Picture Perfect
I'd like to say that by the time the makeup man got finished performing glamour charms and putting on muggle cosmetics I almost didn't feel naked, but that's not the truth. Wrapped in a borrowed PlayWizard robe in a drafty studio I felt more exposed to more people than I have since I fell on my face during a ballet recital. I did that when I was four. It had been decades. I wasn't ready. I stood in a stall in the ladies room, looking at the ceiling to keep the tears from ruining my makeup as I blinked them back. Look, Arthur. You made your bed. Now you've got to lie in it. Get out there and give them what you came for. Now.
Tonks stood behind an assemblage of cameras and lights in the company of a quiet woman running the flash bulbs. An excitable man had been in with the cologne-wearing representative of the magazine earlier that morning, but most people were quiet now. The makeup artist stood to one side with a stylist, an overly muscled man with a long ponytail who I hadn't yet seen without a rack of lingerie. The set seemed to be a roll of paper pulled from the ceiling to the ground, where it rested on the floor. It was a matte black expanse. A black ottoman nearly as large as my bed sat on the background. There was nothing in that tableau to distract from me at all. I forced a breath in and out of my lungs. Breathe, Arthur. Walk. Go to the stylist. Get this day over with.
"Oh you're a tiny little thing, aren't you." The stylist cooed. "Let's just see you." He tugged at the belt of the bathrobe, opening it. I stood rigid in the brief silk nightgown they'd given me to wear. "Oh good, no strap lines on your skin," the stylist muttered to himself.
"She's got good skin, even with the tattoos." The makeup man chimed in. I forced my shoulders down into a more normal alignment.
"Just hang that robe here, honey." The stylist commanded. Well, Arthur. Now or never. I slid the robe off and hung it on the end of the rack. "All right, beautiful. Let's try this first." The stylist shot the nightgown off my body and replaced it with a corset that barely contained my breasts. The knickers weren't too horrid, but the garters and stockings made me feel like a hooker. "Shoes, shoes…" the stylist muttered, disappearing into the racks. He came out with an alarmingly high pair of stilettos with an ankle strap. A flash vision of Max's drawing of the snake tamer shot into my mind.
"Oh too dominatrix." The makeup man complained.
"You're right." The stylist shook his head. "We've got to go softer." He swapped the corset for a crocheted halter connected by a stomach panel to a crocheted bikini bottom. The assemblage thankfully did not include heels or stockings, but was alarmingly transparent and only tied in place. "Closer. Yes. That's closer. But too 'nature girl.'"
"Try lace?" The makeup artist suggested. With a few waves of the wand, I'd switched to a lace bra and knickers in black
"No, no." The wardrobe guy disappeared a moment and came back with what seemed to be a few panels of red lace tied together with ribbon. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, but he switched it onto me. It was what my school friends used to call a string bikini, but utterly indecent and made of lace and ribbon. I fought the urge to wrap my arms around myself. "That might be it," the wardrobe guy considered.
"It's the wrong color," the makeup artist objected. "It should be black." The wardrobe guy nodded, and made the color switch. He changed the ankle strap of the stilettos to ribbon, and declared me ready. With one last fluff of my hair, the makeup guy agreed. I took yet another deep breath, and walked over to Tonks.
It soon became clear Tonks was only holding down the shutter. The true director of the operation was a man named Angelo, whose suggested poses alone made me fight not to blush. In nearly every shot my face was contorted into either an inviting grin or an ecstatic gasp. My hands stayed at the ribbons holding my skimpy outfit together. My hair was constantly splayed across the ottoman, just as I was.
But that was just the morning. After a lunch break, mercifully in the bathrobe, I was switched into a men's white button down shirt and placed against a powerful spotlight that rendered my body completely visible. Again, I pretended to undress myself as directed. I stood in ridiculous poses, my back arched as I stood or my hair flinging around behind me as I clutched the back of a wooden chair. I ended the day straddling the back of the chair, one shirttail tucked between my legs, my hair thrown over my shoulder, and open margins of the shirt barely clinging to my breasts. Angelo, in a transporting fervor about the chair poses, declared that I was cover material.
I felt sick. I felt like crying. I felt like taking a long bath and not leaving my chambers for an entire day. I felt like burying my face in Byron's fur. I felt like running. And I hadn't heard a single name all day long. I slid on my clothes in the women's restroom and left with my bag over my shoulder, despondent.
"Shoes, Hermione." I ordered, taking her shoulders in my hands to still her nervous pirouettes. Her skirts were on the verge of knocking furniture over in her narrow study, and she was already stepping on my patience. I didn't need her stepping on my feet, too. We had minutes to get her marched to the garden to marry Severus, and damned if I was going to let her be late.
"I can't find them!" She panted.
"Accio…" I muttered, calling the slippers to my hands. "Now sit. You can't fasten them with those skirts." I ordered. She sank into the chair. "Gin?"
"Almost done," Ginny called. She and Luna had been waving complicated charms over a set of floral arrangements for the three of us and Hermione to carry. We were the wedding party, trussed in matching pale gold gowns. Thinking of it, I smiled at the fit Severus must have thrown over the color choice.
"Perfect. Now Hermione, listen: you're beautiful, you're on time, we're all ready, and you're going to be married in less than an hour." I locked eyes on her, willing her to regain her composure. "I've got your shoes on, and I've charmed everything to resist the dirt and gravel."
"Thank you, Anna." Hermione said mechanically, her eyes still slightly glazed.
"Come on, Hon," I cajoled, giving her shoulders a gentle shake. "It's time to stop worrying and be happy." She nodded back to me, blinking. "There's my favorite professor. It'll be easier once you see everyone. I promise."
"Done!" Ginny announced, walking quickly over to us. "How's this, Hermione?" She asked, handing a bouquet encased in woven ribbons and gleaming with perfectly-formed flowers to Hermione.
"Wow, Gin." I breathed.
"Thank you, Ginny." Hermione said, her voice trembling. Tears? Oh no. No tears. "They're perfect."
"Don't you dare cry, Hermione Granger." Ginny ordered good naturedly.
"Look up, Hon," I ordered. "It'll keep the tears from rolling out." Hermione complied.
"It's time," Luna announced dreamily, handing all of us our bouquets.
"Let's go." Hermione said, finally smiling. We made our way to the doors of the castle, where we met Mr. Granger and the groomsmen. The wizards of the groom's party were milling in a cluster, uncertain about the protocol for muggle weddings. I barged into the crowd, issuing orders. Mr. Granger looked momentarily startled, then very amused. I could've sworn I saw Hermione elbow him.
"Draco—escort Ginny. Remus—you're with Luna. And that leaves you…" I trailed off, peering at the dark-haired wizard curiously.
"Zabini. Blaise Zabini." He supplied.
"I'm Anna Arthur. I nodded to him. You're with me." He walked to my side, smirking. I ran tersely over the marching orders for the processional and recessional. Mr. Granger earned another elbowing from Hermione part-way through, but everyone appeared to understand.
The ceremony was straightforward, and neither fully muggle nor magical in form. I could see Hermione's influence over the vows as easily as I could see Severus' hand in the brevity. Once we'd recessed without a hitch I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever went on at the reception was entirely Ginny and Draco's problem. I smiled as we took the portkeys to Malfoy Manor.
I found Eliana shifting uncomfortably in her dress robes minutes after my arrival. I'd just managed to shake off my groomsman counterpart and truly didn't want to spend any more uncomfortable moments in silence with him. A teenager might be just what I need, I mused. I made a beeline for my young friend.
"Anna—Malfoy Manor has a ballroom." Eliana gushed, her eyes wide. As we were standing in the ballroom, her conclusion made me smile.
"Pretty, isn't it?" I contributed.
"I have to talk to you." She declared, grasping my elbow and tugging me closer toward the wall.
"What's on your mind, El?"
"Did you see Harry Potter looking at that guy you were walking with? Merlin, Anna, I thought he was going to hex him!" El enthused.
"Eliana, careful with the language." I nagged. "And I don't think Harry was going to hex anybody in the middle of Hermione's wedding."
"Seriously, Anna." She insisted, her eyes going even wider. "I think he's…" she ducked her head closer and whispered, "jealous."
"Oh for heaven's sake." I laughed. "Nobody's jealous of anybody." I shook my head.
"You just didn't see it," she insisted. "He totally is."
"Oh El," I shook my head. I had to distract her before I let slip how much I wished Harry would be jealous. I'll tell you: I wished it a lot. Really a lot. "Have you seen anyone you want to dance with?"
"Shh!" She hissed, blushing. "Maybe…but I can't just tell you!" She squeaked. I smiled.
"Yes you can," I insisted. "Maybe I can introduce you." She swept her eyes over the room, appearing to ponder the idea. I followed the direction of her gaze, which returned twice to a dark head of hair on the opposite side of the room. I'd seen him before. A fifth year Ravenclaw. Maybe on the quidditch team? Yes. Definitely. I searched my mind for a name. "How about young Mr. Boot?"
"Anna!" She hushed me, gripping my arm. I grinned.
"El, he can't hear all the way over there." Her cheeks went bright red. I rolled my eyes theatrically. "He can't, El. I promise. And I won't say anything if you don't want me to."
"What would you say?" She asked in a small voice.
"I'd just pretend I needed you to introduce me to him again, as I'd seen too many students to remember everyone's name." I batted my eyes with false innocence.
"Oh…" she breathed. "Then I could talk to him with you there."
"Mmhm." I assented, quickly snagging a flute of champagne from a passing house elf. Eliana took hold of my arm again.
"Let's do it." She said firmly, looking me in the eye. "And Anna…" I looked at her encouragingly. "You look nice." Oh for crying out loud, I thought. I look like a gilded ballerina in this getup.
"Thanks, El." I deadpanned. "Now let's go."
An hour later I stood on a terrace overlooking a Neville-designed garden with my wrists pushed lightly against my eyelids. Eliana is a delightful kid, but she's a kid. That conversation took a lot out of me; much more than I thought it would.
"Sickle for them?" A calm voice issued from my right. I took my hands away from my face. Remus stood next to me at the railing, gazing into the night sky.
"Hi Remus," I smiled. "I don't think they're worth that much."
"Then I won't pay you for them," he bantered.
"I was just gathering my thoughts after an hour with Eliana and the object of her girlish affections, as my mother used to say." I mused. "She's still a little afraid of boys."
"Not spending time with the object of your own girlish affections, eh?" Remus pried.
"What object?" I snorted.
"Harry." Remus said shortly. "Think about it, Anna." With that he walked back into the party. I stared at his back, a little annoyed and a little wistful. What was it with these people? Suddenly tired, I walked back into the warm ballroom to say my goodbyes.
Remus and Eliana's words—for that matter, the Weasley boys' words as well—haunted me all the way to London for the editorial meeting with Tonks. When I arrived at Harry's flat I was jumpy with the fear I'd give myself away. Here I was, a grown woman, with a crush on the savior of the wizarding world. Hero worship. For the love of the saints, that's all it was. I was acting like a child.
I forced a break into my internal scolding and stood up straight, waiting for the door to swing open as the locking charms released. Harry'd set the door to recognize me. And it didn't mean anything, I told my addled imagination. It meant only that I was working for him on a case. Shoulders back, I walked into the kitchen.
"Anna; good." Harry said, his voice tense. He'd looked up from a pile of papers on the kitchen table. Interspersed were photographs of men on streets I sort of recognized. Harry's robes were rumpled and his hair looked like he'd been twisting his fingers in it. "Tonks will be here soon—I'll start explaining." He said quickly, gathering the papers into piles. "Have a seat." He gestured toward the chair next to him. I set my bag on the floor and joined him at the table.
"Did it help?" I blurted. He looked up at me, stilling his hands and peering into my eyes.
"Yes." He nodded. "We've nearly got an indictment. Today's meeting might help even more." His voice was serious and troubled.
"What's wrong?"
"We have more names, and we can connect them to the magazine," he paused, pushing his glasses up. "But they could still move before we do."
"They could Harry," Tonks butted in, wandering into the kitchen from the direction of the bathroom. "But they could have all along." Harry nodded toward her, his face strained. "Good job at the shoot, Anna. Are you all right?" Tonks asked me kindly.
"Fine." I dodged.
"Why?" Harry demanded, looking me in the eyes again.
"Look it's all right," I said quickly, wrapping my arms around myself tightly. "It's over, anyway. It doesn't matter now." Both of them peered at me, unconvinced. "Let's just finish this."
"Right." Tonks nodded quickly. Harry continued to study my face. I squirmed. "The meeting today will be with Angelo and Brody, the salesman you met the first day."
"The one with the cologne?" I broke in.
"That one," Tonks nodded. "You'll mostly sit there while they choose the photographs they want."
"You've been to one of these already?" I pried. Tonks nodded sharply.
"They don't behave themselves, Anna." Tonks warned. "You'll have to handle it."
"I can." I said firmly. I'll just have to. Then it occurred to me: "Tonks, how can they see the photographs if the film worked?"
"I've got sets of proofs with normal film. I printed them and destroyed the originals. I'll send them the trick film to produce the magazine." I nodded nervously. "We're following the plan, Anna," she reassured me.
"I know." I swallowed. I forced a half smile onto my face. From the looks they gave me in return, it can't have been convincing.
I thought back on that assurance at Harry's kitchen table as Tonks, the two men and I sat in a paneled office that afternoon. I distracted myself from Angelo's hand on my knee by studying the gilt edging on too many of the surfaces of the décor. I peered at the drapery when Brody leered at me. I swallowed hard to keep from shuddering when Angelo brushed a hand through my hair.
"Lighting's bad there." Tonks said brusquely, flipping past two poses in the white shirt. "Better here." She clipped, gesturing to the photographs with the lace. It's not me in there, I insisted to myself. That woman's not me.
"This one," Brody leered at the print of me sprawled on the ottoman on my stomach, my heels kicked in the air and my top entirely missing.
"We should've done nudes with you, Anna," Angelo rumbled, his voice smooth near my ear. My throat felt tight. I stared nervously at the table.
"So you want the layout in black and the seated white one?" Tonks said quickly, holding up two photographs.
"This will take final approval." Brody said, annoyed.
"If you'll join us," Angelo purred at me, holding a hand out near my chair. I made myself take it and stand. Harry can hear everything, Arthur. You're safe. You're completely safe. "Excellent," Angelo said, drawing my hand close against him in the crook of his elbow. Brody led toward a separate door from the one we'd entered.
"Wait here," he barked at Tonks. I took in a deep breath as quietly as I could. Tonks stood near the table as Brody took the two photographs and followed us into a low-lit hallway. We entered an office straight out of a movie set. One desk dominated the room, and our steps were muffled by thick carpet. I fought to keep my back straight and my hands steady. These are the people who beat the twins, my head screamed. I checked my posture again. Remember what Severus said: give them what they expect.
"Miss Arthur." A trim man in an expensive set of robes sat in a large chair behind the desk. The three of us stood awkwardly in front of him. Angelo silently released my hand. "Sit down, please." A chair flew into the room from somewhere and landed behind me. I sat, commanding myself not to tremble.
Angelo placed the photographs on the desk before the man and backed away behind me. Brody stood on my other side, also just out of my field of view. My arms tensed painfully.
"My associates have failed to introduce me, so I will do so myself." The man said. "I am Edward Wade, principal investor in PlayWizard." He looked at me expectantly.
"A pleasure, Mr. Wade." I said, forcing my voice not to creak.
"The pleasure is my own, Miss Arthur," he responded coldly. "Brody, Angelo," he snapped. "Place them." He handed the photographs back to Angelo, who stepped quickly back behind me. "I have approved your inclusion in the issue, Miss Arthur."
"Thank you, sir." I said quickly, not trusting myself to think of another appropriate reply.
"You're welcome." He said. At that an unpleasant smile came over his face. He glamour charmed his teeth. No one's teeth look like that. Those teeth were fake. I forced my mind back to the conversation as he stood and extended his hand to me. I stood and stepped toward the desk, extending my own. I was dimly aware of the chair sliding back out of the room. Wade took my hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to my wrist. I took in a sharp breath of air, surprised. He lifted his head, smirking, and ran his thumb lightly over the skin where his lips had been. My shoulder tensed as I fought the urge to snatch my hand away from him. "Truly a pleasure, Miss Arthur." He purred. My throat tightened again. "Brody, Angelo," he snapped, finally releasing my hand.
"Sir." Angelo said as the two stepped to my side. Brody took my arm this time.
"Escort Miss Arthur." With that, the two led me from the office to the meeting room, where Tonks was nowhere to be seen. I made my way to the lobby and out, barely forestalling my trembling long enough to get to Harry's flat.
I walked in, knowing Harry would still be at the Ministry with Tonks. I slid down the back of the door and sat on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and let myself cry. I quaked and sobbed, too tired to resist it.
