Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2394164.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lily_Luna_Potter/Dean_Thomas
  Character:
      Dean_Thomas, Lily_Luna_Potter, Ginny_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Oral_Sex, Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Abuse_of
      Authority, Dom/sub, Dirty_Talk, Cross-Generation_Relationship, Older_Man/
      Younger_Woman, Age_Difference, Infidelity, Community:_hp_het_taboo
  Collections:
      HP_Het_Taboo
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-02 Words: 15269
****** I Dream of Painting (and Then I Paint My Dream) ******
by Ely_Baby
Summary
     Ginny hires Dean to paint Lily's portrait for Harry's birthday.
Notes
     Written for the Dirtywrong_Comment_Fest over at
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/community.gif?v=556?v=120.6]
hp_het_taboo, for [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/
userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=120.6]tamlane's prompt:
Community Taboo(s): Age disparity. Underage.
Suggested Characters/Pairings: Dean/Lily Luna
Prompt: Ginny hires Dean to paint 15-year-old Lily Luna's portrait.
Kinks or Additional Info: She sure looks a lot like Ginny did at that age...
Very strong themes and dubious consent that borders non-con are portrayed here.
Please read with extreme caution. Thank you to [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/
img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=120.6]niteshine for the beta.
                                      ***
The bottle of Butterbeer left a trail of condensation on the counter as it made
its way towards Dean’s outstretched palm.
“Can I see it?” Neville nodded towards the paper in front of Dean, one of his
affable smiles stretching his lips.
Dean took a gulp and licked the foam from his upper lip. He had missed English
Butterbeer. “It’s just a doodle, Neville.”
“You’ve been drawing for almost half an hour, I’m sure it’s another one of your
masterpieces.”
Dean took a deep breath. “I wasn’t drawing; I was sketching,” he corrected,
“and it’s just you pretending to be an innkeeper.”
Neville cocked an eyebrow. “I am an innkeeper.” He nodded towards the bottle.
“You wanted a Butterbeer; you got a Butterbeer. I’m an innkeeper.”
Dean shook his head and pushed the notebook towards Neville, who raised it to
study the sketch in front of his eyes. He let out a chuckle. “This is good,” he
said, “as always. Of course, the subject is particularly handsome himself, so…”
Now it was Dean’s time to chuckle and shake his head.
“Can I have it when you finish it?”
“I’m not going to finish it, Neville.”
“Oh, come on,” he replied, pushing the notebook back to him. “I’ll pay you.”
“I wouldn’t let you, it’s not that. I’m going to be busy next week and then I’m
leaving for Ireland for a while and—”
“Right,” grinned Neville, “Lily’s portrait next week.”
Dean’s Butterbeer stopped in midair as he looked at his ex-housemate. “How do
you know?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Ginny said it was a secret.”
Neville shrugged a shoulder. “It is,” he replied, “I just happen to be one of
the Potters' closest friends.” He winked and added, “You’ve never met her, have
you?”
“Who? Ginny’s daughter?”
He nodded in reply.
“Nope, been away for a while, remember?” He finally took that gulp of
Butterbeer. “How’s she?”
“Right now?” asked a voice at his back. “On the verge of teenage rebellion,
with her first boyfriend and constantly asking for a tattoo. Hello, Dean.”
Dean placed the Butterbeer back on the counter before turning. “Sounds like
someone I used to know,” he replied to Ginny.
“I’ve never wanted a tattoo,” she pointed out, “that must have been another one
of your girlfriends.” She smiled as she stretched her arms to hug him. “It’s
good to see you.”
Dean smiled back as he enveloped her in his arms and let her kiss his stubble-
covered cheeks. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs Potter,” he replied. “Look at
you, you’re gorgeous.”
“Oi, she’s married, Dean,” chuckled Neville as he placed another Butterbeer on
the counter for her.
Ginny shook her head as she sat on the stool next to Dean and grabbed the
bottle. “Thank you, Neville.”
The innkeeper nodded. “I’ll let you two talk in peace,” he told them. “Remember
my painting, Dean.”
“It’s a doodle, Neville,” he called after him, but Neville had already
disappeared into the kitchen, so Dean turned his attention back to Ginny. Her
long hair was tied up in a messy bun, her Muggle jeans and her white shirt were
immaculate and her fair skin was slightly flushed from the heat of summer.
She smiled brightly at him. “I heard you were in India for a while,” she said,
sipping from her bottle, “was it good?”
He gave her a jerky nod. “Yeah,” he replied, tapping his fingers on the
counter, “painting Parvati’s little brats over and over again…” He shook his
head to send away that bitter thought.
Ginny’s hand sneaked on his knee, comfortingly. “Oh Dean,” she whispered, “you
know it was an arranged marriage. She didn’t like it more than you did.”
He smiled at her as he patted her hand. “I know,” he replied, before shrugging
a shoulder. “We screwed a few times, you know. But then she was always crying
on my shoulder until the next morning and all I could think about was to tell
her to shut up and push her into that perfumed bed that she had…” His words
trailed away as he smiled sheepishly at Ginny. “I’m sorry. I speak entirely too
much.”
Ginny shook her head, but instead of replying she took another sip from her
bottle.
“But tell me about you and that beautiful young lady you asked me to paint,” he
coaxed. “I thought you said it was a secret.”
She nodded. “Oh, it is a secret,” she confirmed, “it’s Harry’s birthday
present, you know and… oh Merlin! If Skeeter knew that the great Dean Thomas
was painting a portrait of Harry Potter’s daughter… it’d be on the front cover
of the Prophet first thing in the morning.”
He laughed at that. “Even that would make the news?”
“Everything surrounding Harry makes the news,” she sighed with the weariness of
someone who had gone through that most of her life. “Anyway, yes, I was talking
to Neville the other day, you know… brainstorming for some ideas about presents
and he mentioned that you were coming back to England for a while. And I
thought it’d be nice for Harry to have a portrait of Lily to hang in his office
at the Ministry, right?”
Dean smiled and nodded. “Daddy’s little princess, is she?”
She nodded back. “Well, she is the youngest and the only girl,” she admitted,
“not that Harry has favourites, but you know… when she wants something the
first person she goes to is Daddy, and he never says no to her.” She took
another gulp of Butterbeer. “Things are changing a little though,” she
continued, “she’s fifteen, she has her first boyfriend, she has tantrums on a
daily basis about clothes and make-up and parties…” She looked at him and bit
her bottom lip. “And I forgot to tell you that she never stays still. Never. I
think it’d be easier for you to take a picture of her and work from that.”
“I don’t do that,” he replied evenly. “She sounds a lot like her mother at her
age though. Never stayed still, had her first boyfriend too…” He chuckled and
added, “Is he a dark skinned handsome young man too?”
Ginny shook her head. “He’s a pale, blond boy with grey eyes and a pointy
chin,” she replied, “and before you ask, yes, he’s a Malfoy.”
“What? She’s dating Malfoy?”
“Well, Malfoy’s son,” she replied. “Not Draco Malfoy.”
“Well, I hope not,” he laughed. “Is he alright?”
Ginny shrugged a shoulder. “Better than his father,” she replied, “he’s polite
and brings flowers every time he comes to visit.”
“A gentleman,” smiled Dean. “Maybe we should call him over while I paint her.”
“Why?”
“I remember that the only times when you stayed still was when I was snogging
you in an empty classroom.” He winked at her. “Or when something else happened…
oh no wait, you were not very still then.”
“Dean!” she whispered urgently, a blush painted her cheeks as a smile stretched
her lips. “Shut up.” She shook her head before continuing, “He’s on holiday in
France with his parents anyway. So Lily’s already in a foul mood because first
we didn’t allow her to go with him, and then because she has to spend a month
without seeing him. Which is not true because they Floo Call every day for
hours.”
The Butterbeer was almost warm when Dean downed it. “How the world changes,” he
stated, “I’d pay to see Draco Malfoy’s face when his son told him about Harry’s
daughter.”
“Oh, I did,” she replied, “but I was busy trying to stop Harry from
embarrassing Lily in front of everybody at the platform, so I couldn’t really
enjoy it.”
Dean chuckled before turning to look at her. “So, let’s talk about the
portrait,” he said in his most businesslike tone, “what do you want exactly?”
Ginny shrugged a shoulder. “Just a portrait of Lily, at Grimmauld Place, maybe
sitting somewhere? I have a few ideas… and we kind of chose the dress already,
is that okay?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, “head and shoulders or the whole body?”
“I was thinking whole…”
He nodded. “How big do you want it?”
“Not too big, I don’t think Harry has enough space in his office between a face
of a wanted person and another.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “But you’ll
let me know how much I owe you, okay?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ginny.”
She placed her hand on his. “No, I'm not ridiculous,” she replied firmly, “it’s
Harry’s present, I want to pay for it. Otherwise, I’ll have to find something
else.”
He nodded in understanding. “Right, I’ll make you a good price.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, thank you, Dean,” she conceded. “So,
when do you want to start?”
He tapped his fingers on the counter again. Where was Neville when he needed
him to pass another Butterbeer? Worst innkeeper ever. “I’m leaving for Ireland
in ten days, but I could start on Monday, would that be alright?”
“Brilliant,” she replied, “how long does it usually take you?”
“Four, five days,” he told her, “depends on the light mostly, and the subject.
But I’d like to have a feeling of the place and talk to her on Monday, maybe
I’ll sketch her a bit, to see if she inspires me.” He smiled. “I’m sure she
will.”
“I hope so.” She smiled back. “Listen, I have to go now, Harry and the boys are
leaving for a couple of weeks of camping with Ron and his son. You know, man
them up a little—Ron and Harry I mean, not the boys—without wives and
girlfriends and sisters around. And I still need to check their backpacks to
see if they have everything they need to survive outdoors.” She finished her
Butterbeer and pushed some coins on the counter. “You just come over at any
time, Lily and I are, usually, in all day. If I have to run out for a bit,
she’s old enough to stay home alone with a guest. Polite enough too, I hope.”
“I’m sure she’s going to be a peach,” he replied, standing to kiss Ginny
goodbye, “I’ll see you on Monday morning.”
“Perfect,” she replied, before furrowing her brow and adding, “not too early.
She’s on holiday after all, and she gets all cranky when she has to wake up
before ten—okay, nine thirty…”
“Duly noted,” he replied gently, “I certainly don’t want a cranky model.”
Ginny chuckled. “She’s fine most of the time,” she replied. “You’ll see her.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“See you on Monday, Dean,” she replied, before shouting a goodbye to Neville.
“Bye, Ginny!” was Neville’s reply from the kitchen, and then Dean’s ex-
girlfriend was gone.
***
Grimmauld Place had visibly changed since the last time Dean had been there.
Not on the outside. On the outside, it was the always imposing, invisible to
Muggles – without the aid of a Fidelius Charm now –, handsome townhouse. It had
a small, neatly trimmed patch of grass on the front and polished steps that led
to the main door.
But when Ginny opened the door for him and, smiling brightly, she told him to
come inside and make himself at home, he couldn’t help noticing how different
the interiors were from the last time he had seen them.
Gone were the dark, massive pieces of furniture. Gone were the heavy curtains.
Gone were all those portraits that had always made Dean feel rather uneasy with
their severe stares and their whispered insults about his blood status. Now,
pictures of the Potters and of exotic places hung from the walls, shoes, books,
and clothes were scattered everywhere, and catchy music was drifting down from
upstairs.
“Sit down, Dean.” Ginny nodded towards a flowery couch in the living room
before giving him her back. “Would you like a cup of tea? I was making myself
one,” she called as she walked into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for his
answer. “I apologise for the mess. I’ve been busy with an article this weekend,
and Lily went into an epic sulk because I didn’t let her sleep over at
Hermione’s with Rose last night. But I told her that you were coming and that
she had to be home and look at least presentable this morning.” Ginny walked
back into the living room with a tray with tea and biscuits hovering in front
of her. “She’s already up, and that’s certainly a plus… sugar?”
“No, thank you,” replied Dean, taking a cup from the tray. “Teenagers, eh?”
“Argh,” agreed Ginny, stirring her cup of tea. “They are the worst.” She dunked
a biscuit into her tea and nibbled at it. “Hmm, take one Dean. Hannah made
them, I swear they are lovely.”
“I’m sure they are if Neville’s expanding belly is of any indication,” he
chuckled.
“Oh Merlin! Don’t mention that in front of him, he’s a bit sensitive,” she
said. “Shall I call Lily?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m quite curious to meet her now.”
Ginny placed her cup on the tray with a clink. “Hold that thought,” she told
him. She drew out her wand and conjured a Patronus in the shape of a horse. It
galloped away towards the stairs. “Don’t judge me,” she said when he looked at
her. “There are so many stairs here, and even if I tried to call her from here,
she wouldn’t hear a thing because of that music of hers.” She sighed and added,
“It’s on all day long, Dean. All. Day. Long. I hardly think we were anything
like that when we were teenagers.”
“Ah, those youngsters nowadays, if only they had a Dark Lord to keep them busy
instead of thinking about parties and boys.”
“Exactly,” snickered Ginny. “We were much more—oh Lily, come here darling. Come
and meet Mr Thomas.”
It was weird to hear Ginny call him Mr Thomas, it made Dean feel old. He placed
his cup on the tray and turned to look at the young lady who was dragging her
naked feet on the stone floor. Her long, auburn hair fell over her shoulders,
down the curve of her breasts, and shone in the light that came from the
windows. It was in stark contrast with her pale—
“Lily, that’s a top,” said Ginny severely, cutting off his train of thoughts,
“we’ve already talked about this. You can’t wear it as a dress. It’s
ridiculous.”
Lily stopped only a few feet from Dean and looked at her mother as if she was
out of her mind. Then she proceeded to raise the hem of her white top and Dean
felt the urge to swallow. “I am wearing shorts, Mum,” she drawled, showing a
pair of short jeans shorts underneath the top. “Happy?”
Ginny pressed her lips together and looked from Lily to Dean. “Dean, this
charming young lady is my daughter, Lily,” she said. “Lily this is Dean Thomas,
a dear friend and a very talented artist.”
“Ginny.” He shook his head lightly and stood up. “Lily, it’s a pleasure to meet
you.”
She looked at him before stepping forward and standing on tiptoes to kiss his
cheeks. She really was covered in freckles, just like Ginny, and her small nose
was straight and beautiful. Her lips were ruby and pleasantly wet as they
brushed against his skin, and when she looked up at him with her big brown
eyes, he took a deep breath. For a moment, he had thought he was back at
school. Back in his sixth year when he would snog Ginny in any corner and do
other things where nobody – especially Ron – could see them.
“Lily.”
The girl rolled her eyes without any care for subtlety. “Pleasure to meet you
too, Mr Thomas,” she replied dully, before stepping back and letting herself
fall on an armchair. She draped one leg over the armrest, and Dean thought that
surely Ginny must have felt relieved that she had those shorts when the top
rode up.
“Call me Dean, Lily,” he said, as he sat back down on the couch and stared at
his model. Oh yes, he felt inspired alright.
She nodded distractedly before producing a diary from her pocket and starting
to write in it.
“You know, Dean, we were thinking about having the portrait painted in the
drawing room,” said Ginny, offering his cup of tea back to him. “It’s the one
across there. We just had it refurnished and it’s the only room right now that
is not a mess.”
“I’ll check for the light,” he replied, craning his neck to glance at the room
behind Lily. “Do you have windows?”
“Oh, many in there, it’s the brightest room in the house,” she assured him.
“There’s an elegant armchair that Aunt Muriel gave us last Christmas, and for
once, it doesn’t have crappy upholstery. She could sit there, what do you
think?”
Dean nodded. “Yes, I mean, why don’t we go through and I can see what Lily
looks like on the chair, if the colours of the room agree with her natural
shades.”
Ginny placed down her cup of tea. “Oh Merlin, I didn’t even think about colours
that have to agree to her skin. Yes, by all means we—Lily! Put that away.”
“Oh Mum!” she complained, looking supremely unhappy to have to put the diary
away.
“Did you hear a word we said?”
“Yeah, blah blah crappy upholstery, blah blah drawing room…” she replied
exasperated.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Okay, give me that diary,” she told her sternly.
“Now.”
“Muuum!” she drew out the word as she followed it with a roll of her eyes.
“You’re ruining my life.” She sighed dramatically as she handed the
incriminating diary to her mother.
“March!” she snapped. “Into the drawing room.” She pinched her nose as Lily
dragged her feet into the other room. Ginny looked at Dean, smiling at him.
“It’s George and Ron’s new best-selling item.” She shook her head and placed
the diary on the coffee table. “Scorpius has the other one, they keep writing
to each other. All day long. And then I am ruining her life.” She walked in
front of Dean and gestured for him to follow her.
The drawing room was well-lit, and it really had nice pieces of furniture and
light-coloured walls. The chair was quite beautiful indeed, placed near the
tiled fireplace and looking ancient without being too heavy. Lily was standing
there, arms crossed and with the most fifteen-year-oldish expression Dean had
ever seen anyone wearing. She looked ready to snap at her mother and bolt for a
corner to write to her boyfriend or sulk in peace.
“Lily, sit on the armchair,” said Ginny, “are you happy with what you’re going
to wear? Do you even remember what it is?”
“My pyjamas,” she replied with a dull voice. She sat on the armchair and draped
both legs on the armrest now.
Somehow, Dean knew that that was not a mother-approved pose even before Ginny
opened her mouth.
“Lily, sit like an ordinary person,” she told her, “and your pyjamas is not
acceptable, unless you want all of Dad’s colleagues to look at you wearing your
night clothes when they walk into his office. Even that young one that you like
so much, James Wood, isn’t he?”
Lily straightened her back and crumbled under her mother’s logic. “I have a
boyfriend now,” she replied, pretending to be uninterested in the other boy as
she sat properly on the chair. “Happy?”
Ginny turned towards Dean. “What do you think?” she asked eagerly.
Lily was looking at him as well, an eyebrow arched and arms crossed over her
chest. She looked unimpressed with her mother’s friend, and she definitely
seemed to not want to be there in the slightest.
“So, that’s not what you’re going to wear, I gathered,” he told Lily as he made
a heavy armchair float to the middle of the room. He faced Lily and sat down.
“My boyfriend says it’s a cute top,” she replied, raising her chin.  
“But it’s not what she’s going to wear,” said Ginny. “Do you want her to go and
wear the dress?”
Lily let out a groan as she slid a bit further on the armchair. “Not the dress,
Mum,” she whined.
“Well, you think a top and shorts that are basically invisible are an excellent
choice?” snapped her mother.
“Yes,” she replied sulkily.
“Lily,” she gritted through her teeth. “We bought that dress together. You said
you liked it.”
Lily looked at her mother before rolling her eyes and sighing. “Alright,” she
conceded. She glanced at Dean and cocked her head. “Do I have to wear it now?”
“It would be helpful, yes,” he confirmed.
She let out another whinge and finally stood up. She tried to nonchalantly make
her way back into the living room, but Ginny stepped in front of her door and
pointed towards the stairs.
“The diary…”
“Later!” she told her firmly. “Go and change.”
She slapped her naked feet on the floor and then up the stairs to let her
mother know just how annoyed she was.
“Charming young lady,” chuckled Dean.
Ginny closed her eyes before turning to look at him. “I bet you’re glad you
don’t have children,” she told him with a smile.
“I’m certainly glad I don’t have teenagers,” he replied. He pushed his hand
into his pocket and took out a notebook. “By the way,” he added, flicking his
wand, “this big of a portrait is alright?” His notebook enlarged until he had
to place it on the floor and turn it to show her.
“Perfect,” she replied. “I asked Teddy to check how much space Harry has on his
wall, and he said a bit less than a couple of feet for a bit more than three.
That should be about right.”
“It should, yes.” He shrunk the notebook a little and fished out a leather
case, tightly knotted with an old piece of rope. He untied it and drew out a
charcoal. As he opened the notebook, he leant against the back of the armchair.
“She’s beautiful, Ginny. She looks a lot like her mother.”
“That’s what everybody says.” She glanced at the stairs. “She’s surely slower
than me when she has to change. I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sure you don’t want to
spend all your time waiting for your spoilt model.”
Dean looked at her. “Ginny, don’t worry,” he reassured her, “I’ve worked with
Parvati’s children, those are three little monkeys, you should see the places
where I had to help them down. And I had to Petrify one to manage to paint
him.”
Ginny seemed to relax a little at that. But before she could reply, Lily was
back into the drawing room.
The long blue dress she was wearing swayed around her legs as she made her way
back to the armchair. The straps on her shoulders were in beautiful contrast
with her milky, freckled skin. Her naked arms were now adorned with silver
bracelets of the same colour of her sandals and of the silk ribbon that ran
right under her breasts.
Dean licked his dry lips as he assessed her figure.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” asked Ginny proudly.
“Muuum!” whined Lily embarrassed. “And I wanted the one without straps, not
this one.”
“Yes, because you wanted to wear it for Scorpius’ birthday next month, and I
told you that it specifically was for the portrait,” she reminded her. “Now,
sit properly and let Dean work, okay?”
Lily rolled her eyes and straightened her back again, crossing her ankles under
the hem of the dress and placing her hands on the armrests. “Okay, you can take
the picture,” she conceded almost gently.
Dean raised the notebook and let the charcoal run on the paper. “I don’t take
pictures,” he told her evenly.
Her shoulders slumped forward. “What?” she asked in disbelief. “I have to stay
here for hours?”
“Days,” he corrected her, as he drew the shape of her slender face. “Don’t move
and close your mouth, please.”
“But…”
“I’ll tell you when you can speak,” he told her. “Are you sure that’s the kind
of hairdo that you want? Your hair is quite long and it takes away a bit from
your figure.”
“Maybe we can have a plait? A French plait?” suggested Ginny. “At least we’d be
able to see your earrings.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” smiled Dean without looking away from Lily.
“Are the colours alright, Dean?” asked Ginny.
Dean narrowed his eyes as he stared at his model. “Yes, I like that shade of
blue. I like the fact that the colour of the dress is the same of those big
flowers on the armchair.”
Lily lowered her eyes as though she were checking his statement. “I’m wearing
the same colours of the armchair?” she groaned.
“You’re wearing the only colour that doesn’t look ridiculous on you,” pointed
out Ginny. “Believe me, I know.”
“I wanted a white dress,” sulked Lily.
“On your wedding day,” chuckled Dean. “Now, raise your chin a little and look
at me. You have to keep looking at me. And keep that frown away from your face.
Otherwise, I’ll be forced to put in some wrinkles to make it justice.”
Lily looked outraged at him, while Ginny’s laughter filled the drawing room.
“Are you comfortable like that?” he asked her.
“I guess,” she replied.
“You have to be comfortable to be able to keep the position for at least two
hours a day,” he told her. He drew her eyes and her thin eyebrows over them.
“Two hours? That’s mental! I’m never in the same position for two hours,” she
snapped, “not even when I sleep.”
“That’s true,” murmured Ginny, “when she was little we would find her sleeping
with her legs up the wall or on the floor.”
Dean drew the straight line of her small nose. Oh, he felt a tingly sensation
in his fingers and a heavy feeling of déjà-vu as he sketched those freckles.
“Will I have to Petrify you?”  
“Probably,” she replied haughtily.
He ignored her, even though to Petrify her on the chair would have been fun, he
enjoyed her smart mouth and was certainly looking forward to talking to her
without Ginny to keep her at bay.
He sketched her hair and the way it curved over the swell of her breasts and
down to her waist.
“The light is already changing,” he said as he raised his eyes to look at
Lily’s face. “I want you ready at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“What? No! Mum! Tell him! It’s the holidays!”
“Go to bed a bit earlier,” he suggested calmly. “You see that mirror there.” He
pointed over the fireplace and she looked at it. “You see those last rays of
sun reflected at the very bottom? The best light in here is around nine, nine
thirty, when the sun is lower in the sky and the rays hit the whole mirror.Then
the tone of your skin really comes alive.” He put some shadows on her cheeks.
“Don’t wear too much make-up.”
“I don’t,” she replied sourly.
“Good.” He snapped the notebook closed and put away the charcoal into the case
once more. He looked at Lily and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? You’ve already finished?” she asked in disbelief. “But…
but I changed and all for nothing?”
“I beg to differ, Lily,” he replied, “this was very useful for me. And now
you’re free to go and write how much you heart your boyfriend.”
She blushed a little, but nodded and stood up from the armchair.
Ginny grabbed her arm before she could disappear into the living room. “Lily,”
she said meaningfully.
Lily nodded slightly. “Thank you, Dean,” she said, as she looked at him, “see
you tomorrow.”
“Nine thirty,” he reminded her.
She didn’t bother to suffocate a groan as she walked into the living room and
then she was gone up the stairs in a hurry.
Ginny smiled at him. “Well, you surely know how to treat misbehaving
teenagers.”
He winked at her. “Told you, she’s just like her mother.”
Ginny shook her head as she snorted. “Would you like to stay for lunch?”
“Thank you, but I have a lunch date with Neville,” he replied, “need to tease
him a bit about his belly.”
“You’re terrible, Dean.”
“Why thank you, Ginny.”
***
Tuesday morning at nine twenty-five, Ginny opened the door with a smile on her
face. “She’s almost finished breakfast,” she announced brightly. “And I
honestly don’t think she’s ever had breakfast before ten during the holidays.”
Dean walked inside and let a smile stretch his lips as well. “Glad to hear
she’s eager to start.”
He could tell Ginny was nervous when she laughed. “Well, eager might not be the
right word,” she replied, guiding him towards the kitchen, “but she’s up. Lily,
Dean is here.”
Ginny’s only daughter was wearing her beautiful dress as she arched her back
over a bowl of cereal. Her brown eyes were only half opened, and one of her
hands was trying to keep her face from falling into the milk.
She raised her eyes and yawned a “Hey,” when she spotted Dean.
Ginny ignored her. “I braided her hair,” she told Dean, gesturing for him to
inspect it. “Is it alright?” She grabbed the tail of the braid and pushed it to
Lily’s front, but the girl was still too sleepy to care or complain. “I added
some pearls, I like pearls, but I don’t know… do you think they work? I mean,
if they don’t you don’t have to paint them.” She pointed to some small hairpins
that culminated into a white pearl pushed deeply into her thick hair.
“They’re lovely,” commented Dean, following with his eyes the line of the braid
first and then the little beads of her spine until they disappeared under the
dress. “I’m sure they’ll work beautifully in the portrait.”
Relief painted her over her features. “Brilliant,” she replied. “Have you
finished, Lily? Come on, Dean said nine thirty, we don’t want to miss the
light.”
Lily placed the spoon into the half-finished bowl of cereal and looked at her
mother in disbelief, but she didn’t complain when Ginny grabbed her arm and
made her stand.
She followed them into the living and then the drawing room, where the sun was
washing over the walls and a chair had already been pushed into position for
Dean.
“Do you have everything you need?” asked Ginny, as she smoothed Lily’s dress
and checked her hair another time.
He opened his satchel and drew out his wand. “Everything,” he replied.
“Engorgio,” he said, bringing his canvas, easel and utensils to their regular
size. “Is it alright for me to leave this here this week?” he asked. “I can’t
keep shrinking it while I’m working on it, I’ve tried and the lines get all
wobbly.”
“Absolutely, I’ll make sure that Kreacher or Lily don’t touch it,” replied
Ginny. “Would you like a glass of water or something to keep here? I mean, I
can fetch you one whenever you need, but—”
“If you have other things to do, Ginny,” he told her, setting the canvas on the
easel, “I’m sure Lily and I will be absolutely fine here. And yes, a glass of
water for later would be brilliant, thank you.”
He sat down on the armchair and took out a sharpened charcoal. He checked it
meticulously and tried it on a little piece of paper. The line was neat and
thin. Perfect.
Ginny placed a glass and a carafe of water on a little coffee table next to
him. “I shall leave you two at your work, then,” she said. “Lily, behave, okay?
Don’t talk back to Dean and listen to what he tells you, please.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
Ginny’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck.”
Dean chuckled and nodded in reply as she walked out and closed the door at his
back. He stood from the armchair and inclined his canvas on the easel. He moved
it until it was slightly to Lily’s right and finally looked at the girl.
“Remember what I told you yesterday?”
“That it’s going to take forever?” she replied, drawing out the last word.
“No, that you have to be comfortable,” he told her matter-of-factly. He walked
to her and stared down at her face. “Look in front of you. Yes, like that.” He
grabbed her hand and raised it from the armrest, before making it fall down
again, gently. “Don’t grasp them, it looks like you don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t,” she replied promptly. “Particularly,” she added in a murmur as he
cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Let me see your feet.”
She raised her feet a little, her dress falling at the sides of her long, white
legs.
“Put the right one in front of the left, no, the other way round.” He knelt in
front of her, his hands sliding around her calves. “Bend your knees a little
and put your feet here. You need to look natural, I don’t want to paint the
portrait of a statue.”
Her muscles jolted a little under his fingers as he guided her legs to her
left. Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean could see her little hands grasping
the armrests.
He stood up and placed two fingers under her chin. “Up,” he said. He pulled a
few locks loose from her braid and grabbed the long tail as he made it slide on
the other side of her neck. He smoothed it over her shoulder, his fingers
brushing lightly against the side of her breast and down to her waist.
She bit her bottom lip as he reached her hipbone and flattened the wrinkles out
of the dress.
He straightened his back and looked down at her. “Smile,” he told her, “a
little bit at least. It’s for your father, I don’t think that he would like to
see you looking sulkily at him all the time.”
A little smile stretched her lips.
Dean nodded and smiled back at her, satisfied. “Perfect,” he told her, walking
back to the canvas. “I expect you to remember this position. Because that would
make us save quite a lot of time in the upcoming days. Do you understand,
Lily?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He looked at her as he grabbed his charcoal.
The tip brushed the canvas almost shyly at first, then his expert fingers drew
the shape of her face and sketched the plait that descended on her front. He
outlined her dress and then the furniture behind her.
He went back to work on her face and her arms and her legs and her dress. He
drew thicker lines for her hair, sketching the braid with its complicated
pattern. He outlined the silver band around her torso and the stripes of her
sandals.
His whole world narrowed to her and her alone, and to his surprise when she
spoke for the first time, the Grandfather Clock at her back signalled that more
than half an hour had passed.
“Do I really have to spend two hours like this?” she asked sulkily.
“Yes,” he replied. “Unless you need the bathroom, that’s the only time you can
move.”
“And I can’t speak?”
“You’re speaking now, aren’t you?”
“So I can speak,” she said hopefully.
Dean looked at her. “When I’m not working on your face, you can speak,” he
confirmed.
“And you’re not working on my face now.”
“I would have already told you to keep quiet, if I were.” He curved half of his
mouth in a smile and went back to add to her feet.
“So… you’re a painter, aren’t you?”
“Well, I hope for you that I am. Don’t move your toes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you ever painted anybody famous?”
He nodded and hummed in reply.
“Who?” she asked eagerly, undoubtedly hoping for an autograph of some hunky
Quidditch player.
“Lily Luna Potter,” he replied, “Harry Potter’s daughter, maybe you know her.”
She let out a snort. “Come on, someone really famous,” she protested. “Someone
from Puddlemere United maybe?”
He pretended to think, tapping his chin for dramatic purpose. “I don’t recall
anybody from Puddlemere, but I do have a few sketches of a Harpy, if you’re
interested…”
“My mum?” she asked warily. “No, thanks.”
He gave her another half smile and continued with the intricate pattern of the
rug under her feet.
“Is it true that you travel a lot?”
He nodded.
“Have you ever been to Paris?”
He looked at her. “Push that bracelet a bit up your arm.”
She complied.
“I’ve been to Paris,” he confirmed, looking back at the canvas. “Every artist
should go to Paris at least once in their life.”
“Is it beautiful?” she asked, her voice a bit breathy. “Like… you know… my
boyfriend is there right now and he keeps saying that it’s gorgeous, that next
time he goes there he’s going to take me, you know…”
Dean pressed his lips together to suppress the words that were about to leave
his mouth. Fifteen years old, her love story with Draco Malfoy’s son was surely
bound to end within months. There wouldn’t have been another time for him to go
back to Paris and take her there, much to their parents’ delight, he imagined.
“It’s beautiful,” he confirmed softly.
She smiled at that, her brown eyes shining as she probably thought about the
Eiffel Tower and Versailles and shopping in Les Champs-Élysées.
“And do you—”
“Shh, Lily.” He glanced at her and brought a finger to his lips. “I’m working
on your face again. Smile.”
Her lips were full and her teeth behind them were straight and white. When she
smiled her high cheekbones accentuated even more and her eyes shone a little
with the same light that Ginny used to have when she got excited about
something. He had seen it the other day when she talked about the portrait, and
he used to see it all the time when they were dating.
Her freckles were difficult to sketch, he barely outlined them, but he would go
back to them once he started to colour the painting. Her eyebrows were thin and
followed the arch of her eyes with grace. Her forehead had a sprinkle of
freckles as well, and the locks that Dean had loosened from her plait created a
beautiful game of shadows and light at the sides of her face.
He drew the twist of the plait once more and outlined the curve of her breasts.
They were small, and he would bet his palette that they were white and soft.
Just like Ginny’s had been the first time she had let him touch them, behind
the Quidditch pitch.
“Do you play Quidditch?” he asked her, shadowing the underside of one breast.
“Can I speak again?” she asked back hotly, moving her jaw and licking her lips.
“If I ask you something, yes,” he replied calmly.
“Yeah, I do.” She was eager to talk. “I’m a Chaser for the Gryffindor team. Do
you play?”
“I used to,” he replied, “I haven’t played in a while.”
“What position?”
“Chaser, like you.” He drew the lines of her dress. “But I haven’t played in
quite a long time.” He looked at her. “Is this what you want to be? A Quidditch
player like your mother?”
She shrugged a shoulder, and her strap inched down over the curve of her bones.
“I don’t know yet,” she replied, “but if I do, I don’t want to play in the
Harpies.”
“Why not? It’s a good team, you know.”
“Yeah, but they’re all girls, it’s boring,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I
want to play for Puddlemere. It’s much more interesting.” She winked playfully
at him, and giggled to let him know that what interested her were the players.
He sketched the lines from her knees down to her feet and shadowed them with
the flat part of his charcoal.
“Have you always wanted to be a painter?”
He nodded. “Even before I knew I was a wizard,” he told her.
She nodded as if she’d understood everything. “You’re a Muggleborn like Auntie
Hermione.”
“Half-blood,” he replied. He started working on the tiles of the fireplace.
“You can go, now. I’ll sketch the background.”
“Really?” Her voice was way too relieved. He hadn’t thought he had bored her
that much. “Like go and change?”
“Go and change and do whatever you want, for today,” he told her. “I expect you
to be already in position when I get here tomorrow.”
“Alright, alright,” she replied, jumping up from the armchair. “Thank you,” she
added, as she opened the door, “see you tomorrow.”
She didn’t even wait for his reply and she was gone. Her sandals slapping the
floor of Grimmauld Place, as she probably went to retrieve her diary and write
to her boyfriend just how boring posing for the portrait had been.
Ginny was there moments later, asking if everything was alright, if Lily had
behaved, if he needed anything. She swooned at that sketch that couldn’t have
been further from the finished portrait than it was now.
He wanted to point that out to her, but when she stood on tiptoes to kiss his
cheek in gratitude, he thought that he might have as well kept his mouth shut
and accepted the compliment.
***
Wednesday morning at nine thirty, Lily Luna Potter was already sitting in the
armchair. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone in anticipation as she stared
at Dean and her mother walking into the drawing room.
“Morning.”
“Good morning, Dean,” she giggled.
Dean furrowed his brow and turned to look at a slightly annoyed Ginny. “Don’t
mind her,” she told him, “she went to bed early last night, and now she’s
actually awake. Well, more awake than yesterday.”
“Yeah, right,” she giggled.
Ginny pressed her lips together. “Lily, behave.”
“Yes, yes, solemnly swear.” She raised three fingers near her face and smiled,
before waving a hand towards her mother’s direction. “Go, Mum, we need to work
here.”
Dean glanced between Lily and Ginny, but Ginny just rolled her eyes and grinned
at Dean. “I’ve put some water here,” she told him, “and if you need anything at
all, you just call me, okay?” She looked at Lily and added. “And if she causes
any trouble, you tell me and she’s not going to Scorpius’ birthday party when
he’s back.”
“Mum!” she whinged. “Get out, please.”
Ginny took a deep breath, she patted Dean’s arm and closed the door as she
walked out of the drawing room.
“Is it true that you dated my mum back at school?”
Dean placed his palette on the armchair and looked at Lily. She seemed almost
unable to contain her excitement, her little fingers were tapping the armrests
and her lips stretched into an impossibly wide smile.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and smiled softly. “Did she tell you?”
“Yep,” she replied eagerly, “you can’t lie.”
He turned away and started to uncork his colours to squirt the liquids onto the
palette. “We did date,” he replied calmly, “from the end of my fifth year to
almost half of my sixth. I’m your father’s age, by the way.”
“Was she your first girlfriend?”
He looked at her. “What did I tell you yesterday, Lily?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Smile?” she asked, stretching her lips
into an unnatural grin.
“Your feet,” he replied unimpressed.
She sighed. “The right one over the left and then… towards my right…”
“Your left,” he corrected coldly. “And your plait?”
“Here.” She moved it in the same position as the day before, over her breast
and down to her waist. “Happy? Come on, was she your first girlfriend?”
He stared at her body as she relaxed her hands against the armrests and smiled
like she had done during their first sitting, before he replied, “Yes, she
was.”
“And?” she asked when he turned with the palette secured in his hand.
He looked at her and brought a finger to his lips.
“No, tell me,” she protested, “or I’m not going to shut up!”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you’re not going to shut up, I’m not going to reply.”
She let out a groan, but settled with a pout on her lips.
“Smile,” he reminded her, and she only snorted once before she did.
He laid the colours for the base. Pearly and pale pinks for her face, and her
naked arms and feet, a darker shade of grey mixed with light blue for her
dress. He searched for the light on her face and the shadows behind her locks
and her nose. He used a warm hue of brown to fill in her eyes and to paint her
eyebrows and her hair.
He gave her dress a glint of depth by rounding out her breasts and playing with
the many lines of her material around her legs.
When he reached her painted toes, she must have followed his gaze because she
wriggled them under his stare. “Can I talk?” she asked, half annoyed and half
excited.
“You can.”
She didn’t waste time. “She was your girlfriend and…?”
He chuckled. “And what?”
“And… come on,” she giggled, “did you draw her?”
“I think I’ve already told you that I did,” he replied, working on the outline
of her figure.
“No, I mean… draw her like a boyfriend would draw his girlfriend.”
When he looked at her, she was trying to swallow her giggles.
“And how is that exactly?” he asked as he filled in the whites of the
background.
“Oh, you know it, come on!” she protested.
He licked his lips as he used some black to define the shape of the tiles. “You
mean naked?” he asked calmly.
She giggled and nodded.
He brought a finger to his lips and proceeded to use more shades on her cheeks,
where the flush had spread.
She gritted her teeth, whining for a bit before stretching her lips in a smile.
He outlined the flowers on the armchair. “I paint all my girlfriends naked.”
“Even Mum?” Her giggle was almost a laugh now and she didn’t bother to smother
it.
He looked at her. “Yes.”
“You’re lying!” she snickered.
His eyebrow cocked instinctively. “Why?”
She completely forgot to stay still as she brushed away a lock from her eyes.
“When Mum told me that you and her dated, I told my boyfriend and he said that
you must have painted her naked.” She shook her head, giggling. “But that’s not
possible, Mum’s too boring and predictable to do something like that.”
Dean lowered his eyes on the palette as he darkened his grey. Boring and
predictable were not the first two adjectives that came to his mind when he
thought about Ginny. He curved his lips in an involuntary smile as he
remembered the first time he had drawn her naked.
He looked back at her and smiled. “Boring and predictable, eh?” He continued to
add shades of grey over the armchair. “And you’re not like her.”
She shook her head, grinning. “Nope, I’m fun. All of my friends and cousins say
that. Even my boyfriend.”
Of course, what better judges than a horde of teenagers. “So would you let your
boyfriend draw you naked?”
She looked away from him, probably not expecting such a direct question, and
shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, but Scorpius is not good at drawing.”
And he would probably come before he even managed to sketch her breasts.
“Would you like me to draw a naked portrait of you?”
Her eyes opened wide as she looked back at him with her lips parted in
surprise.
He chuckled. “Isn’t it his birthday next month?”
“How do you know?” she asked, her voice a bit high-pitched.
“Your mum mentioned it,” he replied nonchalantly. He tried to colour her nails,
but the real ones were deep in the upholstery now. “Wouldn’t it be a nice
present? I bet he’d like it.” It was his time to wink at her when she flushed.
“I… I don’t think Mum would agree to that,” she whispered.
“No,” he chuckled. “I hardly think so. I don’t think we should tell her if you
want me to draw you out of that dress.”
She swallowed, her long, elegant throat undulating with the movement. “But I
don’t have money.”
“I’m sure we could find something else that you could do for me.” He licked his
lips again before placing a finger on them. “Do everything I tell you to do,
for example. Now keep quiet and relax your hands.”
She did and she didn’t talk for the rest of the time. Her smile was always on
her lips. But there was also a thin crease between her eyebrows, as if she was
thinking intensely about something. As if she wanted to say that something out
loud, but didn’t know how.
“You may go,” he let her know after more than two hours had gone by. “I’ll just
add touches to the furniture.”
She didn’t jump up like the day before, she nodded and stood slowly. “Thank
you,” she told him softly.
He heard her measured steps as she opened the door and told her mother that
they were done for the day.
Ginny was standing next to him as he added a patch of colour to the Grandfather
Clock at Lily’s back.
“Well, that was a rather quiet Lily, something that I haven’t seen since she
started talking,” she grinned as she peered at the painting.
“She asked me about us.” He added some black for the shadow of the armchair.
“Urgh,” grunted Ginny. “Sorry about that. We went to Hermione’s last night, to
have a girls’ night; since Ron and Harry and the boys are away. And we were
talking about you and it just came up.” She smiled apologetically. “Hermione
says hi, by the way.”
“Hi right back at her.”
“Lily didn’t ask anything embarrassing, I hope,” murmured Ginny.
Dean shook his head. “No, don’t worry.”
“Good. Listen Dean, I might have to run out for a bit tomorrow morning, would
that be alright with you? I mean, to stay here with Lily alone?”
He smiled reassuringly at her, finally placing the palette on the armchair at
his back. “Ginny, believe me when I tell you that she’s a perfectly fine young
lady,” he assured, “she listens to me and she’s polite with her mother’s ex-
boyfriend.” He placed his long fingers on her shoulders. “You go and do what
you have to do, we’ll be absolutely fine here.”
Ginny took a deep breath of relief. “It’s just the newspaper, I handed in a
piece and it was… wrong and I don’t know why. But they Floo Called earlier this
morning and just told me to go in today, but I didn’t want to leave you here
alone with the moody teenager.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
Ginny smiled and looked at the canvas. “I don’t really understand anything
about painting, but the colours are not quite spot on yet, right?”
“It’s the base, Ginny,” he chuckled. “I need to let it dry and then it’ll help
me with the light and shadows.”
“Right, as I said, I don’t know anything about painting.”
“True, but nobody can do a Wronski Feint like you do.”
She shrugged a shoulder before smiling. “I think I shall have to agree to
that.”
***
On Thursday morning, Dean opened the Daily Prophet in front of him. He read all
the titles and couldn’t understand a word they said.
He folded it and placed it back down on the table as he shook his head, trying
to send all thoughts of red-headed girls away from his head.
He couldn’t.
He had dreamt about Ginny the night before. About that time she had knelt on
the desk in the Potions classroom. Dean had been scared to death of having
Slughorn walk in on them, as he came back early from dinner in the Great Hall.
But Ginny had shook her head, wriggled her arse in the air and—Merlin! What was
a bloke to do?
But he hadn’t dreamt about Ginny in years, and now… all of a sudden, there she
was. And it was all her daughter’s fault. Bloody hell! If someone had locked
him in a room with Lily Luna Potter and with fifteen-year-old Ginevra Molly
Weasley, it would have taken him a hell of a hard time to tell them apart. She
looked just like the Ginny that he had snogged and fondled for months back at
Hogwarts. Right before he had to be on the run with a Goblin and Luna Lovegood.
And maybe it was the fact that his relationship with Ginny had come right
before the worst time of his life, but he had never found anybody quite like
her.
“So, how’s the painting going?” asked Neville as he came to take away his empty
cup of coffee.
Dean looked up at him. “Pretty good,” he replied, a smile stretching his lips.
“Two more days and I’ll be done.”
“And how’s Lily? Is she a good model or did you really have to Petrify her?”
“She’s a good model.” He stood up and dropped a few coins on the table. Neville
shook his head, and he ignored him. “She looks so much like Ginny.”
“Bloody hell, yes. And have you ever met Albus?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“He’s Harry’s spitting image at his age,” he told him. “Alright, minus the
glasses and the scrawny look, but I keep calling him Harry every time he tips
over a pot or prunes my poor Mimbulus Mimbletonia too much.”
“And what about Malfoy’s son?”
Neville grinned. “Lily’s boyfriend?” he chuckled. “Does she talk about him a
lot?”
“Only all the time.”
“Merlin, you should have seen Malfoy’s face at the platform back in June.” He
snorted and shook his head. “Bloody hell, I wish I had taken a picture of that
moment, and then I’d give it to you and you’d blow it up to a three for four
feet portrait.”
“To put it where?” laughed Dean.
“Here,” he replied gravely. “Where everybody can see it.”
“I’m sure it would get Hannah lots of clients,” he agreed. “I’ll see you
tonight, Neville, if that invitation still stands.”
“It does. Say hi to Ginny and Lily.”
“I will.”
***
Ginny already had her bag slumped over her shoulder when she opened the door.
“I am so sorry,” was the first thing she told him. “I really have to go to the
newsroom.” She let him in and walked briskly through the living room and into
the drawing room. “Good thing is,” she added, “Lily is already here and eager
to start.” She gestured towards her daughter, sitting in position already and
torturing her bottom lip between her teeth. “And you have water here, and if
you are hungry or thirsty or need anything at all, you ask Lily and she
promised she’ll be the perfect host.”
“I’m sure she’ll be, Ginny,” he assured her as he prepared his colours.
“So I won’t worry.”
“Not at all.”
“Lily?”
“I’ll be the perfect host, Mum.” She murmured the words without looking at
Dean.
“Except for when you forget your manners.”
She gave her a half-heartedly roll of her eyes before finally glancing at Dean.
“Hello Dean.”
“Hi Lily. Glad to see you’re ready to work.”
She nodded, but looked away again.
“Alright,” said Ginny, “I shall leave you two at your work. I think I’ll be
back by midday, I’ll try to get back earlier, but I’m not sure I’ll manage. So,
I’ll see you tomorrow, in case, Dean.”
“Brilliant.”
“Bye Lily.”
“Bye Mum.”
Ginny glanced at her daughter one last time and then smiled at Dean, before
walking out of the drawing room and closing the door at her back.
Lily didn’t speak as Dean prepared the colours that he would have had to lay on
top of his base. Midnight blue for the dress, dark auburn for her hair, creamy
white for her smooth skin. And finally, the silver that would refine her
sandals, the band under her breasts and the different white for the pearls.
He grabbed the palette and looked at her.
“I think I’d like to do it,” she told him softly, her brown eyes unable to
sustain his stare.
Dean furrowed his brow. “You’d like to do it,” he repeated calmly.
She nodded a bit jerkily.
“You’d like to do what?”
She looked back at him, her mouth open in an outraged expression at his feigned
ignorance. “That thing… what… what we talked about yesterday.”
Oh, he knew so well what thing. “Refresh my memory.”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you drawing me naked,” she replied, her voice a
murmur until the last syllable was almost inaudible.
He nodded slowly. “You want to pose nude for me.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, I… I thought it would be a cool present for my
boyfriend… I’m sure he’d like to have it… I… I mean…” She blushed and Dean had
to swallow because his mouth was dry now.
“I’m sure he would love to have it,” he agreed, his own voice low and measured,
“what do you think he would do with it?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t seem able to find anything
intelligent to say.
“Show it to his friends?”
“No!” she snapped.
“Wank on it?”
She blushed even more and stammered a string of “I… I…”
He chuckled and placed the palette down once more. “What did I tell you?” he
asked her. “What do you have to do if you want that drawing?”
“Everything you say,” she replied softly.
“And are you doing it?” He walked to her and looked down onto her flushed face.
“Yes,” she forced out the word.
He knelt in front of her. “Are you, Lily?” He lowered his hands until his
fingers were brushing against her sandals. “What did I tell you about your
feet?”
She swallowed. “The right in front of the left,” she started, “and then to my
left.”
Dean grabbed her little calves between his dark fingers and looked into her
eyes when she started to move her legs to reach that position. “And you’re not
doing it, are you?”
“But you haven’t started yet…”
“That’s no excuse,” he said. He brushed his thumbs over her bones as his hands
reached higher under her dress. Her nails dug into the armchair near his head.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Hands.”
She took a deep breath and relaxed them against the flowery upholstery. She
looked down at him, her lips parted as she took deep breaths.
“Smile.” His hands reached her bony knees and he felt her quiver as she tried
to stretch her lips into a smile.
“Have you ever gotten naked for a man?”
A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as she lowered her eyes to her lap.
“Have you gotten naked for your boyfriend?”
She shook her head, looking embarrassed at her inexperience.
“You know what it means, don’t you? To get naked in front of me.” He let her
knees go and slid his palms up her legs, pushing the material up to uncover
more of her fair skin and the sparse freckles that he hadn’t noticed the first
day. He leant forward a bit, raising his eyes on her face as his hands
disappeared under the silk bobbed in her lap.
She took a deep breath as he ran his fingers over the hem of her knickers. “You
wear nothing.” He hooked his fingers on the hem and said, “Rise.”
He could see the flare of her nostrils and the way her lips pressed
imperceptibly together from that angle.
Then she rose a little from the chair, just what he needed to pull the knickers
over the curve of her arse and down her thighs. He didn’t look away from her
face as she sat back down and raised her feet from the floor.
His lips tugged upwards in a half smile when he made the underwear slide down
her calves and off her feet.
He didn’t even look at them as he pushed them inside his pocket.
She opened her mouth to try to say something, but he didn’t give time to her
words to leave her mouth. He grasped her dress and brought it down again,
pulling it over her legs with a rough tug.
“Sit straight,” he told her as he stood up. “Smile and put your feet where I
told you.” He turned away and walked back to the easel. “If you want me to draw
you naked for your boyfriend, you’re not going to wear anything under that
dress tomorrow,” he added. “And remember that I first need to finish your
father’s present.” He picked up his palette and a thin brush to add the colour
to her cheeks. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Now keep quiet.” He dipped the point of the brush into vermillion.
“And let me work.”
***
Dinner with Neville and Hannah was always pleasant.
Except maybe when Dean’s hand kept flicking through the knickers still tucked
in his pocket.
He still didn’t know what colour or shape they were, he could feel the plain
cotton under his digits, though.
Just like Ginny’s always used to be.
He waited those moments when Hannah was busy in the kitchen and Neville was
blabbering about some exotic plant to push his fingers inside and brush them
against the material.
He wanted to take them out and look at them. He wanted to bring them to his
nose and take a nice deep sniff, maybe put the tip of his tongue against the
crotch and then wrap them—
“Ginny swung by the inn this afternoon,” announced Neville. “She said she
missed you this morning, but kept repeating what an excellent job you’re doing
with the portrait.”
Dean’s hand slid out of his pocket and tapped it lightly from the outside.
“When the model is beautiful it’s not too hard to do a good job.”
Neville nodded. “Speaking of the model,” he added, “if Ginny offers you a baby-
sitting job, I don’t think it’s a joke.”
Dean tilted his head as he suppressed a smile. “Oh really?”
“Apparently Lily had been quiet and gentle like a Pygmy Puff all day.” He
chuckled. “Her words, not mine.”
Dean closed his fingers around the Butterbeer in front of him. “Had she? She’s
a sweet little thing.” He took a gulp and looked at Neville over the bottom of
the bottle. “And I just love to talk to her.”
“Then she must like you,” pointed out Neville. “Otherwise I’m pretty sure you
wouldn’t enjoy talking to her that much. She can be rather rude when she wants
to be.”
Dean’s lips stretched into a relaxed smile. “Well, yes, Neville, I think she
must like me.”
***
Ginny was balancing a pile of parchments in her arms when she opened the door
for Dean on Friday morning. She smiled at him over the top of it, looking
incredibly happy to see him.
“I love the painting,” was the first thing she said. “I love everything about
it.”
“Well, I hope you’ll love it after today too, because I’m not quite done with
it.” He followed her inside and through the rooms that led to the drawing room
and that were by now rather familiar to him.
“I love Lily’s cheeks,” she added as an afterthought, before they could set
foot into the drawing room. “I like what you did with them, add that splash of
colour. She certainly seems more lively like that.” She stopped and let out an
unexpected laugh. “Not that she usually isn’t, mind you, but she looks good
with a bit of flush.”
Dean nodded in understanding. “Still need to add the pattern of her freckles on
her nose,” he let her know, “that’s going to be tricky.”
Ginny walked into the drawing room. “Listen, it’s the last day, you have to
stay for lunch,” she told him. “Or better, come for dinner, I’m not sure I’ll
manage to make it for lunch, I’ll tell Hermione too. And we still need to talk
Galleons, you know. Don’t think I forgot.”
Inside the drawing room, Lily was already sitting on the armchair. Her soft
smile and perfectly placed feet would have been enough to mask her nervousness
if her fingers hadn’t been leaving dents into the armrests.  
“Hello Dean,” she murmured.
“Hi Lily, I’m glad to see that you’re ready for the last session.”
“So?” asked Ginny as she tried hard not to make the wobbly pile of parchments
escape her grip. “Are you coming tonight?”
Dean looked from her to Lily and back. “I’d love to.”
“Brilliant.” Ginny smiled at him. “If you haven’t noticed there are still
problems with the article. At least now I know what to correct. I did have a
bit of a quarrel with Mr Quills. I told him that if he isn’t happy with what I
write he can look for another correspondent.”
Dean prepared the colours on the palette as he listened to her. “Well, good
luck with it.”
“Thanks, Dean,” she replied. “You too. And I would tell Lily to behave, but she
looks like you could tell her anything and she’ll just do it.”
Dean glanced at Lily again. He hoped that very much.
“Mum,” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes to tell her to go.
“Alright, alright.” Ginny smiled. “Off I go. I’ll see you tonight, Dean. Lily,
there’s some fish and chips in the fridge from last night to heat for lunch.”
“I know.”
“Good. Have fun you two.”
When she closed the door, a thick silence enveloped the room. Dean squirted the
colours on the palette. Grey to create depth in the flesh areas, diluted red to
touch up the little lines of her hair, his smallest brush to create the most
perfect eyelashes.
He placed the palette on the coffee table, next to the thoughtfully prepared
carafe of water, and moved the easel to his left a little.
Then he sat back on the armchair and crossed his legs as he let his eyes linger
on Lily’s face.
He leant his elbows on the armrests and brought his hands in front of his
mouth. Cocking an eyebrow, he asked, “What are you wearing?”
“The dress,” she replied promptly, her voice tiny.
“Under the dress, Lily.”
She took a deep breath, her chest heaving. “Nothing.”
His eyes descended on her body. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Stand up.”
She didn’t.
“Lily.” He said her name and followed those two syllables with a cock of his
eyebrow.
And she did.
“Look at me and raise you dress.”
She didn’t move.
“Lily. Do you want the drawing?”
She lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Look at me and raise your dress. Don’t let me repeat myself.”
Her white hands were a stark contrast with the dark material of the dress. She
didn’t bend her back forward and gathered up all that material, but she grasped
two fistfuls at her sides and inched it up slowly over her legs.
The little tease.
His lips parted to take a deep breath as he followed the silky material
caressing her skin. Up, over the curve of her knees, up over her white legs,
tiny and lean with hours of Quidditch. She slowed down her movements when she
reached high on her thighs, probably becoming shy all of a sudden or probably
teasing him a bit more.
But he didn’t have to roll her name over his tongue to make her continue. She
finally raised her hands over her hipbones and stood there half naked in front
of him.
He stared at her little, pink cunt between her legs, smooth looking and
inviting while her legs were quivering slightly under the weight of his gaze.
He bit down hard on his bottom lip and shifted slightly on the armchair,
crossing his legs more tightly to create a bit of friction against his
awakening cock.
“You shaved for me.”
“For Scorpius,” she breathed out with a high pitched voice.
He smiled as he looked up at her. “Of course.” He raised his forefinger near
his face and spun it. “Turn around.”
She took little steps as she turned around for him. She knew what he wanted and
he didn’t have to tell her to show him her arse, because there it was, firm,
white, smooth.
Ready to be spanked and licked and worshipped.
“Turn again.”
She turned once more without letting the dress go.
“Good girl,” he murmured patronisingly. “Pull it down. Sit down. Sit straight,
smile and feet in position.”
She let the dress go and sat back down, following his orders as if under the
Imperius Curse.
He pushed his legs closer together for a moment before standing up again. He
picked up his palette and smeared some black into the spot of vermillion. “Keep
looking at me,” he told her, without looking at her, “and keep quiet. I need to
touch up the edges and the little details.” His hand was firm as he perfected
her impossibly long eyelashes.
He looked at her and she didn’t move.
“Details like your eyes,” he continued almost to himself, “and the shadows of
the dress.” He bit his bottom lip in concentration. “And those little freckles
above your breast.”
Her chest heaved, but her smile didn’t falter.
He added layer on top of layer, giving depth to the colours and playing around
with the shadows and the light on her skin. When he moved the brush down her
neck and between her breasts, he looked from the canvas to her face again.
She half opened her mouth, but no sound left her lips.
He smiled languidly. “Yes, you can speak, Lily.”
“Where are you going to draw me?”
“On that armchair.”
She wiggled her toes and let out a small groan. “But it’s ugly.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
She didn’t reply until he looked at her.
“Yes,” she finally conceded.
He nodded. “The armchair will only be a sketch.” He contoured her right arm
down to her elbow, giving her muscle a bit of relief. “You are what I’m
interested in.” He brought his finger to his lips. “Let me work now.”
The twine of her braid was fascinating and tricky to render on the canvas. And
every time he blinked, he could see that tail wrapped around his fist, with all
those pearls flying everywhere as he tugged her head back, and then told her to
bend over to pick them up without magic.
He changed the brush to define the way the dress folded around her waist and
down her legs, he used a special Indian colouring to make the silver of her
sandals shine.
Then he moved to the armchair, the flowers, the little curved legs, and the
brass buttons on the back. Then the exotic carpet with its complicated pattern,
and the shiny tiles over the mirror, and the walls, and the window, and the
Grandfather Clock, and the fireplace.
His brush lingered for the last time over the forgotten ashes in the hearth,
then he raised his hand from the canvas and stepped back.
He could always feel something stirring inside of him when he finished a
painting and had to let the colours dry before casting the spell, but this time
he couldn’t tell if it was the thrill of having completed another work or the
anticipation of what was coming next that would make a shiver run up his spine.
He set the easel aside and used his wand to Scourgify the palette, the brushes
and his hands.
“Is it finished?” Lily’s voice was a murmur.
“It only needs the spell now,” he replied as he placed the colours in order of
gradation into their container.
“The spell?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Don’t you want your tiny painted self to be able
to talk to your father while he’s working?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess.”
He drew a notebook and a charcoal out of his satchel.
He balanced them on the armrest of his armchair.
He sat down.
“That’s so small,” complained Lily.
“That’s the right size for a nude drawing of a fifteen-year-old girl.”
She flushed at that. “Should I…”
“Yes. Stand up,” he ordered her. “Good girl. Take a couple of steps towards me.
One more. Good. Now take off your dress. Slowly.”
She lowered her eyes and bit her bottom lip as her fingers slipped furiously
under the straps and she tugged them over her shoulders and down her arms.
“Slow-ly, Lily.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. She couldn’t seem able to look at him as the
material caressed her breasts. And she took a deep breath when her pink, little
nipples appeared. Small, round, and perfect.
Dean nodded in appreciation every time a rib came into view as if counting them
with the movement of his head. When her hands reached her hipbones, she let the
dress go.
It pooled around her feet as if she was a mermaid shedding her tail.
He brushed a finger over his lips and tutted when she made to move.
She stilled again.
“What did I tell you?”
Her nostrils flared. “To do everything you say.”
He nodded. “Did I tell you to move?”
Lily shook her head, her downcast eyes seemed to fill with apprehension.
God. How much the little girl wanted that drawing.
He made his eyes slide over her naked body like a caress. Slow and rough at the
same time. From her flushed face, to her perky nipples, and down over the mound
of her shaved, little quim.
He didn’t cross his legs now. He let the pressure build and his trousers
tighten.
“Step out of the dress. Slowly.”
She stepped to her right and waited.
“I wrapped your tiny knickers around my cock, last night,” he told her in a
low, dangerous voice. “And I touched myself until I came all over them.”
She flushed even more and stared at the rug, her mouth opening and closing like
a fish.
“You know what I want to do to you?”
She finally raised her eyes on his face and nodded. She even opened her lips to
reply, but seemed unable to speak.
“I want to put a bit of colour on those cheeks of yours.”
When he stood up her eyes followed him.
“Go back to the armchair. Don’t sit. Walk to its left. Slowly, Lily.”
She walked backwards as unhurriedly as he demanded and he trailed behind her
like under a spell, his eyes trained on her fleshy breasts.
Once she reached the armchair, he reached her.
He walked around her, until all he could see was her white back that curved so
prettily before her arse, and the little beads of her spine that were like
pearls under her skin.
He leant a bit towards her and, hovering his head over hers, he inhaled her
smell. So sweet and so familiar. The same scent of her mother.
She shivered slightly when he placed his hands on her shoulders. He smiled
behind her as he made them slide down her body, against the side of her
breasts, over her ribs to her hipbones. He grabbed them forcefully and made her
turn to face the armchair.
“Bend over,” he whispered.
She swallowed and even though he couldn’t see the motion he could hear the
sound of her soft breath catching in her throat. She moved slowly, lowering her
front to the armchair, until her perky breasts were almost touching the cushion
and her arms were braced over the armrest.
“You are,” he murmured, “a little masterpiece, aren’t you?” He positioned
himself behind her and she shuffled her feet to move away from the coarse
material of his clothes against her bare skin. “Stay,” he commanded.
He slid an arm around her stomach and grabbed her waist as he bent over her.
“You don’t believe I drew your mother naked?” he whispered in her ear. “I draw
all my girlfriends.” He kissed her neck. “I have sex with them, and then I draw
them right after they’ve screamed. When they’re lying there all flushed,
heaving their chests and trying to catch their breath, and their lips are still
rounded around the shape of my name.”
He grinded against her arse, trying to lodge his still clothed erection between
her arse cheeks.
“I want to draw you like this, Lily.”
She closed her eyes and closed her fists against the armchair.
“You know what’s coming, don’t you?” he whispered. “You’ve known since the
first day I walked in here.” He leant a hand on the armchair near her breasts
and slid his other up to take one nipple between his fingers.
She let out the sweetest little sound as he tweaked it.
“You’re just like your mother,” he whispered against her hair as he trailed
kisses over the nape of her neck. “I know how to make your body sing.”
He squeezed it harder and she bowed one elbow. “Stay,” he drawled. “Spread your
legs for me.”
She did, her little feet bumping into his.
“Good girl.”
He straightened up and looked down at the arch of her back and then up to her
little shoulder blades straining against her skin and finally to her bowed
neck. A masterpiece, that’s what she was.
He closed his fingers around her hips and knelt behind her.
She was shaking now, imperceptibly, but when he placed his hands on the small
of her back and pushed it down to make her little arse even perkier, he could
feel her quiver under his palms.
He brought his mouth over her cheek and licked a stripe from where her upper
thigh joined the cheek to the dimple on her back. She shivered but didn’t shy
away.
He grasped a cheek in each hand and kneaded her flesh roughly before pulling
them apart. He leant closer. “You smell so good,” he told her, “just like I
remembered.”
She was probably going to say something about her not being her mother, but her
voice died in her throat when Dean’s tongue trailed wetly over her lips.
She let out a moan and her muscles jolted under her skin.
He smiled before using his thumbs to open her up.
And then he was on her. Slow and firm. From her hooded clit, all the way up to
her arsehole, the tip slipping inside every time he found her tight entrance.
And then down and up again. And then again. And then again. Until she was
keening so prettily from the armchair, with her head pushed back and her back a
perfect arch of young and taut muscles.
He slapped her cheek just to see it wobble near his face, but when she cried
out and stood on tiptoes, he did it again to hear that sound fill his ears once
more. He spanked her until her arse was blooming red, and all her cries became
throaty breaths.
He closed his lips over her clit and sucked until she was shaking, and when he
backed away from her, he was sure that her moans had turned into protests at
the missing friction.
He ignored them and stood. When he grinded again against her arse, she
scrunched her eyes up and gritted her teeth at the burning sensation. He rubbed
himself against her, until her teeth had left pretty marks in her bottom lips.
“You make me so hard,” he whispered as he leant once again over her, his
clothes rough on her. “Can you feel it?”
She swallowed and nodded.
He slid his hand over her waist to her front and down, down, down to her cunt.
“And I’ve made you so wet.” He dipped his finger inside of her and she groaned
out when he slipped out and around her clit.
So sensitive.
Too sensitive. Her hand left the armchair to close around his wrist and still
his movements.
“Lily,” he whispered harshly, “let me go.”
“Wait… please…” she moaned, “…too much…”
“Let me go.”
She whined softly, but slid her fingers from his arm and kept her hand hovering
in midair, as if he had given her permission to try to stop him again.
He hadn’t.
He closed his hand over her mound and pressed his erection against her arse.
Her soft cheeks wobbled so deliciously against him.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised. He backed his
pelvis away from her and worked on his buttons. “You just tell me when it
hurts, Lily.”
When she spoke he was almost tempted to spank her again where she was sore,
because he hadn’t told her that she could talk. “I… I wanted Scorpius…”
He kissed her again and then again, wetly and soundly on her cheek and neck. “I
know,” he whispered as his hand closed around his erection. “I know, Lily, but
I know what to do. Scorpius won’t be as gentle as I am.” He pressed his thumb
over the head of his cock and smeared the pre-come that was leaking already.
“Tell me when it hurts.” He kissed her cheek and then her jaw. “You can speak.”
He moved her braid from over her shoulder and rolled the tail around his hand.
“You can scream.” He lined himself up with her entrance. “You can do everything
you want.”
He pushed the head inside, just the head, and her sensitive walls fluttered
around him.
Dean let out a groan against the nape of her neck.
She was wet, warm and tight. Unbelievably tight. Just like Ginny had been that
first time so many years before.
He rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers to hear even the slightest cry of
discomfort and feel the softest twinge of her muscles. It wouldn’t have done
for her to cry or roll up in a ball afterwards, when he needed her to be pliant
and meek as he manipulated her body in position for the drawing.
He pumped his hips a little, until his erection was lodged into her and he
could let it go and lean his hand into the armchair near her own.
He gave another little thrust and she let out a strained cry. “It hurts…” she
breathed, “it hurts, it hurts, it hurts…”
“Shh,” he whispered against her skin. “Tell me when it doesn’t.”
He looked over her shoulder and to her hand, so small and pale compared to his
own, he stretched his thumb to rub it against her white knuckles, but she
didn’t move. He slid a digit under her curled fingers and made her unclench her
fist with patience. When he covered her hand with his own and laced his fingers
with hers, he tried not to squeeze them too tightly.
He kissed her cheek. “Does it still hurt?”
Her reply was a breathy sigh. “No.”
He nodded next to her, letting go of her braid for that moment, he slithered
his hand down her front and to where they were joined. He found her clit again,
hard and wet, and flicked his finger against it.
She keened, pushing back against his hand and then his erection.
“That’s it,” he murmured, “fuck yourself on my cock, Lily.”
And she did. She furrowed her brow in concentration and angled her hips to take
a bit more of him with every movement and to find that friction that she needed
against his hand.
Dean waited with the patience that only an artist could have as that
masterpiece of beauty and submission did everything he asked her to do.
And then, finally, her arse was brushing against the sparse pubes around his
cock, and she couldn’t go any further than that. He stilled his hand against
her clit and she almost groaned in protest once more when he denied her that
release. He slowly slid his wet fingers over her stomach and around her hip.
“You feel so good,” he whispered. “Now let me take over.”
He didn’t wait for her assent. He wasn’t asking her. But when he exited her and
then pushed back in without much gentleness, her keening cries spurred him on.
He set up a frenzied pace that had her round arse bounce against his pelvis
every time he slammed into her. Her eyes were closed now and her mouth wide
open as she tried to gulp down the air that he wanted to knock out of her
lungs.
Her walls fluttered around him, becoming an even tighter fit, as if she was
either trying to pull him in or push him out of her.
He thrust forward again and again, driving into her as if he hadn’t just spent
six months fucking Parvati in her marital bed. As if the last time he had felt
so good inside a woman – a girl – had been when Ginny Weasley was kneeling on
that desk in the Potion classroom.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted in her ear. He punctuated every word with a
vicious thrust, until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the armchair with
a surprised and breathless cry.
He let her hip go, and pushed his hand on the small of her back to make her
push her arse up in the air for him. Her little legs flailed helplessly between
his clothed thighs every time he shoved into her.
His hand searched almost blindly for her braid, and when he unceremoniously
tugged her head back, he latched his lips to the skin of her neck and whispered
a string of profanities. He wanted to call her her name, but he didn’t. He
wanted to whisper Ginny against her skin over and over again, but tears of
shame and regret would have ruined the picture he still had to paint.
But he called her all sort of names, just like her mother used to like, and
when he found her nipple between her body and the cushion and with the braid
still wrapped around his palm he pinched it roughly, she cried out and finally
clamped down around his cock.
Her muscles shook and she flushed all over her body. But it was when he drove
into her through her orgasm and managed to force his name out of her trembling
lips that it became entirely too much for Dean.
“Yes… yes… shit… yes…” He squeezed his fingers around hers and finally felt the
pull of his balls as he groaned out his release against her shoulder and came
deep inside of her.
He nipped at her skin and licked her sweat away as he still gave tiny thrusts
with his hips every time she moaned and quivered under his body.
Heaven. She was heaven. So young and taut and ready to do anything he wanted
and now so pliant and flushed and trembling because of him.
He could have done anything to her, and she would have just let him do it.
“Fuck,” he whispered as he bit down on her bony shoulder, “you’re so beautiful,
a proper masterpiece…”
She moaned and her tiny fingers moved against his, but it might have been from
discomfort at the way he had squeezed them without noticing now.
He slid his hand free of her braid and grabbed her waist to steady himself as
he pulled out with a squelching sound. His softening cock was covered in come
and the tiniest tinge of blood, and the noise it made when it popped free from
her tight cunt made him want to push it back again just to hear it once more.
He didn’t.
He tucked himself away without using a Scouring Charm. He was going to sit
through dinner that evening with Ginny in front of him and Lily’s juices drying
on his cock under the table.
He took a deep breath, brushing his hand over his face. Lily didn’t move on the
armchair, she looked ready to fall asleep as soon as her breath would be back
to normal.
He couldn’t have that.
“Engorgio.”
She didn’t even seem to notice when the armchair became wider, and her legs
were pushed up until she was lying on it. He looked at her and smiled.
“Lily.”
“Hmm…”
“Open your eyes.”
She did, but closed them straight away.
“You’re tired.”
She nodded.
“Just a little effort, I’ll be quick, I promise.” He leant down and felt the
urge to press a kiss on her forehead. His big hands wormed their way under her
prone body and she didn’t complain as he rearranged her on the armchair. He
untied her sandals and let them fall to the floor. He pushed her legs together
as he let her lean against the back of the armchair. He placed her palm near
her face and one arm behind her head, in a languid pose that would have had
Scorpius Malfoy come in his school uniform the moment he saw her. He didn’t
push the stray locks that had escaped her hairdo back into the braid, nor did
he wait for her flush to disappear.
He sat back in his armchair and started working.
He didn’t stop until the second drawing was finished.
***
“I’m not sure you should have done that to her, Dean.”
He blinked and turned to look at Ginny. “Beg your pardon?”
“Well, look at her.” She nodded towards the painting where a tiny, painted Lily
was looking rather bored out of the portrait as she let her feet dangle in a
most unladylike way. “I’m not quite sure it was a good idea to spell the
portrait to life. I have this feeling that Harry will spend most of the time
telling her to be quiet and sit straight.” She smiled to let him know that she
was joking and Dean looked back at the portrait as well.
“Do you like it, Ginny?”
“It’s beautiful,” she beamed, “and I’m sure Harry will love it.”
Dean smiled. “That’s good to hear.”
“We still need to talk about the price, Dean, you know you’re not getting out
of this house without a satchel full of Galleons, right?”
He smiled at her. “Ginny, there’s really no need for that,” he assured her.
“Her beauty inspired me and it was a pleasure for me to paint her. Let’s not
soil art by putting a price on it.” He brought his Butterbeer to his lips. “And
Lily already paid me.”
“She did?” asked Ginny, surprised. “With what?”
He shook his head. “She let me keep a drawing of her for myself.”
Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “If you’re happy like this, Dean…”
“Very, thank you.” He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll put it next to yours.”
She flushed. “Not the naked one,” she whispered urgently. “I hope you destroyed
it.”
“I never destroy a masterpiece, Ginny.” When he turned to look at the painting
once more, Lily blushed just like her mother.
He winked at her and tilted his bottle towards the painting.
Yes.
A masterpiece.
                                      FIN
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