A/N: Random character study that came to me in the bath which was a little random I know. Very short; 300-ish words but I hope you all like it.
E x
Perfect
Harry James Potter loved to draw. It was his drug but he was picky. He wouldn't just draw anything. What he drew had to be perfect because anything less didn't deserve to be drawn. Harry never drew himself, after all he was just an unwanted freak, he wasn't perfect, not even close. Because of this desire for perfection Harry had never drawn another person. No one was perfect after all. He drew symmetrical butterflies and beautiful flowers. He drew dewdrops on spider webs and blossoming lilies. He drew the glowing moon and the rising sun. He drew horses as they leapt over cobblestone Walls. He drew rainbows and thunderclouds, snowstorms and hail. He never drew people, not ever. He was drawn to perfection though, like moths to a flame so when Perfection spoke to him he pushed it away. He loved and desired and needed perfection like he needed the air he breathes but Harry doesn't deserve perfection. Freaks don't deserve anything. So when he curled up in an unfamiliar dorm under scarlet covers and the light snores of his roommates echoed around him he drew. He closed his eyes and drew to his heart's content. He drew eyes like silver fire or glowing mercury and hair as pale as untouched snow. He let the picture show his longing as it had all of his life and when he finished he smiled, a true deep smile. He didn't deserve perfection but in the dark of the night he longed for it and pretended that one day it would be his. Every night as the Gryffindors slept he drew another image of perfection. Of laughter or a soft smile or even his holier-than-thou sneer.
Freaks didn't deserve perfection, Harry didn't deserve Draco.