Disclaimer: I own nothing regarding the HP universe other than my copies of the books and movies.
Chapter 1: Sunsets and Shapeshifters
Harry had no idea what it was that drew him to the roof. All he knew was that, when he was up here, alone with nothing but the sky and his sketch pad, it became infinitely easier to concentrate; to clear his mind; to create.
Up here, he could forget about his problems. Forget about his recently-deceased godfather. Forget about the people who would like nothing more than to see him dead. It was an escape from his issues, a place he could truly relax in.
He wasn't sure what exactly it was about the roof, which gave it an almost magnetic pull that called to him relentlessly. It could have been the way the wind gently ruffled his already messy black hair, or perhaps the way the setting sun cast its glow upon him. It didn't matter. Not when he was up here. Nothing mattered but what creations he could make from his imagination, or what he could add to the world around him.
His hand moved rapidly over the sketch pad, the scratch of the pencil occasionally muffled by the rustling of leaves as a gust of wind blew through. He paused briefly to protectively clutch the notepad, panicked thoughts of it blowing away flitting through his mind. He dismissed them as quickly as they had come as nothing more than idle paranoia, as terrifying a thought as losing his precious sketch pad was.
He gazed out once more at the setting sun, sighing deeply and kicking out one sock-covered foot off the edge of the roof. He could already hear the crickets begin to chirp into the quiet evening, as the earth hungrily absorbed the last of the sun's rays.
Glancing down at his sketch pad, he grimaced at his failed attempt to do justice to the beauty that was before him. It seemed nigh impossible for him to represent all that he could see in one sketch.
The sky was simply too vast, the sun too beautiful, the horizon too expansive. How can one capture the true beauty of nature, when it's nigh on impossible to even describe it with words alone? As he stretched and stood, joints creaking in protest from the prolonged stillness he had imposed upon them, he reached down and grabbed his sketch pad. He paused for a moment, his hands gently flipping through the pad.
Looking at all of his failed efforts, Harry felt a sudden anger sweep over him, aimed at both himself and the world, at Umbridge, at Voldemort, at Dumbledore, at everyone. He ripped his latest page out of the book, balling it up and throwing it off the woods towards the street.
As he watched it fall out of his view, he felt the anger leave him as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling empty and drained. The last of the Potter's took one last look at the sunset before sighing and heading inside, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Down below, Nymphadora Tonks was leaning against a tree. She'd been on watch under an invisibility cloak for three hours already, after an eight hour day patrolling Diagon Alley with Shacklebolt, and was coming closer and closer with each passing hour to telling Dumbledore exactly where he could stick his guard duty next time he asked her.
Very little actually happened on these guard shifts, which made her far more excited than she realistically should have been when she saw a ball of crumpled paper flit past her and fall a few feet away. Looking up towards the roof, she caught a glimpse at the back of Harry's head as he went back inside.
Once she was sure he was in, she headed over to the paper, curious about what he'd spent so long working on up there. He'd been there since the beginning of her shift, and she'd seen him up there for at least an hour every time she'd been forced on guard duty, it was only natural to wonder just what he was scribbling away on that pad of his.
As she reached the paper and unraveled it, she gasped. The paper was filled with an incredibly detailed sketch of the skyline, shaded perfectly to represent the rapidly setting sun. Even marred as it was by having been balled up and thrown, it was absolutely amazing, and it was easy to see what had taken him so long. She wouldn't even know where to begin if she was attempting a similar sketch, and yet his had turned out so well that she was tempted to frame it, wrinkles and all.
She glanced up once more, the sketch still clutched in her hands. There was definitely more to the Boy-Who-Lived than could be seen at first glance, and she decided then and there to figure out the enigma that was Harry Potter.
Maybe her future shifts watching over 4 Privet Drive wouldn't be so boring after all.
A/N: Thanks for reading if you made it through. Felt like putting out a short little one-shot I've written over the course of a couple of train rides to school - Please review if you liked it and tell me what you enjoyed, if you disliked it feel free to review as well and let me know what you disliked. Thanks again for reading guys n gals.
