Chapter 1
"Absolutely not, Pansy!" Draco, the aristocratic and stubborn blonde, enunciated through his teeth. His posh best friend Pansy's refusal to listen felt like a betrayal, and he felt this discussion was going in circles. His disdain for the proposal was apparent; Pansy could feel the superiority and judgment laced in every word. The aroma of their tea and the clinking of cups in the background all added to the tension in the air.
"Don't make me beg, Draco dearest. This is a perfect opportunity; frankly, you owe me one," Pansy pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation and ambition. The woman's determination was evident; she was not about to let this plan fail. Her desperation was not just for Draco's participation but for her success and validation.
He took an incredulous sip of his tea, "I would love to hear what I owe you for."
Pansy's bob bounced as she shook her head. "How rude," she defined with a flick of her wrist, "you don't trust me?"
"Hardly."
She rolled her cunning hazel eyes toward the dimly lit ceiling of the cafe, "Honestly, darling, is the offer so horrid?" she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The blonde scoffed but said nothing in return. Of course, it was an absurd proposal! If he accepted, he would be stooping lower than he ever thought possible. Becoming a model, a profession he had always looked down upon, was simply unthinkable. It went against everything he believed in, everything he stood for. The conflict within him was palpable, as was his struggle to balance his principles and his desperate financial situation.
He crossed his arms, "You and I both know you are doing this to spite and humiliate me."
"No, I'm not." She placed her chin on top of her perfectly manicured, interlocked hands. "I genuinely want you as the face of my next launch. My brand is branching into muggle stores, and having someone like you represent me would make a statement! Imagine Draco, your face on billboards, your name on every fashion magazine. It's a chance for you to enter a new world beyond our wizarding society."
That's right, Pansy wanted Draco to model her Spring fashion line for her. "What do you mean 'someone like me'?" Draco asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
"It's not negative, love. You have the right look for it." She started counting her fingers, "You're at least six feet tall–"
“6’1.” He cut in snidely.
"Exactly! Don't interrupt me again." She scolded as she continued listing Draco's ideal characteristics, "You have porcelain white skin, which is already an ideal beauty standard in our society; you're blonde, skinny, but not too slim. Your jaw could cut glass, and you have well-defined, lean muscles. Truly, you are a gorgeous human being."
"I know, by wizarding world standards." Draco clarified, "You don't know the muggle beauty standards."
She tutted, "Actually, I do, and that's the whole point. No one looks like you in the muggle world, so your natural beauty would pop on a muggle magazine."
"As flattering as that is, I don't intend to tarnish my reputation further by participating in something unsightly."
"I'm not only doing this for my benefit, although I would be lying if I said that wasn't the primary reason."
"How Slytherin of you."
"This could also be a great side hustle for your schooling," Pansy stated, pointedly ignoring Draco's comment. "Going through Healer training isn't easy in your position, correct?"
He hummed in recognition; Pansy had a point. The Malfoy wealth was drained clean after the war because of the side they were on. His father, who was once an influential figure in the wizarding world, was sentenced to life in Azkaban, and his mother had moved away to France after her house arrest with the bit of money she saved up on her own. The manor, once a symbol of their status, no longer belonged to them and was confiscated by the Ministry. By the end of Draco's eighth year, he had nothing. He had to start from scratch, and this proposal from Pansy, as unconventional as it was, could be his ticket to a new beginning.
Draco was still proud of his name despite his circumstances. They had a long generation of nobility and history that wasn't lost on him that he had pride in. He felt honored to continue on the legacy. Although raised a certain way, he actively tried to change his perspective. That was the primary reason he decided to become a Healer. Draco had passed his NEWTs with flying colors, which was indubitable. Applying for the program and finding a Healer to train under wasn't a problem either; as long as he glamoured himself, he was allowed to participate and practice—only the teachers knew of his true identity for legal reasons. He had NDAs and everything. The problem was the cost of his training. He was torn between his pride, ambition, and past and future.
Draco had been working odd jobs in glamour since he graduated from Hogwarts to save up for this training. He managed to snag a junior apprenticeship at St. Mungo's a year after his eighth year, but he had yet to realize how much money advanced training would be. He was ambitious, a Slytherin to the bone, so he wanted the highest possible position for a Healer. He strived to be the best, and that was the Malfoy taking the lead in him. His determination to overcome his financial struggles and achieve his dream was unwavering.
He distractedly picked up his teacup to take a sip but decided against it and put it back down with a huff. It was better to rip off the band-aid. "One photoshoot. That's what I'll give you."
A smile broke out on Pansy's round race, "One photoshoot, and you have to behave."
Draco scoffed, "Oh please!"
She looked at him pointedly, "Dray, I'm serious. You are my employee as soon as you set foot in the studio. I am the boss, and you have to listen to me. I don't want to have to deal with any of your aristocratic, cocky prat bullshit."
He sighed, "Fine. Whatever, Pansy."
She gracefully took out her wand and summoned a scroll from midair. "This is the contract with terms and conditions. Read it thoroughly, and then sign down at the bottom."
"You're a true professional, aren't you?" He joked when he snatched the contract from her.
She shrugged and smirked, "I take my business seriously, Draco darling. I'm offended that you would think otherwise."
He shook his head at his friend and then nervously glanced at the contract. He read through each line at least ten times; it seemed simple enough. They would be shooting in muggle London, so magic was forbidden. Pansy was good about hiring all sorts of people, not only of unique shapes and sizes, but squibs, half-bloods, and even former Death Eaters who escaped federal prison. However, the contract specified that he would always be under observation because he was included in that category. Draco would usually have a problem with that, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. He skimmed through the other notable points: he'd have to be alright with people touching him for cosmetics, and as a former Death Eater, his magic had to be suppressed for the entirety of the shoot (for safety reasons, it said, but Draco called horseshit). There was something about the outfits being designed with muggles in mind, so robes were probably excluded from the fashion line. He needed clarification about some of the details of the designs included (the descriptions were both incredibly detailed and highly vague all at once). Still, he decided that the fashion he would be posing in would be fine if he got paid the amount listed at the bottom of the paper.
Speaking of which, "You'll pay me 27 galleons?!"
Pansy blinked, "What? Do you want more?"
"No! That is more than enough. I wasn't aware that models made that much."
She shrugged, "Most start at about 17 galleons, but you're doing me a favor, so I thought I would contract you for the maximum."
"Pansy," Draco stared, astonished at the number on the contract, then directed his gaze to his friend, "I don't know what to say to that."
"You're also a burnt-out rich snob, so anything less wouldn't fit your style."
"There she is. I was scared I had lost you." He replied sarcastically as he signed the bottom of the scroll.
Pansy's plum purple lips quirked, "Not on your life, pretty boy. Now," She spelled the contract away into her bag and threw the purse over her shoulder. "I will see you Friday at six for hair and makeup. You are welcome to arrive before then, but note that the venue doesn't open until five-thirty."
"Dully noted."
"Also," she wormed her arm through Draco's as they made their way out of the cafe, pointedly ignoring the glares and whispers as they excited, "because my company is run by a former Death Eater, myself, legally, I have to have Aurors present to make sure there's no funny business."
The blonde groaned, "Of course you do. Anyone could take over the world with some fabric."
She smacked his shoulder playfully, "You haven't seen this line yet. It's fierce enough to kill a man."
"Hopefully, not the one wearing it." He joked back as they walked to Pansy's apartment together. They could've floo'd to their places, but he hadn't seen Pansy in a while and wanted to continue spending time with her. He would never say that out loud, though.
Plus, he knew that whatever shit she was going to get him into on Friday was going to ruin their friendship entirely. She was a mean and tricky bitch, so he expected some treason within the boundaries of their friendship. He wasn't sure what to expect, which made him nervous.
Draco shook his head; everything was going to be doable. It was one photoshoot. He could manage one photo shoot in a few suits. What's the worst that could happen?