Modern, non-magic au. Artist Harry.
26y/o Fleur Delacour works in London at an authentic French café in order to get through Uni. Her days are fairly repetitive and uneventful. That is, until a bespectacled young man begins to come in more and more often. 27. He only occasionally talks to her to give his order, before sitting along the far wall facing the counter where she works. Fleur thinks nothing of it at first, dozens of people come in for hours on end to read, relax, work or talk with friends.
But soon, the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into almost two months of the strangely shy and reserved man coming in to sit and draw in his sketchbook.
The problem? Fleur always feels like he's watching her. At first she didn't mind, men stared at her all the time. But now? It's getting kind of uncomfortable. So she decides to throw caution to the wind and ask what his problem is. And on her next break she does just that. She leaves the counter and heads straight for him. He seems to realize this a second too late, as he hurries to cover his sketchbook with his laptop.
Fleur, rather intrigued now, sets her anger aside and demands to know what he is drawing. He stutters out an unintelligible answer. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Fleur snatches the sketchbook from him and opens it to find, to her horror and amazement; herself.
Not knowing what to say, she remains silent as the man begins to explain himself. He tells her that he is an artist, and he has... been inspired by her natural beauty and has been using her as his muse for the last two months.
Still silent, Fleur begins to flip through the sketchbook, finding, to her growing amazement, dozens upon dozens of sketches of her as she stood and worked in the café.
Finally reaching the end of the sketchbook, Fleur looks up to the man for the first time in several minutes. There's a rather embarrassed shade of red coloring his cheeks and ears, while, despite herself, she feels herself blushing.
The man nervously runs a hand through his hair; "S-sorry, miss, I-I shouldn't have drawn you without y-your permission. I-I'll throw them away right now. Sorry-"
"Don't 'zrow 'zem away."
"Wh-what?" He stutters out, asking, "Why not?"
"Because 'zey are magnifique."
The man pauses, stunned, "W-what? Y-you think they're good?"
"Non," she shakes her head, looking over the sketches again. "I 'zink 'zey are beautiful."
"...And you're not mad that I drew you without your permission?"
"A little," she admits. "But 'zey are so beautiful, I cannot be 'zat mad."
"I, uh... thanks?"
Fleur chuckles, before holding the sketchbook out to him. He tries to grab it but she pulls it away. With a playful smile on her face, she says, "If I give 'zis back, will you promise to give me 'ze next one you draw of me?"
The man is bewildered. "W-wait, you w-want me to draw you again?"
Her smile grew even more, she hands him back the sketchbook. "But only if I get 'ze next drawing."
The man's eyes shined, "O-of course! Y-you won't regret this, I swear!"
She holds up one finger, "I 'ave one condition."
"Name it!" He exclaims.
"I keep all my clo'zes on."
The man's ears turn bright red and he let's out a string of sounds unrecognizable as human speech. Fleur gives a coy smile, "But who knows,... maybe I can be persuaded o'zerwise if you buy me a few drinks...?"
"I-I-I-I uh, yeah."
"Yeah?"
"To everything you just said."
"Magnifique."
[one-shot would end there for me. But feel free to expand upon it if you want. Make this a multi-chapter story or whatever. Make Fleur into a nude model for all you want. but I'll probably keep it rated T myself]