Inside no. 4 Privet Drives lies a tiny cupboard wherein lives an equally tiny boy. This boy is called by many names; the most frequent are boy, freak, delinquent and worthless. But his favourite would have to be Hadrian; it was always said with a soft kind smile and a gentle voice. Hadrian loves his art teacher dearly, giving him snacks and drinks whenever he has none. She would play with him unlike the other kids in class. She would give him crayons, pencils, paint and paper, teaching him how to draw and express himself through paper.
Currently that little boy is holding small pieces of crayons with his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to capture the beauty of a butterfly. He tries to ignore the gnawing hunger in his belly while doing the finishing touches.
With one last line of yellow he sat back on his hunches, making sure not to disturb the tiny spider neighbours cohabiting with him in his cupboard. He carefully set aside his crayons in a small rusted tin, making sure to hide it under his bed.
A smile on his lips he traced the butterfly with his fingertips, he took a deep breathe, closing his eyes in concentration, feeling the power accumulate in his core and with a small pause he leaned forward. Breath of life, he called it as he blew on the butterfly. Slowly the butterfly twitched and moved, he giggled as the butterfly looked around the paper. Flying and fluttering about the page, Harry didn't know it but he had discovered Art Magic.
Art Magic, not many wizards or witches practice it; most only ever know the basics, making a photo move in repeat. Giving life and personality to a portrait however is complex, as more and more wizards lose interest in Art Magic; only a handful knows how to reanimate a portrait.
As it is expensive, most only get their portraits on their deaths, for their family members to converse and remember them. It is traditional for most noble families to have the portrait of dead family members in their house, a hall is usually used to hold the portraits – as they can get noisy sometimes – never in their own private rooms however, as portraits are horrible gossips.
Harry was nine when he discovered graffiti, he was ordered by his aunt to go buy groceries, thrusting the money in his hands along with a list. After he was threatened a beating if the money came back short of what it should be, he set off. The grocery store was only a ten minute walk when halfway there he saw something that wasn't there before. There was a painting on the wall, a painting of a boy cowering under the raised hand of a man. Curious, he approached it, and then saw another painting. This time it was a bright and colourful painting of a woman's pretty face framed by large flowers. In awe he stood there for awhile before he realized that he should hurry or else his aunt will get angry.
Walking away he can't help but look back at the paintings, he still had a lot of questions about it, maybe he should ask his art teacher Ms. Aleyna.
A couple of days later the paintings were gone and in its place was a fresh coat of paint, apparently, the neighbourhood filed a complaint of delinquents defacing public property. They hoped that this would show the delinquents not to deface their wall again! Of course, a few days later a new graffiti graced the walls.
"Ms. Aleyna." Harry called out as the other kids filed out of the classroom.
"Yes Hadrian?" Aleyna Johnson replied while carefully putting the art supplies away.
"I saw these paintings on the walls a couple of days ago. I was wondering, do you know what it's called?" He asked softly.
Harry saw Ms. Aleyna hesitate for a moment, putting down the art supplies she replied. "Well, it's called graffiti."
"What's that?"
"It's writing or drawings scribbled, scratched, or sprayed illicitly on a wall or other surface in a public place." She said it with a finger in the air as if she was reciting.
"So graffiti is this?" Harry pointed to a couple of words carved into a plastic classroom chair. The art teacher laughed before messing up Harry's already messy hair.
"Yes, because it's illicitly placed on a public surface, meaning it is against the rules."
"Then why do people still do it?" Harry asked with his faced scrunched up in confusion.
"…Because it's art." She replied with a fond smile.
"Art." Harry murmured while looking at a phallic drawing on a chair.