Title: Candid Camera
Email: quixotical gmail . com
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Romance
Warning(s): Meh, none yet.
Summary: Hermione learns there are more than a thousand words for every picture she takes.
Notes: Revised! And this is a good thing because I originally hit a writer's block. And if that isn't the most cliché summary ever.
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chapter one: candid
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It was a worthy opportunity for a well-deserved picture.
He was standing against the wall of the archway, leaning slightly forward on his Firebolt as he grinned at the exaggerated gestures of his friend, occasionally nodding or shaking his head and making his own hand movements. He was dressed in his Quidditch robes, fine silk in crimson threads draped over his five-nine stature. Then, his friend opposite him -- the one with flaming red hair and freckles spattered across his face -- whispered something in low tones, and he laughed, emerald eyes dancing in mirth.
A flash of light erupted in front of them, a light far different from natural sunlight, and then fading into nothing.
Ron appeared as if blinded, rubbing his eyes with closed fists and blinking rapidly, an uncertain smile on his lips.
"We already have a Colin Creevey at this school, Hermione."
Hermione shook her head, watching the photo slipping carefully from the Polaroid.
"I know." Hermione said. "But Colin uses a wizarding camera, and I use a Muggle camera, which doesn't make me Colin Creevey."
Ron furrowed his brows.
"Aren't they the same?"
"What, the cameras? Of course not, Ron. Muggle photos don't move."
Ron blinked, leaning forward with crossed arms to inspect the curious contraption in his friend's hands.
"Dad would love that."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock and turned her body with the camera snug against her chest, as if to protect her possession from possible harm.
"Do not think about it, Ronald Weasley. No chance of this being picked apart."
Ron snorted. "Well, then, what do you expect to do with it?"
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm taking pictures and putting them in my scrapbook, of course! Honestly."
"Hermione. The year hasn't ended just yet." Harry said, adjusting his glasses on his face.
"I know that. It's for memories, Harry. Surely, you have a scrapbook of your own." She looked at him pointedly.
Harry cleared his throat and looked down, seemingly interested in the too-green grass sprouting from the ground.
The Trio were a week into the first semester of their Seventh Year. The boys had absently took notice of the camera Hermione held in her hands on the train before they arrived at Hogwarts but had soon forgotten about it. Harry had, of course, recognised it but being as he did, he cared naught about its use -- more simply the reason why Hermione was interested in it.
"Do you want to see the picture I took of you, Harry?" Hermione asked, holding out her hand with the slip of film held between her fingers.
Ron frowned. "Only Harry?"
"There's more than just 'taking a picture', Ron. He just happened to be 'more than just the picture' at that moment."
Both Harry and Ron shared confused glances before staring at her in what could be classified as shock.
"I don't intend to take pictures the whole year." She explained. "There's still the tests to consider and -
"We get it, Hermione." The two boys said in unison, interrupting her mid-sentence.
Harry turned the picture and looked at it.
"I look okay, I s'pose." He muttered and handed it back to her. "It's a real good picture, though."
"It is," agreed Ron. "In fact, it's actually better than those moving pictures. Harry looks alive."
The Boy Who Lived apparently took offence in the harmless (yet possibly insinuating) comment because no sooner had the redhead spoke, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'wanker.'
"It's all about technique, Ron. Professor Dahrnay taught me that."
Ron leaned closer to Harry and whispered, "Another Lockheart."
"No!" she exclaimed defiantly. "Professor Dahrnay is a much better teacher and knows his profession really well. He's brilliant."
Harry looked at Ron and they both nodded in agreement.
"Definitely another Lockheart."
"You two look like you've been hit with the Cruciatus Curse." Seamus observed, noting the look of pain etched subtly in their expressions. He smirked then. "You said something stupid again, didn't you?"
"To Hermione? Yes." Ron groaned, sitting slowly at the Gryffindor table.
Hermione soon appeared behind them, taking her usual seat across from them and looking more haughty than usual. Seamus, intrigued, moved closer to the female Gryffindor.
"You hexed them, didn't you?"
"Of course not."
"You punched them?"
"Of course not."
Desperately. "What did you do?"
Hermione sniffed. "I didn't do anything."
"What?"
"Her bloody, mangy cat mauled us to death!" Ron exclaimed. "That cat should be locked up in your room, you know that?"
"I'm not about to imprison him, Ron!" she shot back. "He can go wherever he pleases!"
He glared at her.
"One of these days, I won't be alive to tell you what's happened to me. And you know why?"
"No, and I really don't care to -
"Because your cat will have killed me, that's why!"
Harry patted his friend's arm gently while Seamus slowly backed away, still slightly amused by the usual banter between Hermione and Ron.
"Stop being so dramatic."
"I am not being dramatic. I'm telling you what could happen if your cat continues to go about, unwante-
There was a flash of light and suddenly nothing.
Ron blinked, seeing floating diamonds and spots of purple before his eyes. Vision cleared, he narrowed his eyes.
"What was that for?" he demanded, annoyed.
She tossed him the picture, a photo with a furious expression on Ron's face, cheeks flushed in anger, eyes a stormy blue.
"That's your moment of glory." She snatched the photo away from him. "And now it's gone. If you'll excuse me."
"Two minutes," Dean noted. "I think that's a record."
"Shut up, you wanker."
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Hermione walked near the shoreline of the pond, dragging her feat along the wispy greens that lightly wavered in the warm breeze. She stopped, then, just beneath the umbrella leaves of the weeping willow. She brought the camera to her eyes, scanning the area for any meaningful moments or subtle effects she could capture with just one click. Everything tonight was photogenic but it seemed so little at this point in time.
And there it was.
A girl. Leaning her head on someone's shoulder. Staring at nothing except darkness (for the moon was directly above them). They were quiet -- no sweet nothings or affectionate whispers -- just sitting down with no real purpose except to exist. Her legs were bent at the knee, her calves outstretched to her right. The one beside her, a male she assumed, had one leg stretched out and the other propped up, a pose seemingly relaxed but a better one for reflection or melancholy.
Her finger slipped, clicking the button, the flash reflecting off the dark canvas of sky. She held her breath. Truth be told, she hadn't meant to take the picture. The moment seemed a little too intimate to take and she definitely toed the line at intimacy, even if her professor had told her that intimacy was definitely powerful if taken at the right angle and the correct way.
She quickly ran behind the tree, obscuring herself from their view. As the photo was delivered, she pulled it from the object and gulped.
She had taken it just the way she saw it, their backs toward her. Except it produced something slightly different than what she had seen. At the last minute, the boy turned his head to face her, expressionless but his eyes showing expectancy and seriousness and a stare a naturally brooding Slytherin would be apt.
Draco Malfoy had caught her red-handed.
And he was looking none too happy.
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next: admiration's composition
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scenes and photogenic properties © paradoxical
( aka, grandfilth, undead poet, archaic beauty )
I wanted more complexities, and a laughing!Draco did not do. Attempted to put them more in-character, but I might have just ruined them further. Bleh.
