The Art of Painting
by Sophie Richard



Challenge: Based on Jan Vermeer's "The Art of Painting" for the Brushstrokes and Broomsticks Challenge.
Notes: Thanks to magdellin for the beta.


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When Pansy received the letter from Lucius Malfoy requesting (she knew what that meant) her presence at Malfoy Manor while the painter was there to do her portrait, her main reaction was one of pleasure. Despite the fact that it was only three months until she was to marry Draco, the whole business had taken on a kind of unreality since the signing of the contracts. Narcissa had whisked Draco off to Italy right after school ended, claiming that he was exhausted from his N.E.W.T.s (though Pansy had a suspicion that his scores would show that any exhaustion was most unwarranted). And Pansy was stuck at home, the only evidence of her upcoming nuptials being the room that her mother was steadily filling with clothing for her trousseau.

It would be strange, of course, to be at Malfoy Manor with no one else but Lucius around. Pansy had mixed feelings about him, to tell the truth. When she was a little girl, Lucius had terrified her, and she and Draco had spent most of their time playing together hiding from him, since Draco assured her that any notice from him was likely to be unpleasant. But at the ball held to celebrate their engagement, Lucius had danced with her twice, exhibiting a kind of grave courtliness, and while one dance might be required by civility, two indicated that he didn't find her wholly repulsive.

Her mother assented happily to the arrangement, which probably was mainly owing to the fact that the Malfoys were absorbing a good portion of the wedding expenses, including having Pansy's portrait painted, as tradition demanded. So the next few days were filled with a bustle of packing (Pansy had never quite realized that a visit of a week required at least fifteen sets of robes) and a good many instructions on behaving herself (as though she were going to wet herself at supper or something).

When Pansy arrived at Malfoy Manor, however, she saw no one but the house-elves that first evening. They had shown her to a very comfortable room, fed her a supper the likes of which she'd never seen except at formal events, and left her alone. Pansy wasn't bored, exactly, but she did feel a bit slighted. Lucius could have at least greeted her.

The next morning, the painter, who simply told her to call him Jan, came up to her room in a piece of continental informality that made Pansy nervous when she thought about what her mother would say. After all, she wasn't even dressed yet. But that proved to be rather an advantage than otherwise when he went tearing through her robes and making her try them on until he picked out a set of blue robes that he said were about right.

The next task was a mad hunt through the Manor. Pansy, bewildered, trailed in Jan's wake all around the house as he posed her here and there, glaring at her for a few seconds before dragging her off to another room. Finally, the corner of an unused, North-facing sitting room was chosen, with Pansy bundled off in the corner, almost behind the drapes.

Pansy was patient while he fussed with her hair, tucking flowers and feathers into it until she looked like some kind of mad nymph, but she was already beginning to be bored. And after only an hour of painting, the props he'd given her seemed to weigh a ton. A horn (why a horn, for Merlin's sake?) and a great heavy book that got heavier every ten minutes, Pansy could swear.

After two hours, she was fidgeting outright, pausing only when Jan glared at her with particular fierceness. After three hours, the book fell to the floor with a clatter, and Jan leapt up, cursing in Dutch, and stormed out of the room.

Pansy, relieved of any responsibility to be still, wandered over to the window, then climbed up to kneel on the sill, sticking her head out and watching the swans sail around the moat in the clear morning sun. Their dreamy movements were filled with a graceful peace, and Pansy watched them with interest, trying to distract herself from the sense that she was probably about to be in trouble.

"Their names are Edyth and Cygne," came a low voice in her ear, before she even realized anyone was behind her. "If you like, you may have swan's eggs for breakfast tomorrow."

"They're lovely," Pansy said inanely, wondering precisely how much trouble she was in.

"There is a portrait of them in the gallery," Lucius continued calmly. "Do you know how we got them to hold still?"

"Did - did you ask them nicely?" Pansy said hopefully.

"No. We cast a freezing charm on them." Lucius' hand slid under her sash, tugging her down off the window sill. "Shall I do that with you?"

Pansy turned to face him reluctantly. "No, sir. I'm sorry, I just..."

"Just what? And you were given permission, I believe, to call me Father." Lucius looked critically down at her, stroking his chin with his left hand.

"The things are too heavy." Pansy gestured to the horn and the book, which she'd left lying on the floor.

"Easily remedied." Lucius cast a feather-light charm on them, then turned to the painter. "We are prepared to continue, I believe." He overrode the man's protests. "I will stay to ensure that no further disruptions occur."

And stay he did. Naturally, Pansy didn't dare move a muscle after that, because even though she couldn't see him, she could feel his eyes on her, all the time, and every now and again a faint drift of burning tobacco would remind her (as though she could forget) of his presence.

They worked through lunch, with not a single break, until finally Jan declared the light to be fading, and hung an enchanted cloth over his easel. Pansy dropped to the floor, heedless of the two men, and pushed up her robes to begin massaging her cramping calves.

Lucius stood up and moved over to her, looking down at her with some amusement on his face. "Stiff?"

There was a hint of resentment in Pansy's face as she looked up at him. "What do you think?"

"That your manners could use some improvement," Lucius replied coolly. "But that other than that, you did very well. I will see you tomorrow." He strode calmly from the room, leaving Pansy to bundle herself upstairs for a hot bath, where she wondered why it was that her future father-in-law was the one man she couldn't charm just by existing.

But her breakfast the next morning included two massive eggs, with rich golden yolks, and it took Pansy a moment to realize what they were: swan's eggs. She ate them greedily, sopping up every bit of the yolk with her toast, pleased at the attention, feeling almost like a grown up woman.

The painting continued all day again, with Lucius comfortably ensconced in an armchair and Pansy fixed in place as though movement were impossible. The simper on her face grew harder and harder to maintain - something Pansy had never imagined she'd have a problem with. But she could feel Lucius' eyes still on her, and it brought a tiny, internal smile as she thought of swan's eggs.

When the light was lost for the day, Lucius didn't leave immediately, as he had before. Instead, he stood, watching while Pansy massaged her nearly numb limbs. "Walk with me," he said quietly.

Pansy tried to stand again, but it was too soon, and she felt as though someone had put a jelly legs jinx on her. Lucius caught her, his hands strong and warm on her shoulders, and she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. "Thank you...F-father." A flush spread across her face at the delicious oddness of calling him that.

He smiled faintly at the term and held her firmly until she was in command of her own muscles again, then led her out of the room to the portrait galleries. He introduced her to the portraits one by one, and they all greeted her courteously. At last, they came to the end of the row. "Here is where your portrait will hang, once it is completed."

Pansy looked at the spot, right next to a fairly recent one of Draco, who was lying indolently under a tree while some nymphs fanned him. "Is he meant to be sleeping all the time?"

Lucius pressed his lips together. "I believe at the time the portrait was done, he was holding a falcon." He sighed. "I'm sure he'll wake eventually."

He led Pansy back towards her rooms, and she dared to say, "Will the portraits be cross if I can't remember their names?"

"I doubt it. After so many years and people passing through, I'm surprised they remember mine." He glanced sideways down at Pansy. "Will you dine with me this evening?"

Pansy's heart leapt, but she covered it with a demure smile. "Yes, thank you. I should like that very much."

Just before Pansy was about to go downstairs to the dining room that evening, a house-elf came scurrying in, bearing a small cluster of freesias. "Master is sending these for young miss."

Pansy pinned them to the waist of her robes (the formal, adult ones that her mother had sent), smiling dreamily at herself in the mirror. Draco seemed even further away than usual, in comparison with the softly colored flowers and the man waiting downstairs.

Lucius was quiet over most of dinner, and Pansy followed his lead, eating quietly and focusing on her food. But over dessert, he unbent enough to ask, "And how do you find Jan?"

Pansy made a tiny face. "Rather a slave-driver. And I'd think he'd have had time to paint two of me by now."

"By his standards," Lucius said patiently, "he is moving very swiftly indeed. You must understand that he thinks in terms of days rather than hours." He caught Pansy's puzzled look. "Well, he has been alive over three hundred years."

She frowned. "How? With potions?"

Lucius wiped his mouth. "Rumor has it," he said carefully, "that there is a portrait that ages in his stead. Apparently he touches it up every few years," he added with a small smile.

Pansy scoffed. "That sounds like a Muggle fairy tale."

"Just so," Lucius replied blandly. "But he is indeed the best painter of Wizarding portraits in the world."

There was a cue there, and Pansy followed it. "Thank you very much for taking such trouble to get him."

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "It was little trouble. And I believe his style is well-suited to bringing out your beauty."

Pansy blushed hotly. "I - nose," she blurted out.

He stared at her for a moment, then began laughing. "Pansy. Are you still worrying about those childish taunts?"

"No," she said, rather sullenly. "I just..."

He leaned across the table and tapped her nose with his finger. "My dear girl, it's not even worth thinking about." He took a final sip of his coffee, then stood. "In order to keep your beauty, however, I would suggest an early night tonight."

Pansy stood as well. "Yes...Father. I'll see you in the morning?"

He smiled, and moved in to kiss her forehead briefly. "Indeed."

The next morning, Pansy hurried downstairs, and got into position with none of her usual protests. Lucius' faint smile of approval was reward enough, and she was determined to do perfectly on this, her last day of posing.

That was enough to give her pause. Her last day. Tomorrow, she would go home, and Lucius would go back to doing whatever he usually did, and there would be no more of that steady gaze warming her, none of his attention or interest. And the next time she saw him would probably be at the wedding, and after that, she wouldn't be Pansy anymore. She'd be Madam Malfoy.

The thought weighed heavily on her brain. Madam Malfoy. Not Pansy anymore. Draco's wife. What sort of husband would Draco be? Would he kiss her forehead goodnight, or would he limit his attentions to brief conjugal visits? It frightened her to realize that she didn't know, and a headache began brewing.

Jan was in a foul temper as well, torn between cursing at the heavy clouds that were settling over the Manor, ruining the light, and cursing at Pansy, who couldn't seem to stay still as the pressure in her head grew greater and greater, aching and hurting.

Lucius stayed quiet for some time, but finally, even he lost his patience. He strode over to Pansy. "What the devil is the matter with you today?" His words were sharp, but his tone was mild.

Pansy, shamed, burst into tears. "My head..." And she let horn and book fall to the floor with a clatter, pressing her palms to either aching temple. "I'm sorry."

Lucius' face softened, and he turned to Jan. "No more today, I believe. You can finish tomorrow."

The painter shrugged philosophically. "Perhaps the light will be better." He covered his easel for the day, and left the room.

Lucius turned back to Pansy, and laid a gentle hand on her back, leading her over to the sofa. He began carefully picking out the flowers and feathers that were pricking her scalp, as he gave orders to one of the house-elves to bring a headache potion.

Pansy swallowed the potion obediently, when it came, but it didn't help. "It's the storm," she said softly, Lucius' gentleness having calmed her enough to suppress her tears. "I always get these headaches, and they don't leave until it breaks."

"I see." Lucius stood up, and drew the curtains, leaving the room shrouded in an obscure gloom. The house-elf fetched a damp cloth, and Lucius sat down on the sofa again. "Here." And then he was guiding Pansy's head down onto his lap, and resting the cool cloth against her forehead; it felt absolutely heavenly, and his gentle care brought tears to her eyes again.

"You don't have to sit with me," she whispered.

He smiled faintly. "Draco would hardly forgive me for letting his bride suffer alone."

His words reminded her again that that was all she was, his son's bride, and the tears rose again, but she swallowed them in silence as the pressure in her head grew and grew. Gradually, though, she began to take comfort in the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his attention. After a long time, Pansy fell asleep, her head tamely on his lap.

She was awakened, a few hours later, by a clap of thunder. Her eyes flew open. "What is it?"

"The storm," Lucius replied quietly, as she rose up and hurried to the window, catching sight of heavy drops beginning to fall. "How is your head?"

"Better," Pansy replied, staring down at the way the drops marred the surface of the moat.

"Could you eat?"

Pansy turned, and met Lucius' intent gray eyes. "Yes. I could."

Over a plate of prosciutto e melone, Lucius said, quite suddenly. "You aren't entranced with the prospect of marrying Draco, are you?"

Pansy grew very nervous all of a sudden. "I don't know what you mean."

He sighed. "I mean that I am fully aware that Draco, despite his advantages, is scarcely a matrimonial prize."

Pansy drew herself up stiffly. "I'm very happy about this marriage." Her voice was firm.

"And you're also a terrible little liar," Lucius said wearily. He reached out and laid one large hand over Pansy's small one. "I will help you, Pansy, when you are living here. There are...charms that can make things go much more smoothly for you. Charms to manipulate, to help you manage Draco more easily."

Pansy looked at him swiftly. "You'll teach me?" And it occurred to her, quite suddenly, that marriage might not be the end of everything, that she might be Pansy still.

"Yes," Lucius smiled. "I will." He stood up and moved to the French doors, opening them up and standing with his back to the room.

Pansy could smell the heavy scent of rain in the air, and she moved to stand beside him. "It's..." She inhaled deeply, unable to find words, smiling as a bit of spray hit her face.

Lucius looked down at her, eyes sparkling. "Yes, it is." And then suddenly his hands were on her, quite impersonal as he stripped off her outer robes, leaving her in her thin white shift. He took her by the hand. "Come on."

Pansy shrieked with laughter as he pulled her out onto the terrace, and then, quite without warning, he was plunging them into the moat, and everything was wet, and cold, and hard muscles against her body, gripping her, leading her onwards. Pansy felt mad, and free, and both younger and older than she ever had.

At last, he brought her back into the house, and Pansy stood, panting, looking up at him with shining eyes. Her shift was soaked, clinging to her body, and she could feel her nipples standing up, achingly hard from the cold. "F-father," but the thoughts in her mind had nothing to do with fathers, or fathers-in-law, for that matter.

Lucius' hands were on her waist, and for an achingly brief moment they strayed up, thumbs brushing over the hard peaks, palms taking the soft weight of flesh in his hands. And then he stepped back, still smiling, and picked up her clothes from the floor. "Time for bed, Pansy."

And Pansy, automatically obedient, clutched her robes to her. But she was unable to turn away until she felt the cool lips press to her forehead, and his quiet voice say. "In the morning."

In the morning, the sun was shining down on the wet grasses and trees, and Pansy could feel the cleanness of the morning air caressing her as she stood in her blue robes, horn and book in hand, as Jan fussed over the painting.

At last, a tiny sound emerged from the canvas, and Jan smiled, then stepped back and looked at the painting critically for a moment before adding a signature to the corner. "Well, Mejuffrouw, would you like to see your portrait?"

Pansy dropped the props immediately, and dashed around to look at the painting. Lucius came to stand beside her, and they watched as the smaller Pansy immediately threw down her props and began hopping on one leg, massaging her other calf, as she scowled at Jan.

Lucius' lips quirked. "Mijnheer, your talent is, as usual, undeniable. It will do." He turned to look at the original, and his smile broadened. "You'll do."


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