A/N: Oh gosh, I haven't written anything in ages. Just threw this together after a trip to DC. This really should just be a one-shot but I should get going to bed so I'll be uploading this as two installments.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc etc...
Obsession
The lake near Hogwarts always soothed her. Whenever a particular problem stumped her, she'd escape it all near the lake. It was her own safe haven; a place where she could be utterly alone and immerse herself in sweet nothingness. Or so she thought.
Despite knowing practically everything in her year's curriculum as well as the next year's one, despite reading every book on the library's shelves; she was completely oblivious to the boy watching her. She knew nothing of her Slytherin stalker, to put it bluntly. For he was exactly just that: a stalker.
He knew it wasn't natural to follow a girl obsessively. He knew it wasn't normal to memorize her timetable so he could intercept her path and taunt her. He knew it was down right awkward to stare at her for hours in the school's library.
He shouldn't be drawing up detailed maps dedicated to her whereabouts; but he did. He shouldn't be doodling her face during all his classes, shouldn't be studying her every move and habit; but he did. He certainly shouldn't be blackmailing that Creevey first year to take pictures of her in the Gryffindor common rooms for him; but he did.
Clearly, he doesn't have the excuse of not knowing his actions are wrong.
He was hiding behind a cloaking spell that concealed him perfectly. The spell was his own personal invention. It concealed him and whatever he wished for it to conceal: like his sketchbook and pens. The spell took quite a bit of research and sleepless nights to create but in his mind, it was all worth it. It allowed him to continue his favorite illicit hobby: drawing the object of his obsession.
His drawings were true works of art. No artist's work could compare to the level of detail he put into his drawings of her. Every stray hair, freckle, and imperfection was (ironically) perfectly recording in his sketchbooks. He adored those imperfections: the pimples, the acne, the bushy hair, and the ugly consequences of her nail biting habit. In his mind, that is what made her so perfect. That is how he justified his obsessive drawings. Surely, something so unique must be recorded?
Yet, he never ached to talk to her. Of course, he taunted her regularly to keep up his ever so important reputation. But beyond that, he had no desire to talk to her in private. They had nothing to say to each other, he reasoned. She lived her life and he followed her. What could she possibly say to him about herself that he didn't already know?
And the drawings? He had the perfect hiding place for them. Each night, he'd visit the Room of Requirement to stash his drawings. At first the room was quite small, but now it was the size of a fairly large art gallery. He included every single one of his sketches, drawings, and paintings. No one could possibly find them; except of course for Ron Weasley.
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