What She Was
The morning light played with her long, auburn hair as her fingers moved rapidly across the sketch pad. She was an artist, her personality said so. She was free spirited, easygoing, and extremely sure of herself. But if that didn't give away that she was an artist then this most likely would, she couldn't be found without a sketch pad and drawing pencils.
Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her hair was desperately trying to escape the knot that she had tied it in. She was wearing two different socks and the buttons on her shirt weren't even. When she wasn't drawing she was unconsciously biting her nails which were all painted a different color.
She was in the library sitting at the table nearest the window pretending to be studying while really drawing. That was her spot, the one near the window, and everyone knew it. Her fingers were flying across the paper, her eyes never leaving it as she drew who knew what. Most likely images that kept flashing through her mind as she worked. Suddenly her fingers stopped and she looked up. Chocolate brown eyes met my grey eyes as she held the gaze for one fleeting second before her fingers began to travel over the paper once again and her eyes slipped back to her art.
The light from the window began to fade and her fingers began to slow. She stood quickly and threw her books into her bag. Slinging the bag over her shoulder she gathered up her sketch pad and pencils. Slowly she left the room.
She never packed her art supplies into her bag, at least not that I know of, just in case inspiration hit her while walking down a corridor. This happened often and she would just stop what she was doing and begin to sketch. The students and professors have grown so used to this that they no longer stop to question her.
She walked slowly and confidently. She wasn't afraid to be herself or to speak her mind. She had the type of personality that you either loved or hated. Most seemed to love her personality and those who didn't just accepted her and ignored her, but she didn't let this bother her.
She knew I was following her from the library as I always did and she didn't mind, she never did. Some days we would walk in silence, other days she would converse with me and ask questions like we were old friends. But this didn't bother me; it was just how she was.
She was a mystery, but one thing was sure. She never showed anyone her work, no one. It stayed private, and while many people had tried to catch a glimpse she would just turn the sketch pad away from them and continue on with whatever she was doing.
She made a sharp turn on the fourth floor into an empty classroom. Hesitating only a moment I followed and found her sitting at a desk with her sketchpad open to a blank page. I sat in the seat across from her and silently she began to draw me. I sat motionless and soundless. She had never sketched me before, at least not that I knew of.
Sometime later I heard paper tearing and I looked up to find myself face to face with her. She leaned towards me and smiled her beautiful smile before lightly running her finger along my cheek. She kissed me sweepingly.
It ended hardly before I noticed it had started. Pulling away she smiled that smile and whispered, "Tomorrow is a mystery, Draco," and as she said this she slipped the drawing into my hand and gracefully left the room.