Third Life

The Tears

I was thankful that I no longer possessed the ability to cry. Had I still retained that ability, my drawing would have been ruined.

I hadn't set out to create a particular person. I was still in the basic stages of learning and I felt like I would offend fewer people and memories if I were drawing and creating people I had never seen before. My mind had wandered, and by the time I realized whose image I was sketching, it was too late to change. Distinctive features were present on the paper, and not many people had lightning bolts on their forehead hidden by a messy mop of hair.

My pencil was on the floor. I had dropped it with my realization, and I had left it there as I stared at the partially completed sketch.

I couldn't just abandon the depiction of my Harry. However, I wasn't positive that I wanted to continue drawing it, either. This could make it so easy to sink back into depression. Edward was the resident depressed vampire, and I wouldn't want to take that away from him.

I debated with myself for over a hour. The task could be a good one for me; a positive and constructive way to remember. I would remember, I decided. I would continue the picture. I just needed a small break, is all.

I left my room in a rush, just wandering aimlessly. Somehow, I ended up passing Alice's studio, and she called me in.

The studio was Alice in the form of a room. The colors were bold, nearly random, and worked absolutely perfectly together. She had several tables each covered with magnitudes of fabrics. The walls were lined in colored cork boards, which were filled with pallets of color swatches and designs. I counted twelve manikins each wearing Alice's current work in progresses. Once, during the initial tour, I had been shown the closet, which is filled with various finished projects of hers. I think just about every closet in the house is filled with her designs.

Alice smiled widely, because like always she knew what was going on, but this time she pretended she didn't know. "Want me to teach you how to make clothes?"

"Maybe later." I really didn't care to learn, but I would let her teach me later. She would know this too, since I had already decided. The only reason I would let her is because I think she is a bit jealous that Emmett has gotten to teach me to hunt, and Rosalie has taught me about cars, and Jasper has been teaching me how to draw. I would let her mold me as well. That is what siblings are meant to do. A pang, sharp and powerfully grief laced filled my body. Another memory. This time, it was of Mary.

She smiled, and continued working on her current project. The dress on the manikin in front of her was a simple, but beautiful cream colored, silk dress. Alice made her work look effortless. To her, it just might be.

Alice let me sit on a spare stool, and just watch her as she worked. The silent company was welcome. I sat that way for a while before she suggested I do some reading. Her idea had merit, and I was about to go looking in the library when she offered me a book. Her abilities really allowed her to look out and provide for people, and she enjoyed doing it so that I didn't feel bad. The book she had handed me was an early copy of Hemmingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls.

I lost myself in the book. The perfect distraction for me has always been and will always be reading. More importantly, Alice was as happy with the arrangement as I. As a people person, Alice hates to be alone. She enjoys talking, and loves taking part in group activities, but if she gets to be in the presence of someone else as she works, even in silence, it is a welcome improvement to her day.

I was done with the book before we said anything, and the position of the sun out of the window told me that a good amount of time had passed. Alice had moved on to a new dress. Her other one, now finished, had been moved to the side of the room.

She looked at me and grinned. "Did you like your book?" She was buttering me up, and I did not like where this was going.

"Yes." I answered slowly. Not all of us see into the future, nor do we want to.

My sister didn't ask for an elaboration, because that was not what she was interested in, "Good, now try on the dress."

I did like the dress. Alice has a skill with fabric that I never fail to appreciate. However, that did not change the fact that I am not a huge fan of clothes. I'm happy in jeans and a jumper. As much as I would prefer that she not make clothes for me, it makes her happy and I wasn't about to make someone unhappy over such a little matter.

Three, two, one, and Rosalie arrived at the door. Like Alice dressing me up was a favored past time of hers as well.

I rolled my eyes - a bad habit that I had picked up from Ginny. A bad habit which I now fight to restrain, and use in a manner of a normal teenager. Turning away from the pair of them was the only amount of modesty that I needed. I had changed in front of roommates plenty of times. Also, backpacking with the boys when splitting up would be dangerous had rid me off all traces of modesty that had remained at the time.

The dress slid over my head easily, and fit me like a glove, as we all knew it would. Regardless, I was twirled, examined, cooed at and poked by my dear, loving, manipulative, girly sisters.

These acts confirmed what I had already known, but had needed reminding of. I have a home, and a family here, and I was creating a life for myself with the help of those who love me. This security made me want to remember what I had. Not in a negative way, but in a positive way, which was what my drawing could do for me.

Still in the dress Alice had made for me, I left my sisters in Alice's studio without saying a word. This didn't seem to bother either of them even the slightest. Nor did it seem to surprise Alice. Her grand plan had played out before her as she had known it would.

My sketch pad was exactly where I had left it, and I breathed deep, unneeded breaths of relief. I was ready to go back to my drawing now. The picture of Harry staring back at me didn't sting as much as it had. The vision of my lost best friend almost made me happy, and I let the corners of my mouth rise. I was more careful now, as I made new marks on the page. I erased errors more carefully, and I tried my hardest to perfect each detail.

The feature I focused the least on was the scar. While that part of his appearance was the most important and defining in the opinion of many in the Wizarding world, it meant little to me. More accurately, it meant nothing to me. I focused the most on his eyes. They were the only part of the page that I added color to. I spent two hours on his eyes. Infusing all of the emotions that I could into those green orbs; the green orbs that I had stared into so many dear, cherished times.