Chapter Text
Ginny was going to massively fail her figure art class. Between all her other classes and her hobbies, she simply didn’t have enough to sketch in her free time and she was falling behind. She could see it. Everyone else was improving faster than her. She just wasn’t getting the proportions right, the bodies looked blocky and unnatural too.
In her defence, she hadn’t seen that many naked bodies and the first class she spent much more time looking at her sketchbook than the nude model with red cheeks, scared to look. She had now grown more comfortable with it, but she still wasn’t doing well, and unfortunately it was part of her degree, so she couldn’t just drop it.
The start of November was on the horizon, over half of the classes were done, when the professor asked Ginny to come see her after the class.
“Miss Weasley, I sincerely hope you are planning to get some more sketching time in, because at this rate you’re going to fail.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m much better with it if they have clothes on. I understand how the fabric works—I am great at still lifes but living, breathing—naked—people aren’t my forte. I don’t have much time to sketch and you know it’s not like I have nude models hanging around campus for me to sketch.”
“I thought you might say that,” Professor McGonagall said, picking up a post-it note. “I have someone who would like to do modelling for art classes but he’s… it’s the first time he’d be nude modelling, you see. I think he’d be more comfortable with just one person first and see if he likes it.”
“Oh.”
“I am in here grading or reviewing work anyway, so if you like you can come here and sketch.” Professor McGonagall looked at her sternly. “I sincerely suggest you take me up on this offer—if I can see you are putting in effort I am happy to give you a passing grade even if you don’t do well at the exam, but I need to know that you’ve tried.”
Ginny nodded. “I think that’s fair, thank you.”
“Here are the times he is free,” McGonagall said, glancing over the note once more before handing it to her. “Please check your schedule and let me know when you are available. Good night.”
Ginny walked out, eyeing the scribbled times on the paper. She walked to her dorm and immediately emailed McGonagall back so she could hopefully pass this class if she just put in a few hours of proper sketching time.
Ginny arrived timely to her first private sketching session and students were still filing out of the room when she came in. She took one of the spots and put her sketch pad on the easel and started taking her pencils out.
Someone knocked on the open door and Ginny looked up to see a tall man standing there hesitantly. He had a great jawline, round glasses and a full head of raven-black hair. She tried to make out more of his physique but it’s well-hidden beneath his jacket. He caught her eye and she smiled quietly.
“Ah, Mr Potter, come in,” McGonagall said and closed the door behind him. She walked towards Ginny. “This is Miss Weasley, who will be sketching you today.”
“Ginny,” she said, holding her hand out.
He shook it. “Harry.”
“So, what got you into modeling nude?” she asked bluntly.
He blushed, chuckling awkwardly as he ran his hand through his hair. That would be a great sketch, the movement of his fingers raking through it, the tendons flexing, the movement of the hair—
“My therapist actually—”
“Your therapist recommended nude modelling?” she interrupted him. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “No, not literally. She said I needed to find a different way to get out of my own head and approach life. It’s a long story how we got there—”
“Right,” McGonagall interrupted. “Let’s get started.”
“Right,” Harry said, looking at the professor expectantly.
“You can go change behind the screen there and you’ll find the robe there. Put it on and you can come here. I’ll help you work out a pose you can hold comfortably and then Miss Weasley can get sketching.”
Ginny smiled at him encouragingly and then returned to her stool, busying herself with reordering her tools while he got changed.
He walked back out a minute later and McGonagall guided him to the middle of the classroom where there was a little podium for the models to sit. They first tried out a position with the robe on. McGonagall let him know he could look where he wanted since Ginny was meant to just sketch his body.
They ended up settling on a sideways pose so there wouldn’t be much frontal nudity—Ginny suspected that was mostly for his comfort since it was his first time doing this. When they confirmed that was fine, McGonagall stepped back. He disrobed and resumed the position.
His arms were leaning on the back of a chair, sitting sideways. He had a muscular physique with long legs stretched out to the right.
“If you’re uncomfortable or need a break, you just let us know, okay?” McGonagall said. “Miss Weasley, where do we start?”
“At the bottom?” Ginny said innocently, looking up at her professor.
Harry snorted in the background.
“Miss Weasley!”
“I will do a quick outline and see if that feels right, before I continue putting down bigger lines.”
“Thank you.”
McGonagall usually walked through the room, commenting on people’s work, giving pointers but moving on quickly. Now she stood behind Ginny, watching her every move. She began putting down lines, aware two people were expecting her to draw the best she could.
pointed out that while the angle of the elbow was good, she needed get better at softening out torsos. She knew that. All of her drawings seemed to suffer from a mild case of Lara Croft-itis. She tried again, making the line smoother, only letting the curve barely exist.
“Better.” McGonagall walked off. “I’ll be grading at my desk. Let me know if you need me.”
Ginny relaxed a little as no one was looking at her work. She could afford to make mistakes, contemplate a little longer. Harry was sitting nicely still for this being his first time. She noticed how his breathing slowed the longer she sketched. As she tried to get the lines right—get his physicality right—she contemplated how strong he looked, how tall he was and tried to see more than just individual proportions but the whole man posing for her, trying to reach a deeper understanding of how a body moved.
After a while he turned his head towards her. She tried not to look him in the eye and kept on sketching, but her cheeks felt warmer.
When McGonagall called for a break twenty minutes later, Harry had barely moved an inch. She erased a bit of smudge while he pulled his robe back on. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to chat—it depended on the model and there was really just her to talk to, so she went to her bag and checked her phone.
“How is it going?” he asked, nodding towards her sketchbook.
She looked up to saw the robed man in front of her. “It’s going—I really do need the practice—I’m not some Michelangelo.”
He chuckled. “Right. So what do you struggle with?”
“I feel like I technically get the proportions of a body right, everything is in the right spot, yet it looks off. Professor McGonagall says I need to let it be more organic and let the lines flow into each other.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And I honestly don’t know what she means by that.”
“Aha.” He grinned at her. “Should have signed up for the robot-drawing class.”
“Hahah, very funny.” She shook her head with a smile. “I suppose you do sports?” She gestured vaguely towards his body. She didn’t want to comment on his body necessarily, but she felt like this didn’t cross the line.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m a cheerleader.”
She blinked at him quietly for a moment because she hadn’t expected that. “So you toss girls in the air?” Because there was absolutely no way Harry was a flyer.
He nodded. “Pretty much,” he told her.
“Oh, I think you’re actually scheduled to cheer one of my games, like a month out from now—you don’t have to acknowledge me there if you don’t want to people to know where we met, I get that’s not always comfortable.”
“It’s actually one of my friends on the team that suggested this—her name is Luna?”
“Oh yeah, she’s in the class right before mine. I didn’t realise she did cheerleading…”
Harry nodded. “She choreographs.”
“That makes more sense…” Ginny said with a nod.
“What sport do you do?” Harry asked.
“Rugby.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to look surprised. “You? Rugby? Honestly I think you’d be better off cheering.”
“Excuse me,” she said with a scoff. “I’m sorry I’m not made to wave pompoms around—with all due respect—I need to be in the heat of the game.”
“Right.” He did not sound convinced.
“I’m a scrum-half. I’m really fast, I pass well and I’m incredibly difficult to tackle.”
Harry nodded. “I look forward to seeing you play and seeing that for myself.”
“Ready to continue?” McGonagall asked.
Ginny had forgotten where she was.
“Sure,” Harry said. He turned to Ginny. “Don’t fuck up.” He offered her a thumbs up and then walked back to the chair.
“You won’t see it anyway!” she shouted back, earning a warning look from McGonagall. “Sorry.”
She walked back to her drawing, contemplating it while Harry disrobed and resumed his position.
McGonagall stood by her drawing and checked his position. “Can you move your foot up a little?”
Harry adjusted his leg. “Like this?”
“Yes, thank you.” She pointed at Ginny’s drawing. “Keep deepening this line over here. You’re on the right track.”
Encouraged, Ginny resumed her sketching until her time was up. Harry went back behind the screen to get dressed.
McGonagall walked back to her sketch. “Torsos remain difficult for you. Why isn’t it aligned with his arm over here?”
“That’s his forearm, how would that connect to his torso?”
The professor let out a tired sigh. “Not literally, Miss Weasley. Think on it.”
Harry returned dressed quickly, thanked McGonagall and walked out.
“If he is alright with more modeling, you can continue coming here the same time the coming weeks, if that works for you. I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, thank you.” Ginny quickly packed up her items and shoved her sketchbook into her bag before making it out of the classroom.
She came to an abrupt stop outside in front of Harry. “Oh. I thought you had gone.”
“It’s pretty dark outside. I was wondering if you wanted me to walk you to your building?” he asked.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” she said, though she hated walking through this part of campus during this time of the evening because it was vacant. She always felt like someone was behind her. “I can tackle them,” she chuckled.
“Hm.” He pursed his lips. “Either way I’m heading to the Wilde building myself because that’s where my dorm is.”
Ginny smiled. “That is right beside mine. I’m in Douglas. I suppose we can then, if you don’t mind.”
“Then I wouldn’t have suggested it,” he deadpanned.
“Okay,” she said, readjusting the strap of her bag as they walked towards the exit. “Do you think you’ll model again? And I understand if it’s a no for whatever reason.”
He nodded, letting her walk through the door first. “I think I will.” He came to walk back beside her again. “I’ve understood your grade depends on it?”
“Yes, but that’s not why you should do it. It’s my fault really, with rugby training, work and other assignments I kind of fell behind and I can’t seem to catch up, so it’s good to have a set time. I appreciate McGonagall making the effort—she is stern, but she’s fair and despite my lacking skill she seems to like me.”
“I want to do it.” He looked reassuringly at her. “Getting a feel of it with just a few people or even a smaller group will be good, I think. Undressing for 20 people immediately seemed a little rash.”
“Oh, I would imagine so,” she agreed. “Good on you. I hope it helps with whatever you need.”
“I’m not very good at sitting still and taking the time to just be—I think this forces me in a way that nothing else could.”
Ginny nodded and looked up at him. “I can see that. You can’t go do something else, you can’t pick up your phone—something we all should do less.”
“For sure,” he agreed. “So, rugby? How does one get into that?”
She could hear the derision in his tone. “What’s your problem with me doing rugby?”
He held up his hands. “Nothing, you just don’t look the type at first glance.” He smiled sheepishly.
She breathed out, shaking her head lightly. “I grew up with brothers, okay. I am not scared of a bump or a bruise. I don’t feel the need to try and be elegant and cute.”
“Because it comes naturally to you?” He raised an eyebrow as he gestured vaguely towards her.
She scoffed. “I could draw you badly, you know, for this kind of attitude.”
He didn’t seem very impressed by that threat. “If I had to believe McGonagall, it is bad anyway so why should that stop me?” He grinned at her.
She halted in front of her building and glared up at him. “Potter.”
“You know I was paying you a compliment, right?”
“Vaguely,” she replied casually with a smile. “Same time next week?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Bye, Harry.” She headed to the door.
“Bye, Ginny.”
As soon as she made it into the hallway, Michael Corner pushed off the wall.
“I’ve been waiting for you!” he let out, annoyance written all over his face.
She stopped dead in her tracks, eyebrows rising high.
“You didn’t reply to any of my texts.”
Take a hint, please, she thought.
“So are you on for Friday?” He looked at her expectantly.
She really ached for a nice warm shower. “No, thanks. I’m happy to leave it at the one date. Good night.” She walked up the stairs, heading to her floor.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry’s voice.
Ginny twisted around to see Michael halfway up the first flight of stairs and when she took a few steps down, she saw Harry at the foot of the stairs.
“Mind your business,” Michael snapped. “I just want to talk to her.”
“Michael…” she groaned. “We went on one date, and you didn’t ask me a single question. Not even ‘how are you’.”
Michael gaped at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask how you were feeling, is that a problem? If I don’t ask how you are all the time? We had a nice conversation?”
A monologue, essentially.
“You had a nice conversation. And I’m glad you are proud of getting a scholarship by lying while you sit on your ass while all the rest of us needs to get a loan and a job on top and get cheated out of scholarships we have a right to because they’ve reached a quota because it’s filled by requests from twats like you who have failed upwards since birth because you’re upper class. Congratulations on being born into money. I bet that was really hard for you.”
“What’s wrong with you?” he went. “I paid for your dinner. I picked you up with my car—I told you looked nice. We had nice food and we talked. When you didn’t want to go up to my place, I didn’t press on. What more do you want from me?”
The reply—the honest reply—was at the edge of her tongue, but she knew there was no point—he wouldn’t understand.
“Yeah, thanks for holding the door open for me so you could put your hand on my ass and talking to my cleavage for half an hour. Maybe you asked them how they were—I might have missed that. I never asked you to pay—you insisted and by the way it’s pronounced es-pres-so not expresso!”
“Dude, you should go.”
Michael looked back at Harry. He stomped down the stairs. “I don’t know what your deal is, but she went on a date with me just last Saturday, so be aware she’s two-timing at you.” He grinned slyly. He yanked the door open so hard it collided with the wall and disappeared outside.
It was perfectly quiet until the door fell into the lock.
“That was beautiful,” Harry remarked. “Read him to filth.”
She snorted and made it back down and stopped on the final step. “How’d you know?”
“What?”
“How did you even see he followed me?”
Harry nodded. “Was checking to see if you made it inside okay, then I saw him appear and let’s just say I had a premonition? So I watched for a second more and then he followed you and I could not let that slip. What a weirdo.” He looked at her with more attention. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Alright. I’m heading out.” He walked to the door and then turned back around. “I think I get it now, the rugby.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “More than meets the eye, right?”
“Precisely,” he said with a grin. “Good night. This was lovely!”
Ginny laughed and made it back up the stairs—alone this time—and was still smiling when she made it to her room.