Potter does not belong to me.
A/N: I’m trying
to upload this again, as it didn’t exactly work the first time. If it comes out
screwy again, then I might just give up. So, if there are no spaces or
something, it’s my computer’s fault.
Her breath puffed
in little clouds in front of her as she stopped in front of the dimly lit shop.
Huddling into her cloak for warmth, she stared, mouth agape, at the crisp art
set hanging in the window. Regretfully, as she poured out the contents of her
coin purse into her hands and counting, her lips silently moving, she made up
her mind and turned her back on the musty little bookshop three doors down. She
abruptly turned about, disappearing into the tiny art shop.
0 0 0
The moment she
was home she vanished to her room, impatiently tying her sodden hair into a
loose bun. She flicked on the lights and threw her coat on her bed.
minutes she looked down at the package in her lap, itching to put pencil to
paper, but wanting to choose a worthy subject first.
Her love of art
in general, painting, sketching, was one thing that she had never shared with
the boys. It didn’t feel right—her drawings were hers, and hers alone. Besides,
Harry wouldn’t understand, and Ron would just scoff.
Ron. She turned slowly to her dresser, her eyes fixing
on the red haired boy waving at her from the silver framed picture, and she
dimly realized that his birthday was in a month and a half, and she had yet to
give him a present. Her heart thudded at the thought of drawing him, handing
him what was basically a piece of her soul.
she had unfolded her easel and set a clean, white piece of paper on it. She ran
her fingers lovingly over the smooth, coolness of the sheet, and ripped open
the art set.
0 0 0
She drew. For
hours, days, even weeks, that was all she did, sketching and erasing, kneading
her forehead, as her drawing took on a life of its own. Sometimes she took her
model from the little picture on her dresser, but half the time he was out of
the frame or peeking above the edge slightly while taking a nap.
That was all
right, though, because if she closed her eyes tightly she found that he was
already, firmly in her head. She closed her eyes and realized that she knew how
far his thick layer of freckles spread, and which one of his ears had the tiny
scar at the top.
She closed her
eyes and drew.
0 0 0
Her parents knew
what she was like when she was drawing, so, unalarmed at the prolonged periods
of time that she spent in her room, they left her alone. For the most part.
One day she heard
her parents talking in the outside hallway.
“…you seen what,
or who, she’s drawing?” asked her dad in his mellow voice, an audible frown in
“Yes,” her mother
answered. “It’s that lovely boy, Ronald.”
drawing a boy!”
“And this is a
“Oh, dear, stop
griping. You know Hermione is a sensible girl, and you liked Ronald yourself.”
“I liked him when
he was an awkward, gangly kid, not potential boyfriend material,” her father’s
voice grumbled as their voices drifted away when the moved off.
fondly. Her dad was overprotective, but he loved her to death.
…And he did have
some basis for his concerns.
She faced her
drawing again, and studied it for a moment, her head cocked to the side. She
reached a thumb up and drew it under his mouth, smudging carefully and adding a
I wonder what
it would be like to do this in real life, a small part of her brain thought.
She drew back as
if she had been burned.
0 0 0
after three weeks, it was done. She added one last freckle, erased a stray lock
of hair, and suddenly she knew that she could do no more. She stepped back and
looked it over.
It was good;
probably some of her better work. He looked alive, awkward, embarrassed, shy,
painfully endearing all at once, and she smiled happily in answer to his small
She rolled it up
carefully. Ron’s party was tomorrow.
0 0 0
“What did you get
him?” Ginny hissed. She shook her head, suddenly nervous. What if he hated it?
What if he laughed?
“You’ll have to
wait and see,” she whispered back.
The room was
filled with the trademark Weasley hair, and Ron was seated in the center of it
all. He picked up the last present: hers.
She chewed her
lip, a habit she thought she had broken years ago. Slowly—to her it felt as if
hours went by—he unrolled the simple white scroll and held it up to the light.
A gasp went
around from those who could see it; those who could not stood up and craned
their necks. The rest of the family peered at it in amazement, and told her how
wonderful it was, but she had eyes for only one person.
He looked up at
her and smiled, and that made weeks of work worthwhile.
0 0 0
Everyone else had
gone upstairs, but they still sat there in a comfortable silence, two plates of
chocolate cake sitting between them. She ate methodically, glancing up at him
once in a while.
He had seemed to
like the drawing, but now she wasn’t sure. Why wouldn’t he say anything?
Her fears were
put to rest, however, when he smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, as their eyes
met. She smiled back and started eating her cake with more gusto. When she
looked up again she noticed a dark smear on his face.
chocolate on your face,” she started to say, reaching up with her fingers to
swipe under his lower lip. Abruptly, she remembered her idle thought from
before, and she froze slightly. Her finger stilled on his lip, and she looked
down at her feet, a heated blush creeping up her cheeks.
Her hand came
down slowly, and there was silence once more.
Gently, he pulled
her fingers up to his face again.
“You missed a
spot,” he said softly.