Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
AN: Written for the Non-Canon Pairing Challenge by hiddlestons. Although this doesn't really fit the challenge requirements, so I can't really enter it. And yes I know that it's a little late. (The challenge was set up in 2010!)
For Dean, his way of coping with the memories of the Year of Hell was to paint. To paint like he had never painted before and his favourite thing to paint was real people in front of him like the attractive young witch who was posing naked for him right now, laying on her front and winking at him with a coy expression on her face.
Romilda Vane coped with her nightmares about the battle by throwing herself at boys with wild abandon. It was rumoured that over half the male population of Hogwarts sixth, seventh and eighth years had slept with her, a rumour that was not without substance. Even Dean, the boy she was currently posing for, had slept with her on more than one occasion. For her it was the only way she felt alive.
Dean loved painting pictures of Romilda especially. Her chin was a joy to draw, so prominent and defined. Her dark, beautiful large eyes were soulful, reflecting the horrors he understood all to well and the horrors he had never known.
Romilda loved posing for Dean. She felt completely safe in his presence, a security she did not normally feel anywhere. But Dean was a survivor, he had survived on the run when You-Know-Who had taken over and survived being chased by the Snatchers and the battle without even a wand of his own. But his gentle artists hands were still so delicate and precise to an extent that he could still wield a magic beyond that of other wizards, his hands touching and stimulating her body in ways that she loved.
Dean hates it when he sees Romilda taking yet another lover to her bed, willingly inviting them and taking another just as easily. She's better than that, he tells her and she laughs in a way that makes his heart skip a beat and points out that he to just as happily took her company in the bedroom. But still, a sharp twinge of jealousy made its way up his spine whenever he saw her with a new boy on her arm who she would no doubt sleep with later.
Romilda liked Dean as a person. He understood her in a way none of her other companions did. He made her laugh and smile and he cared about her, something she could never say about the other boys she shared her body with.
As Dean kissed her and his hands made their way down her body with practised precision, he wished that she was his and his alone and yet he didn't know why.
As Romilda felt Dean's erect manhood penetrate into her body, she found herself wondering why of all her lovers, he was the one she kept coming back to.