A/N: Hello all, I was flicking through my ipod and was hit with a sudden surge of inspiration while listening to the song 'Graffiti' by Maximo Park. I don't actually think this story relates in anyway to the song, but I thought I'd give it some credit anyway. It's just going to be a short little one shot for now, but I may expand later if I get anymore awesome light-bulb moments.

Disclaimer: The polyjuice potion isn't quite ready yet, so we'll just have to wait a little longer until I'm J.K Rowling and own the epicness that is Harry Potter.

Capturing Beauty

~ 'I'll do Graffiti if you'll sing to me in French' ~

Louis sat with his sketchpad on his knee, drawing absentmindedly as he gazed out of the window and onto the street below. He'd been in France for a few months now, and this shabby little apartment was beginning to feel like home. Though he did sometimes get homesick, he would never in a million years consider leaving this place. He loved it. He loved being independent, not having to rely on anyone, walking to his college on a morning, carrying his sketchpad and the occasional paint splattered canvas. He loved waking up early and walking to markets while the sun painted the most amazing picture across the sky. However good an artist he may be, Louis could never capture the beauty of a sunrise. This was something he'd spent years dwelling on. It had been an obsession at one point; every morning of his seventh year at Hogwarts, Louis had awoken early just to try and paint the rising sun. Louis was never happy with these paintings and tried experimenting each day with different pallets, different materials and different brushes. Nothing ever seemed to work. Such beauty, it seemed, could only be witnessed in flesh and blood, not through ink and paper.

Louis sighed and hauled himself up from the couch. The flat was tiny, and he made it to the kitchen with three long strides. However small Louis' house was, he loved it dearly. The walls were painted a multitude of colours. You could always tell which walls Louis had painted, as they were the neatest, with completely straight, gentle brushstrokes and tiny details in the corner. He glanced down at the sketchpad that he still held in his hand. Andréa was staring out from beneath the ivory paper. Andréa had painted the other walls in the room, and hers were the brightest, most untidy walls, with smudgy fingerprints and random splatters of colour. They were also Louis' favourite walls. The girl that was printed onto the page gave little credit to the real Andréa. Andréa was only the second thing in the entirety of the world that Louis hadn't been able to draw.

However cliché it may sound, Louis remembered very clearly the first time he had met Andréa. She had been his mother's friend's ex-husband's cousin's daughter, or something of the sort. It was the summer after Louis' sixth year and he'd been chatting to his cousin Rose about a new book they had both just recently read, when his mother introduced her to him. Her English was broken and a little patchy, and his mother had thought that she'd be more comfortable with someone who was relatively fluent in French. His mother, apparently, had to dash off some place or other. Andréa had one of those faces that looked shy, but that illusion was ruined when she opened her mouth. She was loud and a little crude, with an odd sense of humour and the most insane, wild and beautiful laugh Louis had ever heard in his life. And, after the two of them had snuck several bottles of firewhiskey from the drinks table, Louis had managed to persuade her to go on the karaoke. Her voice sounded like something straight from 1940's Chicago. It had a peculiar tone to it that was almost jazzy, and she'd had the entire party transfixed. She was amazing, and she knew it. Not in an egotistical or self-absorbed way, just in the same way Louis knew he was good at art. Both of them, it turned out, hated people who played down their talents, either for sympathy or reassurance. How can you expect the world to like you when you didn't even like yourself?

That wasn't to say the two of them didn't have rough patches. There were times, of course, where Louis had creative blocks and Andréa just didn't have the heart to sing, but they got through it. And what was even more surprising was that they got through it together. They moved into the small flat just outside of Paris so that they could peruse their dreams. The flat was a source of great comfort to them both, and after only just a few months of living there, they had so many amazing memories. One time, the pair had gotten a little tipsy and thought it would be an excellent idea to draw all over themselves, writing rude phrases and Louis drawing especially vulgar diagrams on their arms, legs, stomachs and other places Louis would rather not think about. Little had they known that the marker had been permanent, and the couple went into hiding for a few days until a friend brought them a potion which thankfully managed to take the worst of the marks away. However, it wasn't all fun and games. Louis went to prestigious art college and Andréa was putting so much effort into her music and worked the pubs and clubs around the city, singing in different venues every night and hoping a talent scout would notice her. Over the past year, she'd even tought herself how to play an old guitar she'd bought second hand from a charity shop. The two of them were about as rich as two aspiring artists of different sorts could be, which wasn't very rich at all. Louis' parents had paid most of his student fees but the flat, food and other necessities still cost money, and that usually came out of little bit of cash Andréa made. Louis was trying to sell his paintings within the muggle and the wizarding world, but he was finding it hard to break through. They were certain that slowly, but surely, they would both make a name for themselves.

Louis heard the door creak and he spun around, a huge smile forming on his face as he glimpsed the tall, slight frame of Andréa make her way past the door.

"Louis?" she yelled, and he heard the muffled thud as she dropped her guitar case onto the empty couch.

"In here" he yelled back, taking a swig from the carton of milk and putting it back in the fridge before she would notice.

She walked into the kitchen, looking far too tired to be healthy with huge bags under her navy blue eyes. Louis held out his arms and she collapsed into them, burying her head into his shoulder. He almost thought that she'd fallen asleep on him, right there and then, but she raised her head and looked up at him, a sleepy smile on her face.

"How was the gig?" he asked her

"Not bad" she said, "I always like muggle pubs. The acoustics always seem to be a little better. But then again, wizarding pubs have a certain type of atmosphere, so I always look forward to playing them, too."

"I really wanted to come, I wish that you'd let me," said Louis, a pleading look on his face.

"But you need to finish your coursework, we can't have you flunking college now, can we?" she said, adopting her mother-hen voice.

He scowled at her, but he didn't last very long until the corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile. Her expression immediately softened, her lips moving to his ear.

"There's another reason I won't let you come to my shows, you know," she said, and her mouth transformed into a smile that he felt on his soft skin.

"And why is that?" he asked, closing his eyes as he felt her moist breath tickle his neck.

"You distract me," she said simply.

"Go on then" he said, grinning "How do I distract you?"

"Well," she said, her fingers, hardened by the strings of her guitar, crept up his neck "I may just have to show you."

And then she let out a loud, involuntary yawn.

"You're tired, Andy, we need to get you to bed," laughed Louis, as he picked her up from the floor and cradled her in his arms.

She pouted and her eyes narrowed dangerously. She had never been one for the whole 'damsel in distress' act and Louis very much doubted that she enjoyed being swept of her feet.

Well, he thought, she'd just have to endure it. She probably wouldn't have made it to the bedroom anyway.

"I am not tired," she said defiantly, somehow still managing to look stern.

"Prove it," said Louis, raising his eyebrows.

She kissed him hard, freeing herself from his hold and wrapping her arms around him. She brought her hands to his neck once more and entangled her fingers in his golden hair. He cupped her jaw gently with his hand and before he closed his eyes, he caught a glimpse of her face.

Maybe I should just give up trying, he thought, I'll never be able to capture this magnitude of beauty, no matter how hard I try.

A/N: Ooh, I rather enjoyed writing that. I'm normally a one for writing humour type stuff, but who's to say we can't have a bit of fluffy romance every once in while, right? Anyway, I'd really like to know what you think. I actually wanted a whole different ending to this story, but I decided to stop there and leave it at that. For now, it's remaining a one shot as I have made a vow not to publish too many multi chapter fic at a time because I've got so much on via school and everything, but once I've finished 'Snitches, Witches and Boy-stealing Bitches' or a really cool plot bunny comes bounding into my life, I might write something else about Andréa and Louis. Reviews make a happy, smiley insane person. And really, the world needs more happy, smiley insane people, doesn't it?