A slight caress and a flash of light. Her lips were pursed together in a satisfied smile as she flung herself in different poses for better angles, positions, and pleasure for her partner. They enjoyed the time they had together. Another flash of light sparkled her eyes as she let out a sigh of relief, the deed had been accomplished. The photographer stepped out from behind his camera on the tri-stand and walked over. There was nothing like the relationship between an artist and his model. He was depicting over every inch of her body; every flaw, every curve, every satisfying texture and displayable rhythm. He was capturing glimpses of her soul to present to the world; with both her name and his upon it. "Gorgeous, as usual. I'll see you again for our next session, what magazine was that one to be for?"
"Witch Weekly," her strawberry lips replied with a slight intriguing smack at the end. She grabbed her pea coat and purse, slinging the designer bag over her shoulder, before strutting out of the studio and putting her sunglasses on as she entered the busy streets of Hogsmeade. It was her cover, her flaw. She bought the best simply to please her family. She pretended she was the confident, gorgeous being everyone thought her to be. Inside her stomach was spinning to a thousand drum beats. She wanted to run, and not stop until she was back in France.
Her eyes fell upon the swirling bodies and packages and faces as they skimmed past her. She loved the smell of summer and the faces of shoppers enjoying the mildly-warm afternoon away from the bustle of their daily lives. It was poetry in motion, it was life, it was everything and anything; the exact terminology of art. It was. A glance at an overlooking clock tower told her it was well past two-in-the-afternoon, and she would be meeting her father at a local pub that everyone seemed to have highly recommended. She recalled the name had a three in it, but she couldn't figure out the rest.
Pausing by an old lady selling all kinds of enchanted long-stem roses of various colours, she bothered to ask; "Miss, would you be able to tell me where a pub by the name of Three something would be located?" The old lady, noticing her thick French accent, regarded her with a frigid answer; "The Three Broomsticks? Up the road a few paces and on your left." Her wrinkled face turned away, acknowledging the fact of her distaste for the young woman not wanting to buy a flower. Adrin hesitated before pulling out several sickles and handing them to the lady, taking an enchanted black rose. With a full smile, she nodded to the vendor and was off on her mission. Her mission to self destruct, she thought bitterly.
The smell of butter beer and freshly baked bread came flooding her senses when she walked into the small but homely pub. She was led to a room in the back with a table and a lounging area where her father was smoking cigars like a mad man. "Hello, papa," Adrin leaned down and kissed her father on both cheeks before hanging her jacket up on the coat rack and plopping down across from him. Her long dark auburn hair cascaded down her back in layers, recently cut by a famous hair 'designer' back in France, her hair's texture was a slight wave of curls that faded to straight ends. Her pale olive complexion set off her sparkling green eyes which were surrounded by thick black eyelashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows, all held together by a facial structure to die for. The very reason for her being displayed across all of the wizarding world's fashion magazines, and a fair amount of muggle ones. Another fake commodity of her existence. Her entire being was built on this palace of fake smiles and to-die-for new designer clothes, pearls, and the best fragrances money could buy.
Adrin's father was a self-made business man, with enough money to live as good as, if not better than, the Malfoy's. The L'Vour family was a pristine one that reached back many generations of wealth and power, previously residing in France, before Thomas L'Vour struck an opportunity in London that he just couldn't pass up. Besides, his daughter would be attending the best school in all of Europe, Hogwarts. This was the reason he presented to the questions asked about his drastic move. A white lie to cover up, of course. Adrin was 19 and would be starting as a 7th year due to the difference of cultures. School in France started later than those of England, at least her pristine all-girl boarding school for building young witches started later. She dreaded it, knowing that she would be forced to constantly plaster a fake smile. She wanted more than anything just to turn and run, to get away, to flee from this life she had been cursed with. Why couldn't she have been a poor working muggle? Why couldn't she be a servant girl….
"Darling," her father started after he finished his last cigar, "I've arranged for you to stay in a wonderfully furnished apartment until the start of the new school term. Your house elf, Daisy, is already there waiting for you to stumble in. She has made everything the way you would want it, and I have had all of your belongings transferred there." Adrin knew her father had already purchased a lovely place in London. Her mother, being deceased since she was 3 years old, would not accommodate him there; but in her place was a frigid lady whom was obviously after her daddy's money. Their marriage was scheduled to be over the Christmas holidays, leaving Adrin exactly 5 months to find someone more suitable for her loving Papa. Why did she care to save her dad from the disaster of a marriage that would never work? Simply the fact that her life would be even more unbearable with that…that woman as her step-mother.
A lovely lady interrupted their conversation with a warm smile. Her face was beautiful, a frame of long pale blonde hair and light blue eyes. A gentleman was next to her, his arm around her waste almost roughly. He, too, had the same pale blonde hair. But his face was in a cold structure, with harsh cruel silver eyes. Her father stood, obviously knowing who they were from the start, leaving her to watch the scene unfold in front of her. She was the photographer now, the artist, the detective. "Ah, Mister and Misses Malfoy. A pleasure," he shook both of their hands before presenting Adrin to them. "This is my daughter, Adrin Dream L'Vour." Adrin stood and curtsied slightly, a small timid smile playing on her lips. Lucius Malfoy's eyes caressed her skin, making her fill dirty and unclean. Pig, she thought bitterly.
"My wife, Narcissca," He presented, "Our son Draco could not tag along with us, he's currently training with his private coach for the Quidditch season this year. Hopefully, these extra lessons will help the Slytherins beat the Gryffindors, once and for all."
Her thoughts swirled at the light conversation that was taking place. She wasn't fully present in the room, nodding slightly to acknowledge her response to the conversation. Her heart was on the previous events of the summer. The stable boy at their home back in France, his drawings displaying her laughing as she rode her white mare around in the arena. Those eyes, oh how she longed to look into them again. Part of her knew the move was to get her infatuation to stop. Her father had struck her down one night after discovering them in the barn, her blouse open and skirts lifted, love bites making firm outlines on her neck and collar bone. The boy had been thrown out, told to never come back again.
They both betrayed his orders. Adrin would meet the stable boy at least once a week by the pond on the south end of the ranch. "I love you," he whispered huskily into her ear before kissing the nape of her neck, the small bits of hair there tickling his upper lip. Adrin leaned her back against his chest, taking one of his hands and sliding it into the front of her night dress, moving with him as he began his light caress over the tops of her breasts. They made plans of escape, where they would ride off into the sunset together; never to be bothered by her father's retched narrow mind again.
This had failed, of course, and here she was…what seemed a world away from her heart. She sat, sipping tea with fake smiles towards fake people. Her fake life would rumble on, but she would forever be lost in the fact that her true desires were left back with a commoner, a non-magical muggle, a stable boy. She bit her lower lip, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over. After an hour, she was walking down the cobble streets with the key to her new apartment. She was no longer captivated by the scenes around herself, all she could think of was crying on Daisy's shoulders.
And that's exactly what she did. Daisy simply placed a pudgy hand upon her cheek before continuing to bathe her mistress. "You be fine, Miss. You'll sees!" Her optimism was like ten thousand knives of guilt all along one thin line of her spine. Her servant, her slave for life, a being that had no life of its own…was telling herself that she would be fine. She sighed and laid back against the porcelain wall of the tub, letting herself sink down into the water.
Here's to being fine. Her chest heaved in the final sobs before she pulled herself together and accepted the towel offered to her, sitting down on the chair while the house elf busied herself with combing through her misses' long tresses of hair. She had two weeks to prepare herself for her arrival at the school. Two weeks to mend her severely broken heart. Two weeks to try to act like a normal teenage girl. Two weeks….