The Silver Kiss
Chapter Seven - Colours
Author's Note: Well, here we go, I enjoyed writing this chapter. I've had it pictured in my mind a long time, it's a different mood, but I think it fits nicely.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
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He watched as the colours drained off his hands, swirling down the drain. He looked at himself in the mirror, and scrubbed off a speck of paint from his brow.
He sighed, he was sleeping in his studio again, third time this week. This time their row had awoken their daughter. He didn't understand why they kept fighting, maybe that was why. It's not like he knew Legilimency. He began to clean up the, 'main room,' as he called it. He looked at the scattered sketches, mostly of dragons and merpeople. He grabbed his cloak and apparated.
"St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries welcomes you, have a pleasant day," a cheerful voice rang out. He walked up to desk of enquires.
"Excuse me miss," a young brunette witch glanced up from her magazine.
"Yes?"
"I'm here to see Lockhart, Gilderoy Lockhart."
"Ah yes, Spell Damage, Fourth Floor, Janus Thickey Ward," she said pointing to the sign. He looked and began to head towards the correct ward. When he arrived a plump auburn witch ushered him into the ward. She turned to him.
"He's one of the more remarkable patients. He's steadily improved over the last few years. As you know he woke up last week wanting a portrait. We consider this a good sign," she said pleasantly. He nodded as he led to a bed.
"Hullo! Want an autograph I 'spose," he began shaking his head, but Lockhart had already whipped out some photos.
"Gilderoy dear, he's here to paint you, like you requested." He stopped and looked up smiling toothily.
"Ah, we'll have to make sure you capture my good side, not like I have a bad side," he chuckled, the young healer smiled.
He began setting up his easel and tuned out Lockhart's suggestions.
Lockhart's once golden hair had turned silver, but his teeth glistened fiercely.
He looked up, "You'll have to stay still, until I'm done."
"Yes of course," he nodded.
The healer watched intently, as she checked with the other patients. Some watched almost wistfully, while others rolled their eyes.
It bothered him, the one's who didn't watch. He wondered where they were. His brush glided over the easel as he captured Lockhart on paper.
At last he was finished and Lockhart clapped his hands gleefully.
"You'll start moving once you're dry."
"Right you are, Violet will pay you." The healer bustled over, and smiled as she saw the portrait.
"Come along, I'll get you your money," she said as she began leading him out the ward. "Families send weekly allowances, he's had some money saved up. The only thing he spends money on is more photos," she explained, "Right, now how much is it?"
"Oh right, I usually charge twenty galleons, but fifteen will do just fine." She nodded and led him into an office, she opened a safe and put fifteen galleons in his palm. He nodded.
"Well, I best be off." She waved, as he made his way down the corridor.
He apparated back to his studio and sighed. He best let her cool off, before he went home, another night on his office sofa. He smiled as he saw a portrait he had done of her, right before he asked her to marry him. She was smiling and blowing kisses.
He began putting away supplies and stacking magazines neatly in the waiting room. He placed the galleons in a safe in his office.
At long last he decided it was time to rest. He removed his cloak and settled on the sofa. He closed his eyes, picturing his little daughter before he fell asleep.
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He woke with a start. He looked and saw it was still night. It was odd, he had never had this type of vision. Come to think about it, he had never had a vision, not even sugar plum fairies, he smiled. His inspirations came from memories and what other people wanted. He began to picture it in his mind. It burned brightly. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. He stood up and strode over to his easel and began to paint.
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The sun's rays had entered the room by the time he was finished. He stood back and admired it. It was unlike anything he'd ever painted before. When the sun's rays hit it, he saw the figures begin to move slightly.
It was of a boy riding a large phoenix. The fire of the bird burned bright. The boy's jet black hair and emerald green eyes sparkled. A lightning bolt scar could be seen, but it was the smile on the boy's face that he liked the most.
Dean Thomas grabbed his cloak and decided to tell his little girl about his friend Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived,' and always stood up for what he believed in.
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A/N: Corny, but I needed a change of pace and it made me happy! So I hope you like it even though it's not angsty!