Stab Me on a Runway

Chapter one

a/n: please ignore the formatting issues they will be fixed in the following chapters!

The studio was a brilliant example of rationalism. A tall Art Deco building with intricate geometric carvings. Everyone was expecting him. It was like there was a surprise party except someone showed up late and they all yelled surprise to the wrong target. Except in this situation it was jolly women pinning fabric on mannequins and a man with pallid, freckled hands who stood eager with a sort of anticipation you would not typically see in an employer. "You're the photographer, I presume." He utters as he withdraws his hand after Harry shook it and tucked it into his corduroy jacket pocket.

Harry nodded, evading direct eye contact as he scanned the room.  Every element fit to a congruous style: somber mahogany with scarlet finishes. The similarity blended the space so that it gave off the impression of a series of tunnels, rather than a building. "Yes sir." 

"Marvelous," responded the man with a mischievous grin, "Ronald Weasley. Well, I reckon you're acquainted with my name. Or rather- my wifes name."

Harry merely shrugged, recognizing the name to some extent, but his knowledge and involvement in the fashion industry were brief and Weasley wasn't exactly a big name. "I've heard it a couple of times." was his reply.

Ron nodded, his hands hidden in the depths of his tattered suit coat. The thud of their shoes accompanied the two, as they made their way to a smaller room. This one had fewer sewing machines, and had a camera arranged in front of a large piece of fabric. On one of the walls there was a door. It was propped open and on a wooden chair sat a tall man with blonde hair so light it looked almost ghastly. Still he was handsome. Attractive in a way a woman would. Not that Harry had ever seen such a woman, on the verge of albinism. Ron gestured to him, "Mister Malfoy."

The man arose and Harry swallowed hard, "Greetings."

"You must be Potter." Malfoy replied, devoid a hint of pleasure in his voice.

"Correct."

Ron turned to take his leave, remarking, "It appears all is in order. I expect my latest collection to be ready come Friday. 'Moine's quite proud of this one, and I'm keen not to disappoint. so, goodbye."

"Bye." Malfoy sighed and inclined himself until Ron was out of view. "Listen, my name is Draco Malfoy, but you may not call me by my first name. Understood?"

Harry blinked at him, flabbergasted, "I- uh- Alright. That's fine."

Malfoy nodded, "Then we will cooperate."

"Yeah."

After an awkward silence in which Malfoy spent examining the buttons on his coat,  he looked up, "Well are we doing it or not? Don't you  have a lady to return to?"

Harry didn't. "Well-"

"Neither do I," he interjected. "Yet the point stands, we possess lives despite the single man stereotype and I don't want to spend my time on some photoshoot."

Harry furrowed his brow. He was supposed to be the one bossing Malfoy around, not the complete opposite, "So- was he looking for anything in particular? I wasn't given much instruction of how he wanted it."

"You've been given creative freedom." He said blandly, "If that answers your question."

"Alright. You stand right there then..." Harry pointed to the sheet of fabric hanging from the ceiling. It provided a plain background that almost gave the illusion of a child's photo in a yearbook.

"Yes sir." He agreed. Harry shuttered. For no reason at all The words made him want to vomit. Still, Malfoy was cooperating. Which was an addition. "So how'd you get into the industry?" Harry asked after the flash lit up Malfoy's gray eyes until you could see every detail. He blinked..

"Some fellow on the street." he shrugged in disregard. "Said I was handsome and would make a great model. Sure I'm no Gilbert Roland..." 

Harry nodded slowly as Malfoy fiddled with his pinstriped suit, "Do you smoke?"

"No." Harry rubbed his brow.

"Damn." He clicked his tongue, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I don't even like it much. Tastes horrible."

"Then why do you-" Harry started, and then stopped himself realizing it was a rude thing to ask.
Malfoy set the box on his knee, then pulled out a match box and struck it several times before it lit. Harry watched the flame in his hands. He had so much power with that little flame. But with that power, he chose to burn himself. Not physically of course, but Harry's never seen the appeal of inhaling smoke. Campfire's always made his eyes water as a boy, and it almost hurt to inhale. He'd never imagine inhaling whatever was in it. Malfoy took a long draw, and exhaled before speaking, "Not sure. I guess I was influenced."

"Aren't we all." Harry sighed. The conversation felt uncomfortably one-sided, which Harry was perfectly content with. His life felt a lot more boring compared to the little information he knew. He wasn't stopped in the street and told how handsome he was. It was true, Malfoy was handsome. A kind of handsome that was almost comparable to Greek statues. Except... clothed. Harry could nowhere near compare to that. By all means he was not ugly, but his hair never fully stuck down like Malfoys. His eyes magnified behind large, round spectacles. He looked like a peasant compared to Malfoy. A laughing matter. Maybe he should have chosen medical school.

"Where are you from?" He asked, as if the silence had given him sudden interest in the conversation.

"Jersey." Harry replied.

"Oh ew"  He took one remaining draw of his cigarette and exhaled towards the ceiling. The act was so majestic Harry almost wanted to use the camera and tell him to do that again. But he watched as Malfoy stomped out the butt with his heel.

"The hell you have against Jersey?

He didn't awnser, "Where were we?"

The room smelled like smoke. Everything smelled like smoke. It would follow him wherever he went. Even after they finished for the day, Malfoy grabbed his coat and strutted out the door. It still smelled like smoke. It was as if he was still here, blowing clouds towards the sky.