Twisted Tales

Christmas in Paris

"Draco, sit still," I whine, sliding my paintbrush over the canvas in front of me. "I'm almost done." 

He shifts around; propping his elbows on his knees, chin resting on tented fingers. He gives me a playful pout, "I want to go flying again."

We arrived in Paris a week ago. Draco and I spend most of our days going through the little shops downtown or curled up in bed just talking. We discuss the future mostly, what we want to do as careers, getting a house together after school. We share secret fears about not living up to expectations. When we're alone together, with no fear of being overheard, all walls come down. Keeping secrets from others is important, necessary. Keeping secrets from each other is not only unthinkable but also near impossible. Draco and I are able to read each other, sensing things, able to read the other almost perfectly. There's safety when we're wrapped up in each other's arms that I don't think either of us feels around anyone else.

As the weather starts clearing up, the skies no longer dumping snow, the wind not an unforgivable icy knife, Draco insists we go out flying. There's a little beach just up the coast, impossible to get to without a boat or, in our case, a broomstick. Draco takes me there for picnics. We sit around a small fire, wrapped in fur blankets sharing wine and cheese.

"Just a little longer, please," I poke my head around the canvas, fluttering my eyelashes at him. Draco's a sucker for the puppy-dog face, he'll hardly ever say no to it. "You never let me draw you."

He sighs, leaning back into his original position, arms outstretched over the back of the chair, his legs kicked lazily out in front of him, "Fine, but after we're going flying."

"After we can fly until you're frozen to your broom," I laugh, adding a few more strokes of color just under his eyes.

"Well, maybe if I didn't have to keep lending you my coats," he chuckles. Draco and I have been together long enough for him to expect my aesthetic over function fashion choices.

Thirty minutes later, I set down my paintbrush. Draco's form stares up at me, created in little strokes of color. Spinning the easel around so Draco can see the finished product, I wait for his reaction. He stares at the portrait for a while, tilting his head to the left and right, teeth working against his bottom lip. Draco usually enjoys the little pictures I draw for him. Typically they're animals or nature scenes. I've never actually drawn anymore of Draco than his eyes. I worry that he won't like this one.

"I don't look nearly that attractive," he finally says.

Swatting playfully at his arm, I roll my eyes, "Don't pretend to be modest."

"No," he shakes his head. "Is this really how you see me?"

My cheeks burn red and I try to hide them behind a curtain of hair before Draco sees. He thinks it's adorable that he's still able to make me blush. I find it embarrassing. "You're incredibly handsome, Draco, you must realize that."

"Well, I don't think I'm unattractive, but this – " his eyes scan over the painting again " – this is much too generous."

I pull my wand out, prepared to wipe the canvas clean, "Do you not like it?"

"No," Draco's hand curls over mine, the other coming to caress my cheek, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are sparkling, a wide smile set on his lips. He dips down to kiss me. "I love it. Now – " he gives my cheek a quick squeeze " – let's go flying."

~~~~~

"So – " I spin around showing off my outfit to Draco. "What do you think?"