Chapter Twenty

As nervous as Ginny was about telling Hermione, it turned out she had a temporary reprieve. When Ginny owled her friend in the early afternoon to ask if she wanted to get dinner before painting class, the response was somewhat surprising.

Ginny,

I'm sorry, I can't make it out tonight. I'm sure you know that Ron and I haven't been having the best of times lately, so I'm spending the evening with him, dinner and all that. Unfortunately, this means I won't be able to get to class tonight either. Tell Oliver I'm sorry, and we'll catch up tomorrow, maybe.

Hermione

Ginny frowned at the missive. Of course when she really wanted to tell Hermione something her brother would be in the way. Sometimes it really felt like he was out to get her. And she was going to have to attend painting class unsupervised. Perfect.

She decided to heat up leftovers from Harry's cooking experience the previous Friday for dinner and left her boyfriend a note about it, just in case he came home hungry.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, and before she knew it, Ginny was Apparating to painting class. She was a minute or so late, so she tried to rush without getting flustered as she ran up the stairs. As she came to the door of the classroom, Ginny paused to calm herself and opened the door quietly.

"Sorry I'm-" she began, but she stopped when she saw the almost totally empty classroom. Only Oliver sat in the center, a paintbrush in his hand, which was rather surprising to Ginny. He looked up as she spoke.

"Hey, Ginny," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you could make it; I had a good lesson planned and I didn't want to waste it if no one came to class."

"Well…" Ginny said, "where's Roger? Hermione told me she couldn't make it but I didn't think I'd be the only one here."

"I'm not really sure, to be honest," Oliver said. "I mean, if you don't mind, I can just act like this is a tutoring session or something. It doesn't have to be formal or anything; I was going to give you guys some experience with manual painting this week."

"I thought you said you preferred to use magic," Ginny said as she unbuttoned her jacket.

"Well, yeah," Oliver said, "but I think it was the Stones that told me I couldn't always get what I wanted."

Ginny smiled uncertainly. She didn't know what stones Oliver was talking about, but he didn't seem crazy enough to think real stones could speak. Maybe it was a Muggle thing she didn't understand. "So, should I grab a canvas?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Oliver said. "I'll get you a brush and a palette, and you can share paints with me, if that's all right."

"Yeah, that's fine," Ginny said, pulling a canvas from the corner. She set up an easel next to Oliver's, looking curiously at his painting. The shapes of what looked like a traditional still-life were beginning to appear. "What are you painting?"

Oliver shrugged as he handed Ginny her paintbrush. "I think it's a bowl of fruit, but who knows?"

Ginny laughed, stretching her canvas on her easel. "Don't you plan things before you paint them?"

Oliver shook his head, lifting his palette and streaking the canvas with a dull green. "It never works for me to plan things out," he said. "I like to do things on the very tip of inspiration, if that makes sense. Actually," he added, "I want you to try that. Just try painting whatever comes to your mind. It probably won't turn out very good the first time, but you never know, and practice can help you make really beautiful stuff. So, just grab whatever paints look good and start painting."

Ginny obeyed, choosing colors at random and splashing them onto her palette. She looked around for something to moisten her brush, but she didn't see anything. Glancing at Oliver furtively to make sure his attention wasn't on her, she stuck the bristles in her mouth and sucked them gently before dipping the brush into the paint.

"I saw that," Oliver said, and Ginny splattered a blob of red onto her canvas in surprise. She frowned at her "painting," then at Oliver. "There's nothing wrong with doing that, you know," he added, stifling a smile with some difficulty. "The only funny thing about it was that you seemed so bent on hiding it from me. It's fine to ask me a question if you don't know what you're doing, you know. I am your teacher." Oliver finished this with a wink.

"I can't forget it," Ginny sighed, trying despairingly to fix her painting.

"Don't worry," Oliver said, raising his hand and placing it on Ginny's, stopping her from moving the paintbrush. Ginny felt his hand on hers with more weight than natural; the room grew too hot for her suddenly, and she wanted to loosen her collar. "Just let your painting grow out of the accident."

"Okay," Ginny said, and her voice came out a little higher-pitched than usual. Oliver gave her a strange look, which she met somewhat bravely; or, at least, she did for a moment. Then she went back to her painting.

Ginny wasn't sure how to "fix" what Oliver had done, so she started making rather aimless brushstrokes. She could feel Oliver's eyes on her sometimes, but she did her best to ignore him. At first it was difficult, and she found her painting slow and directionless; however, as she went on and laid more color down on the canvas, Ginny started to feel a sense of purpose. She still didn't know what end she was working towards, but there was something there. She began to paint faster, and Oliver's observation became easier to ignore; in fact, after a while, Ginny lost track of time and place completely. She laid down color after color, reds and greens and whites and yellows and browns.

"Wow, Ginny."

Oliver's voice came from a distance and seemed to go right into Ginny's ear. She jumped, putting another splatter on her painting. Luckily, it was in a corner and didn't seem to obvious, but she still looked up at Oliver, frowning. "You could have done a lot more damage there, you prawn," she said.

Oliver didn't even look up from the canvas. Ginny was puzzled, and she turned to look at her own art, which she'd lost track of in the furor of painting. There, stretched across the taut canvas, was a portrait. Well, sort of. The likeness of a man, blurred and unsteady, sprawled across a chaotic background. The man was posed, one leg stretched out, one bent at the knee, elbow crooked to rest his head on his hand. The colors were wrong; everything was too bright and warm and red for a painting of a person, but that gave it energy. The man's face and body were blurred; the only clear section of the painting was his hands. They were large, strong-looking and painted in a warm tan. Although the identity of the person wasn't clear from the painting, Ginny had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"This is incredible," Oliver said finally. Ginny looked away from the painting, eyes widening for a moment before she controlled herself. "Really, Ginny, I'm so amazed by your talent. You sure you've never painted before?"

Oliver's tone was light, and he smiled as he looked at her. "Yeah, I'm sure," Ginny said, smiling uneasily. She glanced up at the clock, unsure of what to say next. "Oh, Merlin," she said, "why didn't you tell me it was so late? Harry's going to kill me."

"What, is he in charge of you now?" Oliver asked, winking as he took down his unfinished painting and set it up on a shelf. "But seriously, I just didn't want to bother you. You were really into it, and it's only half an hour after class would have ended anyway. I'm not in any rush to leave…" Oliver paused for a moment, and Ginny waited. She had felt more at ease, but now she felt oddly nervous again. She wanted to leave with her painting. "Honestly," Oliver said finally, "I love watching you paint. You're very natural, and you have a great eye. Anyone would love looking at this work. You're going to be better than I am someday. Not that that's saying much," he added, and his tone lightened again. Ginny let out her breath all at once. "Do you want to go grab some dinner? I haven't had anything to eat all night and I'm starving, and since Hermione isn't here, I'm guessing you probably didn't eat before you came."

Ginny grinned, moving her canvas onto another shelf hastily. "You're right," she said. "I guess I'm easier to read than I thought."

Oliver smiled. It was gentle, startlingly so. "I've thought that ever since I met you," he said. "Maybe we're just on the same frequency." Ginny's grin wavered slightly, but she managed to calm her suddenly rapid heartbeat without attracting his attention. "So," he continued, voice back to its normal, booming vibration, "dinner? Or, whatever meal you eat at 9:30 PM?"

Ginny hesitated. Harry's and Hermione's faces whirled through her head, but Harry was probably sleeping, Hermione had ditched her for Ron, and she was pretty hungry. "All right," she said, buttoning her coat. "But I can't be out too late."

"I'll have you home before curfew," Oliver chuckled, winking as he wrapped a scarf around his neck.

Ginny kept a smile on her face while Oliver turned out the lights and locked up after himself as they left the building, but she couldn't help but think about her painting; a painting she knew was of Oliver, whether she had thought about it or not.