Disclaimer: I own nothing, you all know this. Cut me some slack. It simply brings me joy.

AN: Yes, I know. I should really be working on Teacher's Pet or The Secrets of Minds. WELL, it's too late.

So that nobody gets confused, pretend this is similar to my AU in The Secrets of Minds. It's a 7th year AU setting where everything after the Triwizard Tournament is non-canon, EXCEPT Cedric never died and Voldemort's plans never came to fruition, so basically it's as if everyone ended up living life without the threat of the Dark Lord or his rise of power hanging over them. It's as if they could have spent their last years at Hogwarts relatively normal. Fair warning: I don't have tooo much of a plot designed for this but I got some things planned and as I'm writing I get more ideas so fear not. It won't be all nonsense lol

Caution: this is a reasonably naughty story with lots of colorful language.

Thank you for reading!

She's A Work of Art
Chapter One

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Malfoy Manor, August 9th 1997

Draco Malfoy prided himself on his ability to acknowledge and appreciate beauty in all its forms. Being born pureblood, especially if you were a Malfoy, meant being raised to understand the importance of outside appearance. One's childhood often consisted of honing a great awareness of what looking good and dressing well means and how to properly take care of one's self.

As was also vital to a pureblood's livelihood is a heretically imbedded love for the arts; colorful and grandeur, mesmerizing oil paintings of any size with intricately splayed details of people and landscapes, the eye-catching, clean-cut sculptures made of the most breathtaking rare stone, marble or crystal, all the pottery and china teapots, even drawings and sketches. The list of admired mediums is never ending.

However, there was a particular genre of art that Draco had always favorited, and although it was somewhat of a guilty pleasure, the paintings he'd placed in his room were of excellent taste so his parents had never disapproved (although his mother eyed him most peculiarly when he'd bought the first one). Adjourning his walls were magical portraits of ethereal, goddess-like women with varied individual looks, sensually lounging or moving about in elegance, comfortable in their own setting. They gazed with smiling, playful bedroom eyes and the flesh of their curvy, feminine figures was often delightfully exposed, a wanton display of desirable, half-naked nymphs.

Waking from a cat-nap after a long morning at the Ministry apprenticing for his father, he pondered all this. His collection of nude portraits had reached a record high, outnumbering all other types of wall-decorations and after counting one by one he established that he had twenty-nine of them. 'Well, that just won't do,' his inner obsessive- compulsiveness sprang forth. 'Better make it thirty then!' He was starting to think he may have procured a serious problem, but that wasn't going to stop him yet.

Before he knew it, he found himself using the Floo Network, stepping straight into his fireplace and arriving at his spoken destination: the quiet but mischievous, rag-tag magical community of Crique de Bouleau Argente', or Silver Birch Cove, a village in Nouvelle-Aquitaine France, off the coast of the Bay of Biscay which is not far from Spain. Draco dusted himself off after landing in popular hotspot Claude's Café and found himself a seat, eager for an early evening pick-me-up before heading to the next shop.

A petite girl in her early teens wearing a form-fitting dress and apron approached him tentatively. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Malfoy," she lightly greeted with a smile. He couldn't help but notice how a gradual blush tainted her cheeks the longer she observed him. "What is it I may get for you today?" she spoke in French but he could understand for obviously the Malfoy's spoke the language fluently. This wasn't one of his parent's favorite regions of France, they preferred the North-coast for that's where their blood heritage apparently originated, but this quaint, fun-loving town was the best thing Draco stumbled across on his quest for nude portraits, and he frequently came here the last couple of summers as an escape from how mundane he wished his life wasn't.

"Bonjour, Eloise, trouble you for a large coffee, just a dash of milk?" he asked her charmingly in the native language and showcased his notoriously attractive smirk. Her cheeks reddened further and she nodded before scampering away like a good little worker mouse. Eloise was a pretty young witch who attended Beauxbatons and clearly she was smitten with him but Draco wasn't interested in younger girls. He preferred older women and witches his own age. He was seventeen now, after all. Eloise was only fourteen or fifteen so sadly for her, any ideas of being with him were not going to happen.

After his much needed coffee break he gave Eloise a hefty tip and headed for the gallery.

This was not your typical art gallery that you might find in a heavily populated muggle city, no. Besides the fact it was full of magical artworks, artifacts and portraits, it was inherently owned and run by a well-known wizarding gypsy family, the Negrescu's, a rowdy, black-haired bunch who were knowledgeable and handy in many subjects and pseudo-subjects. The shop was, in essence, eccentrically decorated in exactly the sort of eclectic styles that would without a doubt ring Professor Trelawney's quirky bells. There were even a few crystal balls. Yes, Divination heaven. If Theo and Blaise could see him now, they'd surely laugh their heads off.

Once Madam Negrescu spotted Draco perusing a shelf of handmade ornate mortars and pestles, she wasted no time in bringing her most favorite client over to see one of their newer additions, an enormous canvas magnificently painted with one of the most captivating nymphs he'd so far laid eyes on. She had big doe eyes that were a sort of deep, toasty cinnamon with flecks of amber gold shining around her irises. Her smile was soft, her pouty lips timidly turned upwards to form a small dimple above, introducing a decadent array of freckles, dusted ever so lightly across her nose and cheeks like grated chocolate. If you could even get past how adorable her face looked, you could see the freckles continued down her neck and décolletage and below a pair of round, pert breasts bounced teasingly beneath silky sheaths of ultra-long curls which were the most pleasing shade of tawny chestnut. What you could see of her tanned, honey-kissed skin glistened in the sunny daylight. The grassy landscape rolled into meadows leading up to a dense forest in the background and a babbling creek flowing from center front and up into the woods. She stared at him adoringly with those glittering eyes, giving him a wink, and adjusted the light-weight, Greek inspired robe in her lap, making herself more at ease on the green earth.

Strangely enough to him, the siren in this portrait oddly reminded him of someone but couldn't right away put his finger on it and never bothered to think of it after that. The painting was too entrancing to walk away from so without looking at any others he swiftly made his purchase and went back to the café.

So, for the remainder of the summer holiday, when Draco would sit in his room he would admire all of his beautiful paintings, but he wouldn't stop going over to that last one; the bright-eyed chestnut-haired girl with freckles. She had this way about her that he had difficulty getting out of his mind. The supple curves of her body made his cock twitch. Draco knew she wasn't a real girl. Most of these women were based off of unrealistic ideals and fantasies and were almost never a portrait that had been posed for… but then again, you never know. If she did exist and was out there somewhere, he prayed to whatever Gods were listening that he never stray from the path that leads to this dream woman.

The afternoon before he'd be returning to school there was a stern rapping at the door, and then, "Draco, darling, it's your mother,"

"Come in," he replied without looking up from his book but once she entered he saved his page with a bookmark and closed it. Narcissa was silent, eyes browsing over his walls as she strode forward. It seemed she could not choose one particular thing to look at, especially not her son, her gaze darting from painting to painting. Draco was beginning to lose his patience. "Is there something you wanted, mother?" he pressed lightly.

He watched her eyes narrow at his passive aggression, clipped words on the tip her tongue and still looking anywhere but him. Suddenly, it became apparent that his mother noticed the ginormous new addition to the wall across from his bed when she almost staggered towards it, her dress robes awkwardly shuffling. Her brief look of pained horror mollified after a moment when she had to convince herself that any suspicions of the sort were utterly unimaginable, laughable even. She wasn't even sure why she began to get worried over such a ridiculous notion in the first place. The girl in the portrait couldn't possibly be her.

Narcissa almost jumped out of her skin when her nimble son snuck up behind her. "Are you alright, mum?" he rarely ever used the shortened endearment, saving it only for special moments. He didn't exactly like her eyeballing his beloved art with such disdain but he hadn't meant to startle her, and although it was slightly amusing to see his put-together socialite mother lose her sense of wits he was now realizing she legitimately might not be well. So she wouldn't fall over he gently grasped her shoulder, mildly distracted by the epiphany of how tall he really was when standing next to someone so dainty. "Sorry, I-"

"Draco," she interrupted quickly, finally turning to look him face to face. "I can understand that you're a young man now. You've undeniably grown up, too expeditiously for a mother's heart if I may, but you've grown well. You are all at once a most strapping, promising and dignified wizard bachelor and I couldn't be more excited for your future…" she trailed off. 'What are you getting at here, mother,' he wondered.

"Even though I'm not to be Head Boy?" he quizzed her dryly, secretly begging for verbal ratification, the maternal and paternal validation that he was still loved, praised, and believed in despite his alleged imperfections. A tiny smile played along her red-stained lips.

"You'll have plenty more extra time for all of your other school work without the never-ending agglomeration of Head Boy duties hanging over your shoulders. It is still very honorable to be chosen as a Prefect. Third in your class, first in Slytherin is nothing to scoff at." She paused, peering warmly up at him. It did not get past Narcissa that Draco was hoping for some perspective, perhaps a little reassurance that his father would get over himself and make amends. Weeks prior, they received the highly-anticipated, annual Hogwarts welcome letter which brought with it the bubble-bursting news that Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw half-blood had bested his pureblood son by a mere couple of points and thus was anointed Head Boy instead. Upon learning that Draco would not be walking in his footsteps Lucius became enraged; years of built-up, residual stress, his own unspoken failures, insecurities, and self-hate inescapably spilling over for the first time. Holding nothing back of his distaste and disappointment, he made it abundantly clear that his only son and heir should feel lucky he wasn't deliberately disowned and if Draco didn't prove himself this upcoming year, he would be exiled from the Manor without hesitation. The man also verbalized it hadn't helped the situation that Draco's long-time academic rival Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor "mudblood", had surpassed the entire school yet again and that Draco should know how pathetic it is that he'll be forced to take orders and answer to the filth beneath them.

Draco had made no comment, for he hadn't spoken a word as his father barreled into him with vicious snarls brimmed full with unobtainable, unrealistic ideations of sinners, shortcomings and blood purity. His garbled voice still echoed over and over in his mind, the broken words of a lunatic.

"Your father will come around eventually, Draco," she began. Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing, intent to listen. "Don't let him disrupt your thoughts too much, love. Use his misplaced anger to fuel the fire behind your studies." Narcissa smiled up at him encouragingly. "I have faith in you, my mighty dragon." He returned her smile appreciatively, believing her words. He felt thankful, for it seemed that the conversation was coming to an end. His hopes were dashed when she abruptly rounded on him with an attitude she no doubt suppressed during the duration of their heart-to-heart. "And I know you keep going back to that filthy town, the one full of those greasy gypsy trollops and tramps. I asked you to stay away from there, and that family!" she waved her arms around with authority, her tone snappy as she lamented around his bed chambers. "With the extensive amount of purchases you've blessed them with I'd be put out to know they're still carrying on, living like savages! Surely, they'd have no trouble affording a more suitable lifestyle…"

"Mother, please!" he was almost laughing. Draco wasn't offended so much as he was annoyed. He knew the sole reason she even brought it all up was because of her wariness of his growing art collection. He stared at her with a bemused expression, his eyes requesting her to elaborate by vocalizing to him what was truly bothering her. "Is it… is it the portraits? Do they make you uncomfortable?"

Narcissa kept her head down, twiddling her thumbs as she worked out the proper way she should address her concerns. "It's just…" she began. She looked up at him, now wringing her hands in trepidation. She was fidgeting so much and he reasoned that it must be as difficult for a mother to confront her son on sexual matters as it must be for a father to have to talk to his daughter in the same way. "Draco, what I was trying to say earlier is that I understand you're a man now, a man who likes what he likes; a man who has needs. I can't disapprove of this art because well, that's what it is: art. And besides, just because I'm your mother doesn't mean I get to dictate how you want to decorate your bedroom, not any longer. You're of-age, it's only right."

Draco was not sure what he was expecting, he'd been dreading this specific confrontation the moment Narcissa found out about his wanton interests. He definitely didn't bet on her being so supportive. "Thank you mother," he exclaimed sincerely, feeling relieved.

"I want to say one more thing," she let out a breath she'd been holding. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. "As the woman who gave birth to you I feel it is my responsibility after coming to know your… tastes," she grimaced, looking similar to a baby nibbling on a bitter lemon for the first time. "To put my wisdom out there," she brazenly grabbed him by the arm with maternal desperation and he tried not to reveal how frightened she'd just made him. "Draco, heed my words: beauty is special and to be appreciated sure, but beauty is only as deep as the skin." She gestured up towards the painting of the chestnut-haired girl. "A gorgeous exterior means nothing if she doesn't have a gorgeous soul to go with it. Don't let a shallow beauty blind you from truth. This is all I ask Draco." Then she signaled to all the other portraits, pointing to one on the adjacent wall and waving her arms around theatrically. "It is alright to want to be with attractive women but don't let a woman's appearance be the only thing that matters to you. Do you understand what I'm saying, sweet dragon?"

Draco in fact, knew exactly what she was saying. He wished she didn't have to say it at all. He understood perfectly well how she felt and what she was implying. Narcissa was simply worried that her precious son was growing up to be an inane, vacant-braine misogynistic creep. Well, he might have to agree he felt more than a little creepy sometimes, but in his defense he was a hormonal, young male with natural inhibitions. And sadly, at one time he had been a chauvinistic bigot. Salazar be damned, though, if he was going to let his mother keep on thinking that way, and right then he promised himself that some way or another he'd prove to her he wasn't becoming what she thought… if he didn't go mad before then.

It wasn't until he boarded the Hogwarts Express for his seventh and final year that he ever had to actually question his sanity, in which he concluded that yes, he'd certainly be a permanent resident at St. Mungo's by Christmas.

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Hogwarts Express, September 1st

"How was your holiday, Hermione?" the dreamy, lullaby-like voice of Luna Lovegood gently brought the recently appointed Head Girl out of her myriad of thoughts. She ought to be thanking the offbeat but pleasant blonde-haired Ravenclaw, for Hermione had been drowning in them. She and a few of her closest comrades sat in a cabin on the train to their first day of their last year at Hogwarts. The only notable absences were that of Harry and Ron, who'd earlier found a lousy excuse to leave the cabin.

Tensions were running high with the recent, unfortunate break up between Hermione and the latter. Ronald just wasn't doing it for Hermione anymore. He couldn't keep up, intellectually or romantically. The youngest Weasley brother had, at a young age, once captured her heart but that was a long time ago, puppy-love, and things had epically changed. She was getting older, older than most of her classmates and she decided she was finally through with Ron's childish temper and arrogant thoughtlessness. It wasn't her job to deal with him, take care of him and constantly finish his homework for him. Hermione was only enabling him at this point, hindering him from the ability to grow as a person.

He'd get over it, find someone else. Loads of witches lusted after the red-head, he should have no trouble. If he couldn't remain friends with her over it then there was nothing she could do about that. Hopefully one day he'd move on and forgive but she also hadn't reckoned losing Harry in the cross-fires and it was causing her to feel resentful.

"It was excellent Luna, truly," the girl gazed at her with crystal blue eyes that sparkled with curiosity and Hermione bit her bottom lip, which was quickly becoming a little habit of hers. Deciding she would socialize for a bit, as was considered a healthy activity for a witch of her age, she closed her personal organizer. "Actually, I visited many places with my parents and cousins. I learned quite a lot and we had a wondrous time."

"Fascinating!" she replied. "What sorts of places did you and your family travel to?"

"Well, we- "

"They went to Japan! Can you believe it?" Ginny Weasley all but squealed in the seat next to Hermione. "I saw the photographs! Hermione you must show her sometime." Before the Head Girl could answer however, Ginny kept blabbing. "They also went to Prague, Germany, Italy and Greece too!"

"Yes, thank you Ginevra. That pretty much covers it." Hermione inwardly face palmed.

"Hermione your hair," Hannah Abbot chimed in. She was sitting beside Luna and Neville Longbottom was beside her. "Really, I can't take my eyes off you!" the Hufflepuff exclaimed. Hermione instinctively wanted to hide in her turtle shell but remembered the insight she had gained on her travels. She reminded herself of the powerful, amazing witch she was, to give herself more credit and her confidence coolly glided her mindset back into place. She shouldn't be afraid to enter the spotlight here or there.

Don't forget to stay humble.

"Thanks Hannah,"

"Seriously though, how did you achieve so much length in such a short amount of time? It's even longer than Luna's, if possible! And it looks so healthy! Is it your real hair?" the girl persisted and Hermione sniggered.

"Yes, technically it's real but I did sort of cheat to get the look," she admitted. "A band of wizarding gypsies whom I met in Greece, blessed me with the knowledge of a special hair-lengthening technique… I could teach it to you all sometime if you'd like!"

All of the witches nodded vigorously.

It was true. Her brown locks were miles longer than ever before. She'd serendipitously tried out the gypsy's methods and loved the results, not caring how drastic of a change it had been. Not only had Hermione's demeanor, attitude and confidence in her own self improve immensely but it was safe to say her looks did as well. Other notable differences included how her bosoms had become fuller yet still perky, her hips had grown much wider, and her bum perhaps a tad larger and rounder. No longer was she that bucktoothed, bushy-haired bint from her adolescent days. She was a woman now, a theory she'd like to believe anyway. She was not usually keen on showing off her body, but something bewildering had ignited inside of her this year, a willful, burning of embers fueled by a sudden urge that stirred deep within her abdomen. Hermione wanted to be attractive for once, she wanted to be noticed and she hated to admit it but her hormones were raging and she wanted badly the touch of another person. Not Ronald though, no. Hermione had quickly found out that he did not have what it took to fully please her when she realized neither his kisses nor his touch could make her feel anything special.

And although she was in no rush, this year she was secretly hoping on finding someone who met the criteria, someone who showered her in affection but it couldn't be just anyone. Hermione longed for passion, for a true spiritual connection but she would not seek it forthright. She would trust the journey and wait for her dream man to come to her, if he was meant to.

Letting fate take the wheel, she relaxed in her seat and channeled a mellow and level-headed vibe, which she'd come to perfect, breathing calmly and just going with the flow. Her aura had practically lulled everyone in the cabin to a warm and fuzzy sedated state. She smiled. With her new energy influencing skills this year was going to be interesting. She could help so many people depending on their emotional affliction and if they were mentally open to it, and if she was lucky enough to find a perfect match, she could finally try and utilize the tantric elemental abilities she'd read about for an experience that if done correctly can blow both of their minds.

The first step on that particular agenda was more or less common sense; make a genuine connection with someone you're attracted to who has a soul that aligns well with yours. If both partners are spiritually tuned in the intense friction of your souls crashing together and your bodies moving in tandem should create electric waves of a type of sonic magic, the desired result that sends yourselves over the edge in ways completely indescribable. This type of magic didn't really have a name. It wasn't exactly magic in the first place, rather a key to heightened awareness of all natural elements and energy.

In simpler terms, it sounded as if it was although very magical, a naturally-occurring phenomenon strictly possible by the love-making between soul mates and Hermione's curiosity and intrigue were going to be the death of her.

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It was time for the awaited Prefect's meeting as the locomotor was getting closer and closer to its destination. Draco was walking down the corridor towards the end of the train. He was on his own since Tracey Davis, his Slytherin Prefect partner said she'd be heading there after she caught up with Blaise. The two were a couple, and had been in a relationship since February. "Traisey" as the pair was dubbed, was so far a successful and agreeable corroboration.

He was going to be a bit early but he no longer felt like sitting still. The gathering was taking place in the South Suite which was only a fancy-ish name for the rear cabin at the caboose. It was much larger with enough space to fit the entire counsel of mandatory students. There were snacks, drinks and other accommodations as well, so it wasn't something to be completely dreaded but still, Draco was never the type to love a crowd unless the crowd was cheering his name. Snake that he was, the Slytherin Seeker was inherently an introverted individual who relished in moments of solitude and preferred to work independently. Being a Prefect meant giving up most of those moments and also frequently having to work in teams. He'd adapted well though after two years of experience.

Perhaps it was his subtle disinterest and unwillingness for these sorts of menial, day to day tasks that in the end lost him the Head Boy badge and if that was so then Draco wasn't even upset when he was just being true to himself. Honestly, unlike his father it was not his cup of tea. At one time he thought it was his life's purpose. He couldn't give a damn about being Head Boy anymore especially after how off-kilter Lucius became over it. Sure, being the Head Boy would have looked great as a credential, but Prefect wasn't so bad either. His grades were still exceedingly impressive, to everyone but his father anyway and Draco would do his best to maintain and improve his marks, even try to win the stupid house cup and some Quidditch games and then maybe the man might actually be proud of his son for once in his life.

He slid open the door to the South Suite a little more roughly than he'd meant to and the sight before him had him stunned to the spot. All of the blood drained from his body and he suddenly felt faint as he balked there in the doorway. He resisted the urge to rub at his eyes… was he dreaming? Standing a beat away was his chestnut-haired girl, with her perfect freckles and glowing bronzed skin. It was! It was her!

"Malfoy…?" her firm but feminine voice called to him, concern etched in her features.

Realization dawned on him as he stared mystified into the toasty-cinnamon eyes belonging to Hermione fucking Granger.

"Gr-Granger?" he stuttered, unable to contain his outright astonishment. "You-you…" Draco had to get it together before he really humiliated himself. He shook his head, running his hand through his silvery locks. He tried to shrug it off, play it cool. "You surprised me, is all." he used his familiar drawl with nonchalance.

She glared at him unconvinced and slightly irritated at his sudden, early arrival but also taken aback and puzzled by his confusing actions. Why had he looked like that? Why had he looked like he… was seeing her for the first time? "Evidently," she sassed him, a pink flush wandering its way up her neck.

He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a look, buying himself a moment to let himself feel the shock that was still washing over him. 'Hermione damn Granger, nothing ever gets past this girl,' he thought pitying himself, but she pretended to ignore him as she shuffled a stack of papers together neatly and started searching through another.

'This girl…'

Draco watched her in bewilderment, at first transfixed by the small crease between her brows as she focused on skimming over words to find what she was looking for. Her freckles were glorious, like brown sugar splattered stars that made up the dotted constellations on a creamy, sun-kissed complexion that was authentically hers. Her plush lower lip was twinged fig red from the light pressure of habitual, nervous biting and he found himself wanting to smother her mouth with his own. He was trying so very hard to remember who he was looking at but it wasn't working very well. She was no longer who he thought she was and he couldn't un-see it now…

"Here you are," she handed over an assembled bundle of papers designated to him, seemingly unaware of his dilemmas. "I've made everyone copies of the usual requirements, protocols, schedules, list of events among other things."

"Thanks," he muttered. Draco continued to observe her as she breathed deeply and reached her arms above her head in a long stretch. He noted she had not yet donned her robes and as the hem of her blouse levitated upwards he was delightfully granted with a generous view of her attractive tummy. The sensual curves of her hips were a sight worth doing a double-take for and as she turned, bending forward to touch her toes he couldn't help his hungry eyes as they ate up the sight of her bouncy bum in those form-fitting cigarette pants. Hermione then rolled her body all the way up, relaxing her shoulders and aligning her spine. Her wild, yet somehow silkier-looking, long tawny curls flew every which way as she sprung up, determination in her gaze and Draco was right then convinced he was in the presence of a natural-born goddess of the earth.

'This woman…' he corrected himself, but didn't even finish the sentence in his mind for she'd caught him staring at her again and hopelessly he was rendered speechless like a complete moron. Just as she opened her pretty mouth to question him the Head Boy and several students entered to join them, signifying that the minutes went by and it was now time for the Prefects to get serious and begin the meeting.

Of course, Draco could barely pay attention to a word. He was serious about something alright, but it definitely wasn't his Prefect duties.

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AN: Cheers to you all for reading! Next chapter coming soon! And with a less incoherent Draco! :0)