Disclaimer: The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this
fic are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time
Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is
intended.
Harry quietly dug through his jumbled possessions and finally came across what he was looking for. With a small sigh of relief, he slid his cloak over his head. The purpose of the invisibility cloak wasn't because he was afraid of being caught by Mrs. Norris, or because he didn't want to be seen sneaking out of the castle on some thrilling adventure. In fact, tonight he wasn't even planning on going farther than the Fat Lady's painting.
Grabbing a roll of parchment and a quill he had placed a muting charm on earlier, he padded down to the common room. Soon after he had come back to the Dursley's house for the summer, he had taken up drawing. It hadn't been planned out or anything; one sweltering day when he was sitting dejectedly in his room, staring at the white wall, he had felt the compulsive urge to fill up the blank space.
And so he did.
By the time he was able to leave Privet Drive, his entire bedroom was covered in sketches. He sketched Hedwig, he sketched Dudley, and sometimes when he couldn't stop thinking of his godfather he drew Sirius. He wasn't an amazingly talented artist like Dean, but he wasn't bad. It probably wouldn't have changed anything even if he were rubbish at art; he wasn't about to throw out one of the few things that made him feel better.
After school had begun, he had started drawing even more. There was almost always somebody down in the common room after hours, and he would sneak down, invisible, to draw them when they thought no one was there. Besides the fact that his sketches always came out natural when they didn't know he was watching them, he didn't really want anybody to know about his pictures; he felt strangely protective of them, as though their magic would be lost if anyone saw but him.
The common room was almost empty tonight. Yesterday Neville had been there, and Harry had caught the look of furtive concentration etched in his features almost perfectly as he pored through pages of his Herbology as though his life depended on it. The night before he had drawn two fourth- years he didn't know on the couch. The girl had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he kept awkwardly trying to sneak out without waking her. He had finally sighed and given up as his eyes closed and he fell asleep next to her. That was how Harry drew them.
Ginny Weasley was the single occupant now. She was sitting on a chair close to the fire, and she was gazing at it in a way that he couldn't quite place. She looked relaxed, but at the same time she looked almost wistful about something, as through there was some mystery hidden in the flame's depths that she couldn't understand. Harry slowly dipped his quill in the ink.
She was hard to draw. Harry felt the need to make everything perfect, though he didn't know why. Her delicate nose had to have the exact amount of freckles, her lips had to appear that full and soft, and her hair had to look as silky as it did in real life. The eyes were the most challenging though, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't quite capture the expression in them. It was his best yet, no doubt, but there was still something missing. He never would know what it was.
Standing up, he looked closely into the real Ginny's eyes for a moment. They were amazing, like pools of honey swirled with liquid chocolate. There was something mesmerizing about her gaze, and he had to remind himself that he was invisible as she looked directly at him. Tearing himself away from it, he turned the other direction and stepped as lightly as he could up to the boy's dormitory. He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but he had to make it stop before it went any further.
"Is somebody there?" Ginny whispered. For a while it had felt like someone had been looking at her, but she must have been wrong. All she heard now was the slight swoosh of a cloak in the boy's dormitory as somebody slipped into bed. Ginny finally gave up and nodded off to sleep and a strange dream of whispered words and emerald eyes.
A/N: I don't know where these plot bunnies come from, but here's another somewhat strange one-shot for you. For anyone who was waiting for "The Pains of Having a Conscience," (Hehe, at least I like to pretend there's someone out there waiting for it. () The next chapter will be up soon. Well, I know this isn't the type of story that usually garners a heck of a lot of reviews, but if you are reading this I'd love it if you'd tell me whatcha think... your comments don't do me any good sitting in your head collecting dust. Thank you. (o:
Harry quietly dug through his jumbled possessions and finally came across what he was looking for. With a small sigh of relief, he slid his cloak over his head. The purpose of the invisibility cloak wasn't because he was afraid of being caught by Mrs. Norris, or because he didn't want to be seen sneaking out of the castle on some thrilling adventure. In fact, tonight he wasn't even planning on going farther than the Fat Lady's painting.
Grabbing a roll of parchment and a quill he had placed a muting charm on earlier, he padded down to the common room. Soon after he had come back to the Dursley's house for the summer, he had taken up drawing. It hadn't been planned out or anything; one sweltering day when he was sitting dejectedly in his room, staring at the white wall, he had felt the compulsive urge to fill up the blank space.
And so he did.
By the time he was able to leave Privet Drive, his entire bedroom was covered in sketches. He sketched Hedwig, he sketched Dudley, and sometimes when he couldn't stop thinking of his godfather he drew Sirius. He wasn't an amazingly talented artist like Dean, but he wasn't bad. It probably wouldn't have changed anything even if he were rubbish at art; he wasn't about to throw out one of the few things that made him feel better.
After school had begun, he had started drawing even more. There was almost always somebody down in the common room after hours, and he would sneak down, invisible, to draw them when they thought no one was there. Besides the fact that his sketches always came out natural when they didn't know he was watching them, he didn't really want anybody to know about his pictures; he felt strangely protective of them, as though their magic would be lost if anyone saw but him.
The common room was almost empty tonight. Yesterday Neville had been there, and Harry had caught the look of furtive concentration etched in his features almost perfectly as he pored through pages of his Herbology as though his life depended on it. The night before he had drawn two fourth- years he didn't know on the couch. The girl had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he kept awkwardly trying to sneak out without waking her. He had finally sighed and given up as his eyes closed and he fell asleep next to her. That was how Harry drew them.
Ginny Weasley was the single occupant now. She was sitting on a chair close to the fire, and she was gazing at it in a way that he couldn't quite place. She looked relaxed, but at the same time she looked almost wistful about something, as through there was some mystery hidden in the flame's depths that she couldn't understand. Harry slowly dipped his quill in the ink.
She was hard to draw. Harry felt the need to make everything perfect, though he didn't know why. Her delicate nose had to have the exact amount of freckles, her lips had to appear that full and soft, and her hair had to look as silky as it did in real life. The eyes were the most challenging though, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't quite capture the expression in them. It was his best yet, no doubt, but there was still something missing. He never would know what it was.
Standing up, he looked closely into the real Ginny's eyes for a moment. They were amazing, like pools of honey swirled with liquid chocolate. There was something mesmerizing about her gaze, and he had to remind himself that he was invisible as she looked directly at him. Tearing himself away from it, he turned the other direction and stepped as lightly as he could up to the boy's dormitory. He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but he had to make it stop before it went any further.
"Is somebody there?" Ginny whispered. For a while it had felt like someone had been looking at her, but she must have been wrong. All she heard now was the slight swoosh of a cloak in the boy's dormitory as somebody slipped into bed. Ginny finally gave up and nodded off to sleep and a strange dream of whispered words and emerald eyes.
A/N: I don't know where these plot bunnies come from, but here's another somewhat strange one-shot for you. For anyone who was waiting for "The Pains of Having a Conscience," (Hehe, at least I like to pretend there's someone out there waiting for it. () The next chapter will be up soon. Well, I know this isn't the type of story that usually garners a heck of a lot of reviews, but if you are reading this I'd love it if you'd tell me whatcha think... your comments don't do me any good sitting in your head collecting dust. Thank you. (o: