Warts and all
By: Amilia Padfoot
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this Fic, only the idea for the story.
Summary: Roxanne loves art. She has a particular fondness for portraits, especially when they show someone genuinely. For she and her uncle know the importance of liking someone for who they are...warts and all. One-shot.
A/N: Hey guys, this is no: 3 in the NAUBB (Not an Uncle by Blood) series.
Roxanne Diana Weasley made her way leisurely down the midnight blue corridor as she examined the fine work upon the wall. She was lost in her own little world, her eyes gazing lovingly into the portraits, a smile on her full lips. She stopped in front of an elderly man that blinked back at her through a pair of wirey spectacles; the cerulean eyes seemed to hold a wisdom that she could only dream of having, as if within them was the secret to unlocking the stars. He sat upright in his chair, adorned in lacy robes and finery.
As he began to stroke his fine white beard as if in deep ponder, Roxanne peeled her eyes away from the aged wizard, and looked to the next portrait. This man was beautifully painted, and she could tell instantly by the pattern of brush stokes that the painting was done by a different artist, one of more skill that the previous one at that. The oils blended together in a perfect symphony that her heart knew so well. It was almost a shame that such a talent had been wasted, for Roxanne did not like the looks of the man in the painting.
She did not know what it was exactly that brought about her distaste for a man, long dead. Perhaps it was the way he was looking down upon her with chilling grey eyes. His hair fell in crisp brown ringlets, which seemed to be coiled far too tight, down to his jagged jaw.
There was something almost cruel about the thin lipped mouth, a pigginess about the wide nostrils either side of the upturned nose and a blankness that stretched over the face like a tight mask, as if he was forever impassive or disdainful.
The man now balanced his chin upon his interlocked fingers as he peered out at her, and Roxanne felt as though he was passing judgment on her.
Roxanne told herself not to be silly, that it was just a picture. But that was the trouble, and beauty, of Wizarding portraits. They were life-like to the extreme. She had always marvelled at how portraits were brought to life as such, but to her dismay, she had been unsuccessful in mastering the complicated charm. Lucy, her cousin and best friend, was a master at charms and had helped her out on several occasions. Roxanne always had a gift for capturing beauty. Lucy, however, could bring it to life. She had forever envied that.
Wanting to get away from the Wizard's piercing gaze, she shuffled along softly to the next portrait. This time it was of a rather stern-looking witch, her blond hair, streaked with grey, tightly pulled back into an obscene bun. She looked to be in her late-fifties - rather young for a witch. But then again, life expectancy tended to be short in such lines of work, she thought sadly. The witch had short dumpy arms and very little neck. Cold brown eyes stared at her, a look of a mother scolding a child on her finely chiseled face. There was something almost French about her that reminded Roxanne of her eldest cousin, Victorie, but far more hard and ice-like than her soft, graceful relative.
It was then that she noticed the pencil-line-thin scar that ran down the length of the woman's cheek. Roxanne repressed a shudder - she was no stranger to scars; she couldn't be with a family like hers. Her own father had an ear missing, and her uncle Bill was heavily scarred from his attack from Greyback. In fact, all of her uncles and most her aunts had their own scars, both physical and otherwise.
Not wanting to dwell on such things, she moved further down the corridor, looking out for the obscurities that set the men and women apart. The similarities were all too obvious to her: the stern looks, the fancy robes, the scarred faces. They oozed self-importance, not a kind smile among them. They were a frightening bunch, and though she had to admit they probably had to be, she got the impression that they were like that all the time.
She back-tracked to a portrait that caught her eye, sure that she had seen the man before. She tilted her head to the side and pushed a wave of red hair out of her eyes. The first thought that struck her was that he looked like a rather old lion, with his mane of thick tawny hair and almost yellow eyes. After staring at the rough looking man for a good while, she concluded that it must have been some old article somewhere, probably from the war her family had played such a big part in.
The succeeding, magnificently carved picture frame held yet another pompous-looking man, thought seemingly more fragile than the other battle-worn figures she had studied. There was something somewhat aristocratic about him. This man she did not recognise.
The next man, however, she could not fail to recognise. The differences were striking and after wondering down the corridor for as long as she had, looking at portrait after portrait of similarities, it was enough to throw someone off balance.
The eyes drew her in at once. Those soft, green, caring eyes that Roxanne knew so well. Roxanne felt the affectionate smile tug at her lips as she took in his messy, raven-black hair and the way he appeared uncomfortable sitting in his chair, as if he didn't wish to be there. She shook her head fondly at the worn-looking jeans, just visible under the bottle-green robes. She took everything in, down to the last detail; she could just about make out the royal blue hem that she knew to be the Weasley jumper he had gotten that Christmas.
He looked messy and modest, a warm smile upon his face that ruined the formidable effect of his scars, the famous lightning-bolt peeked out of his fringe that he constantly flattened to conceal it. Yes, her uncle sure knew how to stand out, without even trying.
She had seen a women tut her disapproval as it had been put up. The man beside her had shushed her and commented that is was about time a portrait of him had been put up.
"I'm surprised one hasn't been done sooner," he had muttered, "especially after what he's done for the Ministry,"
"He could have put a little more effort into looking smart!" The woman sniffed, clutching her handbag.
"Ah, stop yer fussing, woman. He can look like a tramp for all I care. I'd prefer it those pompous lookin' twats up there." Roxanne had nodded to herself silently, holding back a giggle.
"Albert!" She scolded. He ignored her.
"I mean - that man before him, Fredrickson." Albert waved a hand up to the portrait of the fragile aristocrat. "What did he do? Nothing, Nothing! Na, love, let him wear his jeans; he's a good bloke,"
Roxanne wished her uncle had been there to here the conversation. She knew that Harry had been avoiding having his portrait done for some time. He had not wanted to dress up in some formal robes and sit poker straight in a chair while painted, only to be put up where he would look down upon those walking to his office. He said he was stared at enough without having his picture self having to go through it too.
Roxanne loved the portrait. It was just so... Harry. She had been honoured to be the one to paint it.
"It really does look amazing, Roxy." Roxanne jumped at the sudden voice behind her.
"Oh dear Merlin!" She breathed, clutching her heart.
"Sorry! Sorry!" He apologised quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you." She gave her uncle a smile in reply, to let him know it was alright. They both looked back up to the portrait.
"I'm really glad you were the one to paint it."
Roxanne gave him one her famous cheeky grins. "Who else would put up with you?"
He gave a short cheerful laugh, slinging an arm around her. "True," he agreed, before sighing and gesturing to the painting. "I don't look very official, do I?"
"'Least you're not still wearing a leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet," she commented dryly, her lips twitching, earning herself another laugh.
"Yes, I suppose that was a bit drastic on my part." Roxanne rolled her eyes before looking back to the painting.
"You know, I think you look very nice, and I'm not just saying that because I'm the artist. You look like yourself...for who you are."
"Warts and all..." He chuckled, looking more reassured now.
"Huh?" Roxanne blinked at him but he shrugged the question off. "Muggle thing. Come on, I'll buy you lunch before someone snatches you up and commissions you again."
Her eyes shone brightly and a grin pulled at her freckled cheeks as she told him: "As a matter of fact, I've had a couple of offers already."
He guided her down the corridor and together they discussed her promising future in the art world.
oOo
"Mrs. Morgan!" Simone Slip illustrations column writer of Wizarding Arts, Recreation and Talent trilled, "Your paintings are simply marvellous! Such talent!"
"Thank you, Miss Slip," Roxanne thanked the writer modestly. Her mind was still abuzz with the chatter of the people around her, some of them calling out to her. She managed to tune them out.
"Simone, dear, call me Simone." Simone patted Roxanne's arm and took a sip of her red wine. "Yes, wonderful, wonderful. I dare say you don't mind me asking you a few questions?" Stopping in front of a sublime sunset of mingling blood red and deep orange Simone placed her now empty glass upon a side table.
"Oh, um, not at all Mi- Simone." Roxanne agreed somewhat hesitantly, remembering what her dad had told her about reporters. She waited for Simone to take out a note pad and quill and then began to stroll along the lavish gallery once more.
"It really is a wonderful turn out," Simone commented as they weaved their way through interested buyers and admirers. A little girl ran past them squealing to her mother. "Mummy, mummy! Let me show you the one with the flowers, it's my favourite!" She raced down the gallery, her blonde curls dancing behind her.
They stopped to allow a harassed looking mother chase after the girl before entering a less crowded space.
"How long have you been painting?"
"Oh, since I was little! Um, well, not portraits like this, of course." Roxanne waved a vague hand at the red-haired man upon the wall. "But I've loved to draw since I could hold a crayon. I used to draw all over the place, especially on the walls. Drove my mum mad." She allowed herself a giggle at the memory. "Dad loved it though, used to put my pictures up all around the shop…" A nostalgic smile crept across her face.
Simone looked up at the painting with interest. "How sweet." She scribbled a few things down. Roxanne guided her over to the section that showed some of her more impressive work, subconsciously wanting to get away from the man with his camera. He had been trying to catch her eye all evening. "What would you say inspires you?"
"Oh, I don't know. Art itself is inspiring enough." Roxanne shrugged lightly. "But I suppose my family inspires me, encourages me,"
"Yes, of course. Congratulations, by the way!" Simone pointed a dainty finger at the golden band. The one Roxanne hadn't been able to keep her eyes of since her loving husband, Andy, had placed it there.
"Thank you."
Simone nodded shortly and took Roxanne's arm in hers as if they were old school friends. She had a friendly manner with a smile that, Roxy couldn't help but notice, didn't quite reach her crystal eyes. A curtain of velvet black hair fell neatly around her face and down her slender neck.
"So out of all your beautiful masterpieces," she went to stand in the centre of the gallery so Roxanne had a view of a great majority of her paintings. "Which would you say was your favourite? I know this must be hard for you..."
"Oh, not at all." Simone raised a soft eye-brow at the easy reply.
"Oh? Which one?"
"It's my first ever piece. I'm particularly fond of it."
"Sorry, which one is that?" Simone scanned room as if the paining would light up to indicate itself.
"It's not here. It's at the ministry. It's of my Uncle Harry. He got me my first commission..."
"Isn't that nice?" She simpered. "Is he here today?"
"No, sadly he couldn't make it. Work, you know." Simone looked sympathetic for a second then frowned, looking distractedly off into the crowd. Annoyance flickered across her once emotionless eyes.
"Oh, for pity's sake!" Seeing Roxanne's worried look at the muttered outcry she apologised. "It's my husband. Won't be a moment, dear." With that, she put her note pad and quill in her hand bag and disappeared into the throng of guests.
Roxanne shrugged to herself and plucked a glass of wine from a tray that was floating about the room, serving the visitors. She was glad that her brother wasn't helping out this time. She cringed, remembering the last time her work had been put on show; he had 'accidentally' charmed the trays to chase the guest about the room if they declined its offerings. She loved her elder brother dearly, but he could be a bit of a...handful. It wouldn't have been so bad if one of her dedicated collectors hadn't ran out with cocktail sticks sticking out of her hair and wine on her white satin dress.
"I was right, you know. I told you that you were going to have a bright future," Roxanne nearly spilled her wine at the soft voice behind her. She turned, grinning.
"Uncle Harry, you really must stop doing that!" He just laughed and pulled her into a hug.
"I thought you had work?" She asked, pulling away so she could see him.
"I managed to get away. Couldn't miss this, now could I? What kind of an uncle would I be?"
"A very bad one," Roxanne agreed in a mock-somber tone and took a swig of her wine. Harry looked around, a slightly awed look upon his face.
"This place is packed! I wouldn't be surprised if every piece was sold," Roxanne grinned widely at the thought. He gave her a teasing nudge.
"You're famous now." Her grin slipped but she quickly turned it into a thin smile.
"Everything okay?" Of course he had noticed. "Roxy?"
Roxanne pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. There was just no use hiding her emotion around him.
"Yeah, I'm great. It's just... as much as I love all this-" She indicated to the people milling about, discussing the work on show. One man spotted her looking and waved at her cheerfully. Roxanne gave a weak wave in return. "-the attention is a bit...daunting sometimes."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Harry muttered. Roxy couldn't help but smile genuinely. At least someone understood.
"Uncle Harry, how do you deal with it? With not knowing whether people want to get to know you or just want to know you?"
Harry slung and arm around her, like he'd done years before.
"I guess you just have to remind yourself that you will always have your family and real friends. People you can rely on. People who like and recognise you for who you are." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Roxanne gave him a cheeky grin, the twinkle back in her eye.
"Warts and all, eh?"
"Exactly,"
You may have seen on my profile my recent dilemma of losing a lot of my non-backed up work on my laptop. But I'm working on re-writing the things I've lost. Which is fun, fun, fun I assure you. Hope you enjoyed this in the meanwhile. Thank you for any patience you have left. Please review! Love you all! –Ami x