Most people would say I was mad, painting my bedroom the way I did. There again, most people would say I was mad anyway, no matter what I did. But to paint my bedroom with the faces of my friends…I don't think anybody would understand, not really.

I did it in the summer after my fourth year. I was lonely, and they made me feel as though I was not alone. They were my only real friends, and to me, it didn't matter whether they were Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or any other house. They were good friends, and they made me feel happy.

Ginny was the person that introduced me to them. She was always kind to me, even when everyone else laughed at me. It didn't bother me so much, their lack of belief in Nargles and the like. I knew it was true, and it didn't matter if they didn't. But Ginny was kind to me; she helped me to find my things when people hid them, she told me that the other people were stupid for not looking past some of the things I believed in…she was lovely. So that was how I painted her. Smiling, looking kind.

Hermione was the second person I knew. She took more or less everything a said with huge handfuls of salt (good for warding off Nargles) and seemed to be laughing at me. But eventually, she warmed up to me, and she became somebody who I could talk to. When I could prise her away from the textbooks, that was. Few people ever saw Hermione without a book, so I painted her like that.

Ron was funny. He just took me as eccentric and put up with it, never once complaining. He was always nice, if sometimes a little hapless, but he was very much the same as his sister. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and there was something very endearing about that. Ron was easy to paint - his face, with an easy smile that was there more often than other people noticed.

Neville was fantastic. He was so sweet and lovely, he really should have been a Hufflepuff. He was unwaveringly loyal to his friends. There was no other way to describe him other than a sweetheart. He could be a little slow at times, and his spells were not brilliant, but he was a genuine person. He wasn't a giggler, a gossiper or a sporty boy. He was just…Neville. I painted Neville as I saw him, captured in the middle of a conversation.

And then there was Harry. I didn't know how he could stand it, having lost both his parents so young. True, I had lost my own mother, and it was sad, but at least I knew her, had memories with her. I kept the photograph of us together by my bed, so I would never forget. Then all the things he had coped with while he was not much older than me. In school, and particularly that year, he never seemed to have time to be cheerful. But the DA changed all that. It seemed to be a release, something he was happy doing. I painted Harry as I remembered him teaching, his face content.

But all these portraits looked bare on their own. It took a week for the Wrackspurts to move on and allow me to think clearly. And then the perfect solution - friends. That was what they were, to each other and to me, and that was what linked them together.

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A.N. I don't actually know what inspired me to write this. Sorry if most of them are OOC.

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