This was written for HD Fan Fair's Job Fair and it was supposed to be purest crack... Didn't quite turn out that way, but oh well. Enjoy! XD Also, the version on AO3 has moving magazine pages, for the curious. Be warned. LOL!
Draco tossed his cape towards the coat rack, gave the wooden pegs a frown when they were slow to lean out and catch it-the hem nearly scraped the floor, for Salazar's sake-and dropped into his chair before swivelling it to pop his feet up onto the desktop.
"Please tell me there is something worthwhile in today's post, Mindy." His lament was heartfelt and weary, magnified by his hand hovering over the desk in a "give me" motion, with just enough trepidation in his curled fingers to denote that he fully expected the worst.
His assistant crept forwards, hand outstretched so far that it seemed she would prefer to detach her arm completely and send it at him with a spell rather than take one step closer. He sighed. Nothing of interest, then. "Ummmm," she said with her usual inability to articulate. He took the stack of photographs anyway.
"Shite, shite, worse than shite, what the hell is this, bring me a cup of tea before I murder someone, shite, shite, and… shite." Draco tossed each photo onto his desk in turn and looked up before the last one fell. As expected, Mindy had wisely heeded his words and fled as though dementors were after her, with any luck to fetch him some tea. He rubbed his temples. Honestly, what had started as a silly quest for vengeance and salvaging his wounded ego had turned into a thankless chore.
Pansy breezed into the room, holding a steaming mug. Draco perked up hopefully but she clutched the mug tighter to her ample bosom and gave him a wary look. Selfish bint.
"Draco, darling! How goes the cock critique business? Anything good today?" She perched her bum on the edge of his desk and leaned over to flip through the photos with one brightly varnished nail, wisely keeping her tea mug far out of Draco's grasp.
He crossed his arms petulantly and silently willed Mindy to hurry up with his tea. If she were any slower she would be Neville Longbottom on a broom. The mental image cheered him slightly, as did Pansy's facial expression of horror.
"Shite, shite, double-shite-is this even a cock, Merlin help us, I believe he's trying to be artsy-shite, shite, and shite. Bloody hell, have we tapped the well of decent cocks? Do none remain?"
Draco nodded sadly. Her words mirrored his sentiments, although he was willing to be slightly more forgiving. "The problem," he said as he reached for the stack of discarded photos, "is not that there are no decent cocks, because clearly there are." He lifted a garish photo of a large specimen that appeared to be practically perfect, large, rigid, blemish-free, and obviously ready to be inserted into anything willing.
Mindy chose that moment to trot back into his office and plop a large teacup down on his desk. Her face was flaming, likely having caught Draco's words. "Your tea, sir." She bounded out again and Draco sighed. He despaired of Mindy ever shedding the veneer of naïve virginity, despite the fact that she'd been married some three years now. Sometimes he wondered if she'd even made it through their wedding night without hexing her poor beloved if he'd attempted to lie with her. Of course, the very thought of Mindy on her wedding night practically gave him hives, so he forbore ever asking. It was none of his concern if she chose to die a wedded virgin.
"The problem," he continued, forcing his mind back on track, "is that there is so little skill. There is no finesse, no sense of aesthetics, no spark of romance! These people are all talentless imbeciles! They expect to drop their drawers and set to fucking. Like donkeys! Or rutting bulls."
Pansy lifted a photo and cocked her head to look at it from a different angle. "This one has decent lighting."
Draco snatched it. "The lighting is fine, but he's taken a blatant photo of his turgid cock without an ounce of preparation. The bed isn't visible, but the peeling wallpaper is, and the tips of his toes, which haven't seen a pedicure in, oh, ever. And the only movement is the annoying wiggle of his toes and feeble jerking of his cock. Hopeless! It's obvious he got lucky with the lighting. Must have been early morning." Draco tossed the photo aside.
"This one has potential." Pansy held up a modest photo.
Draco snatched it. "I admit the cock has potential. It looks brilliant, although you can see absolutely none of it beneath those hideous Muggle jeans." Draco shook his head sadly. The outline of what might have been a decent cock was completely hidden beneath an open zipper, bunched denim fabric, and horrid-looking white undergarments that were probably relics of the day when the poor lad's mum purchased his pants for him. Beyond the cock outline, there was nothing vaguely interesting about the photo. He tossed it aside. "Rubbish."
Pansy sipped at her tea, looking thoughtful. "You know, you could teach them."
Draco gave her a look.
"I'm serious! I don't mean cock photo school, of course, although wouldn't that be a hilarious curriculum?"
"A veritable riot," Draco said dryly.
"I mean a genuine photography class. You said yourself that you were getting bored with this. Why not do something to improve the quality of the submissions?"
"I doubt that the people willing to sign up for a photography class will then rush home and take pictures of their cocks."
"You never know. Besides, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun teaching some stuffy matron about lighting and perspective, all whilst imagining a luscious cock spread out waiting to be photographed."
Draco arched a brow at her. As much as he hated to admit it, she might have had a point.
Harry tipped back another shot of punch, feeling far tipsier than he should have allowed. The problem, he decided, was that Seamus made punch that was much too tasty. It was difficult to stop drinking, even when the room began to spin.
"And look at this one!" Dean Thomas was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his face and leaving dark droplet stains on his purple shirt. "It's a shapeless blob that might be a cock if you have a wild imagination!"
"Let's see what he says about that one!" Seamus grabbed the magazine from Dean, who shook his head and laughed again, lifting one hand to dab at his eyes. 'I have seen better cocks portrayed by accident on a Muggle Rorschach test.' Merlin, that's hilarious!"
"Wait, what's that?" Dean asked.
"It's a test where they show you pictures of ink blobs and you're supposed to say what you think they look like. It's some sort of psychological evaluation. I think." Harry was impressed he'd been able to say the word psychological. He probably couldn't manage it again without fucking it up. His brain felt fuzzy.
"Totally hysterical. Here, Harry, what do you think? As a psycho-loggy-cal test?" Seamus tossed the magazine to him.
Harry picked it up and scrutinised the photo. He turned it sidewise and had to agree with the assessment. "Definitely a shapeless blob. The next one is nice, though." He perused the next photo, which was a graphically upright cock clasped in a rough-looking hand. The tip glistened with a bead of ejaculate. The hand curled and moved up to the tip in a slow motion. Harry felt his jeans tighten at the sight.
"He didn't like that one, either," Dean said. "Read the review."
This one takes trying too hard to new levels. The lighting is garish and highlights the hairs on the testes most unpleasantly, and whilst the inclusion of a hand is generally a nice touch, I would suggest a manicure first because those dreadful nails detract from the aesthetics most unpleasantly.
"Wow," Harry said. "He's harsh."
"Or she. No one knows who writes those. The Cock Critiquer is a mystery."
"Hey!" Seamus cried suddenly. "We should send some! You know, get ours critiqued!"
Dean snorted. "No thanks. Who wants to get ripped like that? Cee-Cee never gives anyone a good review."
"That's not true. He really liked that one last month with the sky backdrop. Remember? Besides, you're artistic! You can probably get a great rating, and I bet your cock is enormous."
"Because all black men have huge cocks, is that it?" Dean gave him a glare.
"Well… yeah. Everyone knows that."
Harry and Seamus both looked at him. Harry was curious to see if Dean was willing to refute the stereotype. Dean shifted and looked away. "All right, yeah, it's huge. So what?"
Seamus crowed and threw his hands up, sloshing the last droplets of his drink onto the table. "I knew it! So let's do it! I have a camera here somewhere." He plunked his empty glass down and got to his feet, swaying erratically as he crossed the room.
"What-right now?" Harry asked.
"You know we won't do it when we sober up, mate. It has to be now."
Harry doubted his logic was quite sound, but he couldn't think of a counter-argument through the alcohol fumes clouding his mind. Seamus trotted back a few minutes later with an old camera. He waved it in the air happily.
"Dean, you're the artistic one. You should tell us what to do."
"I say you keep your tiny white cocks in your pants where they belong and stop tormenting the world with them."
Seamus pouted at him. "Dean."
Dean sighed. "All right, I'm just messing with you. Merlin, this is ridiculous. This is the gayest thing I've ever done."
Seamus tossed him the camera. "Seriously? I've done much gayer things. How about you, Harry?"
"Pretty sure I am gay, Seamus." After the words slipped out, Harry wondered how to stuff them back in, because both Seamus and Dean stared at him as though he'd suddenly morphed into a Crumple-horned Snorkack. "Um…"
After a few more slow blinks, Seamus seemed to shake himself. "Okay. Good. Thanks for sharing, Harry. So, Dean, how should we do this?"
"How should we do what?"
Seamus threw a sofa pillow at him. "Have a gay sex party. Godric, idiot, the camera! What have we been talking about?"
"Oh. Well, I'm not taking pictures of your junk. And you're not taking pictures of mine either-no offense, Harry."
Harry relaxed back into the sofa. Both of his friends seemed to be taking the gay thing in stride. "I think Seamus wants artistic instruction."
"Yeah." Seamus sat on the sofa and spread his legs, then used both hands to make a chopping motion on top of his thighs. "That's it. Artistic instruction. I want to know the best way to frame this perfection."
"I need another drink," said Dean with a groan.
In the end, and after a couple more drinks, they had decided to go back through the magazines and locate the photos that had garnered the O for Outstanding ratings, and Dean had given them some drunken pointers on lighting and artistic placement of objects, all of which Harry had forgotten by morning when he'd awakened on Seamus' sofa with the mother of all headaches.
As he sat up with a whimper of pain, he remembered snatches of conversation, such as Dean asking, "How gay, Seamus?" And Seamus replying, "Just kissing. And stuff." Followed by one awkward moment of them both looking at Harry, who had held up both hands with a laugh. "No. I am not kissing and stuff with Seamus. Not that you're not a fit bloke, Seamus."
Seamus had shrugged. "Fair enough. Who do you fancy, then?"
"No one. Well, that clerk at Flourish and Blott's."
"The blond one? He's got a girlfriend, mate."
"I know. All the hot ones are straight."
Seamus had given him a commiserating pat on the shoulder and then they had all taken turns in the bathroom taking photos of their dicks and sending them off to the Cock Critiquer before they could sober up enough to change their minds.
"Merlin, tell me we did not do what we did last night."
Dean rolled over on the opposing sofa and threw an arm across his eyes. "We did not take photos of our cocks and send them to a random stranger for analysis."
"Except that we absolutely did," Seamus murmured from somewhere in the room. Harry peered over the edge of the sofa arm to find Seamus wrapped in a blanket with his head propped up on a pair of boots and one lumpy sofa pillow.
"Seamus, why are you on the floor? This is your house."
"Couldn't find the bedroom."
Harry nodded, understanding. It had been that sort of night. "I'm going home. And I'm never drinking with you two again."
"Until Dean's birthday in three weeks," Seamus reminded him.
"Until Dean's birthday in three weeks." Harry nodded and made his way to the Floo.
"Bye, Harry," Dean mumbled.
Harry snorted and Flooed home. All in all, it hadn't been that bad.
It was bad.
Harry looked from the photo of his cock-or the outline of his cock; he'd been embarrassed enough to have taken the photo with his clothes on-to the words beneath.
While you appear to have a decent cock hiding beneath those atrocious Muggle jeans and uninteresting white briefs, this photo does nothing to sell it. The lighting is terrible, the angle is awkward, it goes out of focus rather than giving us any movement, and the entire thing is boring. I give your cock photo a T for Troll and a TA for Try Again.
Harry frowned at the picture. Surely it wasn't that terrible? He wondered what Seamus and Dean's had got, but wasn't curious enough to ask them. Instead, he dug through his house until he located an old camera, went to the bedroom and wanked for a bit, and then took another picture.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he sent it off.
Draco sipped at his tea and waited whilst Pansy flicked through the daily photos.
"I've found a room for you," she said and then wrinkled her nose. "Salazar, what the hell is this? It looks like an elephant's trunk…oh. It's supposed to look like that. The balls are its ears. Isn't that cute? Actually, no. That's incredibly disturbing."
"Surprisingly better than the endless parade of snakes, complete with stuck-on google-eyes. As if anyone would ever want a cock with eyes penetrating their orifices. A room for what?"
"For your photography class. There is a room available above Charlemagne Shoes. There are loads of windows that let in natural light, plus some interesting old brickwork around the fireplace. Which is connected to the Floo Network, as a bonus. I checked."
Draco had completely forgotten her earlier suggestion. "Pansy, I am not a photographer."
"So, practice!" She flipped the elephant-cock photo at him. "If nothing else, it will give you something to do all day besides look at cocks and wallow in self-pity."
"I am not wallowing in self-pity," he growled. "Stanton was ages ago. I'm over it."
"Sure you are. Now, let's go shopping for a nice camera. I've also bought you some books. Mindy! Draco is going out for the afternoon!"
"Yes, Miss Parkinson! Have a nice time, sir!"
"She'll probably skive off all afternoon whilst I'm gone," Draco muttered, not pleased at the thought of giving in to Pansy's bullying, but intrigued nonetheless.
"Her? She'll most like re-alphabetise your bookshelf and then sort the cock photos by length and breadth."
Draco snorted. "She would have to look at them first, and she can barely do that without getting a case of the vapours. Honestly, if she's ever seen a cock in the daylight, I'll eat my…"
Pansy arched a brow at him and Draco thought carefully. Uttering anything that sounded even vaguely like a dare around the woman could be deadly.
"…lunch," he finished.
"Spoilsport. Let's go."
Three days later, Harry opened the magazine to find the photo he'd taken, along with a critique.
This photo could win an award for Lack of Imagination. Unfortunately, it will not win any awards here, because it is dull as plain toast. The high shot indicates that the camera was held in one hand, which makes it difficult to get a decent photograph since you cannot possibly focus. As you see in this particular example, one cannot tell if a cock is concealed beneath that sheet or merely a decent-sized cucumber. I give your cock photo a T for Troll.
Harry balled up the magazine and threw it against the wall with a cry of rage. T for Troll? Again? Cucumber?
He stomped over and retrieved the magazine before smoothing it out and examining his photo again.
"Are you fucking blind?" he yelled. "That is no cucumber!" He crumpled the magazine again and then reached for his wand and cast Incendio until it was no more than ash and his table was in danger of achieving permanent scorch marks.
"T for Troll," he muttered. "I'll show that… cock critiquer."
Later, over lunch with Ron and Hermione, Ron asked what was bothering him.
"What? Nothing. I'm fine."
"Really? Then you won't mind if I rescue those chips from your endless dunking. You've turned three of them to vinegary mush already." Ron reached for Harry's chips.
"You do seem distracted, Harry. Is everything all right at work?"
Harry straightened. "Everything is fine. I'm great. Really." He forced a smile.
"You look tired. Perhaps you should stop spending so much time with Seamus and Dean." Hermione gave him a glimpse of her disapproving look and Harry bit back a genuine smile.
"There is nothing wrong with Seamus and Dean."
Ron nodded his agreement at Harry's words, not that Ron's approval had ever been a positive in Hermione's book.
"All they do is get drunk and talk about Quidditch."
"We talk about plenty more than Quidditch!" Harry protested.
Harry flushed and looked away, absolutely not planning to divulge their latest conversation. "We talk about current events."
Her stare turned sceptical. "Current events."
"In fact, we were discussing photography. Dean suggested I might not be very artistic." Harry knew he sounded slightly smug, but it wasn't often he could pull one over on Hermione, and this time he wasn't even lying.
Ron snorted. "Not artistic. So?"
"Art is very important, Ron."
Harry laughed. Sometimes he thought Hermione only contradicted Ron out of habit. The rolling of Ron's eyes showed that he agreed with Harry's unvoiced sentiment.
"It is!" Hermione protested. "Think of some of the things you love best. Like Hogwarts. How do you think it would have looked without a sense of craftsmanship and artistry?"
"Like the Ministry?" Ron offered.
Ron still looked dubious, but once again Hermione had made her point. "So, what are you going to do, mate? Take an art class?"
"No, of course not. I can't draw or paint to save my life. I don't think art classes would fix that particular lack of talent."
"But what about a photography class? Isn't that what you were discussing with Dean?" Hermione asked. She snapped her fingers. "I just saw an advertisement! Where was that?" She got up and walked over to a sideboard that was stacked with magazines and newspapers. She began muttering to herself as she flipped through the pile.
"Good to know she's still mental, yeah?" Ron murmured to Harry.
"I heard that. Here it is! It was a flyer tucked into Witch Weekly."
"You read Witch Weekly?"
"She reads everything, Harry, don't you know that by now?"
"Shush, both of you. Here." She thrust a flyer at Harry. He took the glossy page and skimmed it.
is here to help you!
Are you tired of your photos coming out blurred and unrecognisable?
Are you one of those that can't remember to keep your thumbs out of the picture?
Do you simply have no sense of aesthetics?
WE CAN HELP!
Our convenient evening and weekend classes will have you taking professional-grade photos in no time.
ASK ABOUT OUR GRAND OPENING WEEK SPECIALS!
~Photocouture is located above Charlemagne Shoes in Diagon Alley~
"Photography class," Harry mused.
"I think it would be brilliant. Everyone needs a hobby."
"I don't have a hobby," Ron said.
"I think eating is your hobby, mate," Harry replied.
Ron looked at the biscuit he'd bitten into and then shrugged. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I think photography would be useful."
"You know how you hate going to parties and events? You could take your camera and stave off the autograph seekers by taking their photos. Most people hate that."
"Ron, sometimes you are very smart," Hermione said with a proud smile.
Ron preened and Harry folded the flyer and tucked it into a pocket. It wasn't a bad idea.
Draco looked around the space and shook his head with a smile. He had to give Pansy credit-once she got an idea in her head she tended to go all the way with it, particularly whenever it involved spending Draco's money. The loft looked fabulous. She had set up a variety of stations, complete with multi-coloured floating light sources. There were directional spotlights, assorted backdrops, and a moveable stack of furniture, from antique baroque sofas and chairs to modern bookshelves and tables. There was even a wrought-iron bed occupying one corner.
"What were you planning to do with the bed?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer. He wasn't sure his reputation could survive him delving into the pornography industry. His cock critiquing business was relatively above-board, and altogether anonymous, sent to paying magazines via public owl on a regular basis.
Pansy crawled onto the bed and reclined in a sultry pose, hiking her skirt up her bare thighs to an indecent level. "Boudoir photos, Draco. They are all the rage right now. Frumpy housewives can get all glammed up and take sexy photos to give to their husbands in order to pretend the spark hasn't died." She sat up. "Or they can send them to their boyfriends on the side. Or both." She winked.
"The thought of taking photos of frumpy housewives is spectacularly unappealing."
"Which is why you'll be teaching other people to do it, remember?"
Draco looked at the dark curtains that could be closed to conceal the bed from the rest of the room. There were no windows in the corner, making it a sort of oasis of privacy. "I think we will save that for an advanced course." Or a never ever course, he added to himself.
Pansy hopped off the bed. "And you can always crash here, if a class runs late, or if you meet an enticing student and want him to stay after for some special instruction." She leered at him and made quote marks in the air.
He shook his head, knowing full well that he wouldn't be indulging in any of that nonsense with any of his students. He had sworn off romance completely and had no desire to indulge in even casual sex. He had two perfectly capable hands with which to bring himself off when the occasion warranted. Sex simply led to emotional entanglement and heartbreak, and similar foolishness. He wanted no part of it.
"Brilliant. I believe I shall be ready to begin teaching in a couple of weeks." He rubbed his hands and looked around the place.
"Wednesday," Pansy said.
"Your first class is Wednesday. The flyers went out in yesterday's mail. My goodness, look at the time! I've got to find something suitable to wear! Ta, darling!" Pansy trotted to the fireplace and before Draco could think of a suitable hex to use upon her, she had tossed the Floo powder and was gone.
"I can't do it on Wednesday, you bloody bint!" he yelled at the empty flames.