There is a certain mystery surrounding an artist.
It's not about the clothes they wear, or where they choose to live. It's not about the type of colors they prefer to use while painting or the pencils when sketching. It's not about the fact that they get so enamored with their work, that they sometimes forget to eat and bath or even sleep.
The mystery is that it is something that you cannot see, no matter how hard you look.
And that alone made Draco Malfoy love his job. He rather thought that he was the only artist in Britain who wore a mask while working so that no one could identify and judge him. Which a lot of people tended to do when faced with a death eater who not only escaped justice, but walked around as if he owned the world.
He had been more than willing to face his demons in Azkaban. He had set his mind to live in a cell with no contact with the outside world and had even written endearing letters to those who, in his opinion, mattered. But if the Wizengamot had given him a second chance, then who were the public to think any different?
He had written to his mother. She would not be punished because she had committed no crime. The only thing that she had done - according to Harry Potter - was support her husband. And even though she thought the whole thing from start to finish could only be described as 'absurd madness', those who were supposed to judge and sentence her, had not.
It has been said before that Draco had beautiful hands and that they were made for creating things of beauty. Long elegant fingers that could hold a wand to challenge those who defied him, to holding a wine glass lightly by the stem and make it look graceful.
Listening and paying heed to the compliments about his hands, and the fact that he could sculpt or draw or paint anything he wanted, well that had Draco sit up and pay attention. He realized, because he himself had been there, that people were vain.
They wanted to hear that they were the biggest, the strongest, the smartest, and it didn't matter who told them. Most people, if not all of them, would always look at themselves when they passed a mirror because they wanted to look and keep looking.
Vanity was ugly.
But a mirror was only seen in passing.
But a specific hand drawn sketch with pencils that were held in his delicate hand, well now... that was a whole different story. It had such potential. Making it so others could keep on looking at themselves. And while Draco was someone that used to love boasting about his looks because he knew he was gorgeous, well it would be nice for others to be looked at as well.
There were times that he incorporated a bit of magic into his drawings, but he would only do this if he felt it was necessary, not if the client asked him. That way it was a surprise. To date, he had only done that once, and it was for a lady from France.
She had long flowing golden hair that reached the dip of her bum, and he made it so that it would wave as if caught in a gentle breeze. She had paid him double for that.
His art studio was on the top floor of an apartment complex. He worked under the pseudonym of Scarlet.
There were many reasons for choosing this name, but he never told anyone, and in any case, no one ever asked.
He was preparing for a client to come to his studio on Saturday night at 8pm. They had arranged the appointment some time ago, with the client who kept changing his mind and then finally after a lot of thinking, decided to just go ahead and have it done.
***
Becoming an Auror had been a dream for Harry Potter for so many years, but after a bit of thinking he had finally made the decision to not go down that route. He was tired of fighting, he wanted to make time to live now.
