned to stare at him, eyes darting to his mouth and back as she bit her lip.
He passed her a sack of gold, “I’ll owl you. Thank you, Hermione.” She blushed prettily, curtsying slightly, before turning for the door.
-
"Well Malfoy," Elora Zabini said. "I hope you're proud of yourself, this is quite a feat you've managed. Three paintings in a month? That might be a new gallery record." Draco felt a flush of pride well through him.
"In fact, there will be a Christmas Ball happening in a fortnight and I'd love for you to attend as my guest. Feel free to bring whomever you would like, of course."
"Thank you Lady Zabini, that's very kind of you."
Draco left the gallery, his money bag significantly heavier with the coins from his last painting. Upon returning, he immediately began a letter to Hermione detailing the conversation with the gallery owner in the ball, asking her to be his date. It wasn't normally done. An artist and his muse. But she had become more than his muse. She had become an all consuming thought, always on his mind.
Miss Granger,
Please do me the honour of accompanying me to the Christmas Ball on December 23rd, at 8 o’clock in the evening. I have sent word to Twillfits in Diagon on your dress requirements, if you are to join me. I await your owl.
Yours,
Draco Malfoy
He read over the letter several times, pausing at yours each time. It was overbearing and not enough at the same time.
He sighed, having put much more effort than was worth it already. After all, she was only a peasant, not of a Sacred 28 family, Merlin only knows where his father found her.
He fastened the scroll to the leg of his eagle owl, watching as it took off and disappeared over the city.
Draco only had to wait two firewhiskies until his owl soared through his open window, dropping a small square of folded parchment onto his lap. He stared at his name Lord Draco Malfoy realising this was the first time she had written back to him. Well, it was the first time he had given her an opportunity for a response.
He ripped open the perfect folds, eyes scanning the miniscule writing hungrily, before he looked up in triumph.
She was coming.
He drifted off to sleep later that night with images of curls cascading down blue fabric as the woman in his arms twirled around him.
-
He stood at the entrance of the ballroom, waiting. She had declined his offer for an escort, though judging by the bill he received from Twillfit’s she would at least be dressed appropriately to be on his arm for the evening. He would have never lived it down had his father seen her accompany him in her usual state of dress. Even the gallery frequenters would laugh him out of the room.
“Well Malfoy, no one to escort this evening?” The voice pulled his attention away from watching the carriages, as he turned to face one of the more prominent art collectors in the city.
“She required a few extra minutes this afternoon, McLaggen, I’m sure you understand how it is.” He made to turn back towards the open door, when the other man clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well I hope she’s as lovely as the minx you’ve been painting.” Draco froze. “That last one,” he let out a low whistle, “I wish I could have tasted her.” Cormac McLaggen’s grin was feral as Draco pinned him with an icy gaze.
“Yes, I do seem to have found my muse at long last.”
“If you do any more of her just come straight to me,” he passed Draco a small card, “no need to go through the gallery and the dealers.”
He nodded stiffly. “Thank you, sir,” he ground out, nearly spitting the formality.
Draco succeeded in turning back to watch the procession of carriages as the other man groaned on something dreadful.
His breath caught as he saw her.
A vision in a soft light blue dress that seemed to float to the floor around her rather than the stiff styles many women wore. She had long sleeves that belled out at the elbow, leaving her hands to be covered in an ivory cream pair of silk gloves embroidered in a matching blue thread. She had styled her hair differently, tamed it down and pulled it back into a fashionable chignon at the back of her neck, leaving a few curls out to frame her face. Her big brown eyes locked to his and Draco could have sworn that time stood still for the period they stared at each other. His heart had leaped, coming to rest somewhere in his throat.
“Oh ho, I see she’s here. My, I hadn’t thought I was purchasing the paintings of a society lady,” McLaggen guffawed, his grating tone registering dully in Draco’s mind. However as he brushed past, walking up to Hermione and giving a slight bow alongside his proffered hand, the world turned red.
But Hermione didn’t take his hand, she simply gave him a cursory once over, eyes flicking over to Draco, before she sidestepped the horrid man, picking her way carefully across the entrance hall, to stand in front of him.
“Lord Malfoy,” she breathed, “I want to thank you for inviting me.” She dropped into a simple curtsey.
He cleared his throat, summoning the manners that were drilled into him since birth, “Miss Granger,” he gave her a small bow in return, similar to McLaggen’s movements, and offered her his hand. “Will you do me the honour of joining me for a dance?”
She let out a breathy giggle, nodding as she took his gloved hand with her own and he guided them into the ballroom.
To Draco’s immense surprise, she kept up with him throughout the night. She knew every dance, correctly greeted all of the Sacred 28 that approached them to make conversation. She even knew how many glasses of punch were appropriate to have him fetch for her.
He was enamoured.
“You’ve garnered quite the number of fans this evening,” he murmured to her as they joined the queue awaiting their carriages to take them home after the ball had ended. And indeed she had, Draco had needed to keep a close watch on her the entire evening as to intercept any of the multitudes of bachelors who were using the last ball of the season to peruse the young eligible ladies.
“You’re being silly. I’m just mysterious since no one knows me.”
“What if there were a gentleman interested?”
“There isn’t,” she snorted. Draco felt a tightening in his chest at the improper noise.
“What if there was?” He looked at her imploringly.
Her expression turned serious, “Then I suppose he would be welcome to call on me at my grandmother’s house tomorrow like he would typically do for a lady.”
Her carriage pulled up just then, and he helped her into it, brushing his lips to her gloved hand before he shut the door.
“I shall see you during calling hours tomorrow.”