Cabin: McGonagall
WC: 991
Task: Movies - 50 points: Critically acclaimed. Write an AU about someone starring as an extra in an advert

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Draco glanced up from his book just in time to see a man stride past him, surrounded by a flock of cameras and people barely keeping ahead of his steps.

The man was beautiful in an ethereal way, otherworldly as a single beam of golden sunlight slipped through the blanket of heavy grey clouds and illuminated him, dark ochre skin burnished in the light — cameras immediately erupting into a storm of clicks like twisted shining insects.

Draco dropped his gaze back to his book, the sound seeming to pierce into his very soul. For a moment he was no longer sitting in a small cafe, tucked beneath a towering arch covered with twisted climbing ivy, but he was tucked into an alcove at Hogwarts, listening to the rapid click of Colin Creevey's camera, the pitched exclamation of his voice as he rambled, and fighting against the sickening burn of jealousy lingering in his throat like bile.

He stared at the pages without seeing them, eyes passing over the tiny lines of printed text again and again. Draco had to pull himself together. He was still the scion of The Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, despite his possible estrangement. Letters from his parents — his mother's tightly curled handwriting far out numbering his father's and growing increasingly messier as the days passed on — still littered his fireplace every morning, and he returned them, sealed and unread.

"Excuse me!"

Draco started at the sudden chirp in front of him, hand flying to the wand holster at his waist, hidden from Magical and Muggle eyes, but he caught himself.

The young woman tucked a strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear as she grinned, the strand falling out the moment she began speaking once again, gesturing with her hands.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Draco frowned as he parsed the rapid fire French, thoughts still mired in the rigid structure of English, "But, as you may have seen, we are filming an advert featuring Tristan here."

She gestured to the beautiful man — reclined against the curved iron of a nearby lamppost as he twisted a water bottle round and round in his hands, nodding as he was shown a clip on one of the cameras — and Draco nodded slowly.

"If I'm in the way—" Draco began, but she began to wave her hands, cutting him off with a rattle of the soft gold bangles on her wrist, catching on the leather bracelets clasped around her forearm.

"You are not." Her words were hurried — clearly a native speaker as her accent swelled and ebbed, punctuated with determined flicks of her fingers — and Draco felt himself frowning, mouthing the words a few beats behind her as he tried to keep up with her rapidfire French. "But I do have a proposal for you— Oh, you're English."

"What gave it away?" Draco sighed, taking a sip from his coffee as the woman shifted with an almost guilty grin, tucking her hands into her trouser pockets — impeccably pressed in a gentle cream colour. He was reminded of Pansy in her casual attention to every aspect of her outfit, fashionable in an almost effortless way,

"Your book is in English. And you get an adorable wrinkle in your nose when I was talking 'too fast'."

Draco glanced at his book — one of Blaise's recently published works with the front cover spelled to be hidden the moment Draco thought about leaving his small rented flat with it — and shrugged with a rueful smile.

"You've blown my cover. Well done."

She grinned, pale freckles splashed across her nose like paint.

"Séraphine is wanting to offer you a place in the advertisement."

Séraphine scowled,her enthusiasm slipping aside like a burst balloon as Tristan leaned over her shoulder and winked at Draco. He felt himself flush, heat blossoming like roses in his pale cheeks, and Tristan beamed, momentarily distracting Draco.

"It would be a good fit, and you will be paid. Plus more work in the future if Séraphine gets her way."

"Hey!" Séraphine swatted at him — the movement gentle, friendly rather than a genuine desire to hurt — and Draco was reminded yet again of sitting at Hogwarts and listening to Pansy and Blaise bicker over something inconsequential and yet of the utmost importance to them at the same time.

"What? You were going to get there. Eventually."

He winked at Draco as if they were old friends, co-conspirators as Séraphine huffed, grumbling something beneath her breath that Draco couldn't catch.

"I hope you consider her offer," Tristan said with an incline of his head towards Draco, every movement poised and artful, as another member of the crew called his name, and he moved away. Draco watched him go, noting the power in the lines of his back, the self assured way he peered at the photograph on the small screen — head shaking almost before he had straightened up again — and felt the bite of jealousy at the base of his skull once more.

But it was lessened from the all consuming fury when he was a teenager, tempered by the years that had passed since then. It was obtainable, the life Draco wanted was within his grasp. It wasn't quite the same from what he had envisioned all those years ago, but he would be content.

"Ah! You're going to agree." Séraphine clapped her hands together, nodding her head in delight.

Draco may not be on speaking terms with his father at the moment, but he still remembered the lessons his father taught him.

"How much are you going to pay me?"

A gleam entered Séraphine's eyes, knowing she had encountered a worthy opponent.

"We are going to be wonderful friends. Even better if I win this argument," she informed him, slipping into the chair opposite and steepling her fingers together.

"We will see."