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Emphasis/thoughts/spells
Letter/Emphasis in thoughts
Emphasis
(Author's notes)
Chapter 4: Paint me a Picture
A picture is worth a thousand words –Napoleon Bonaparte
Two weeks.
Two weeks since the first present.
He looked around the Great Hall, a somewhat inquisitive look on his face. I wonder which one Is my…
He blushed.
Suddenly, a snow-white owl landed on his shoulder, nipping at his ear affectionately.
"H-Hedwig?" he said in slight amazement. "What are you doing here?"
He stroked her feathers tenderly.
"I thought you were looking after your eggs…unless…" Something dawned on him. "Of course! The father…"
He looked at her slyly. "Someone's having a love affair, hmm?"
She squawked in protest. Harry chuckled, grinning. "So, what's the occasion?
A slightly innocent look crossed into her golden eyes. Harry looked at her suspiciously –he'd learned never to take that look at it's value; instead suspecting the opposite. He raised an eyebrow.
She pulled out a white scroll, a black ribbon surrounding the surface.
Immediately, a reddish tint crossed his face. Hedwig's eyes glinted.
"Hey, Harry! Why are you looking so flushed?" Seamus called, halfway across the table.
Harry flushed deeper.
Seamus looked at him, mouth gaping open. "Oh, my gosh…Dean! Harry's blushing!"
The table stopped eating.
"Harry?" Ron whispered in slight disbelief.
"Oh my goodness…" Hermione said, a smile growing on her face.
Dean grinned. "What'd you get, a love letter?"
Harry looked away, unsuccessfully trying to hide his rather intense flush.
The tables gaped. A sudden hush descended over the Gryffindor table. The other tables looked up for the lack of noise.
"Harry…" Dean grinned suddenly. "You've got a love letter!" The other tables went silent. His voice quieted. "Who's it from?"
The entire table leaned forward, as Harry's face started to glow a deep, dark, red. Other tables strained their ears to hear the conversation.
"Come on, Harry, tell us who's it from?'
Light eyes looked, under their lashes as the owner looked towards the Gryffindor table. Unlike his schoolmates, he knew very well why Harry Potter was blushing. He smirked, turning back to his breakfast, eavesdropping into their conversation.
"I…"
"Please, Harry?" Lavender Brown smiled, in what she hoped was a lovely, soft, gentle beckoning smile.
Harry stuttered. In his eyes, Lavender looked quite…threatening, he thought. Yes, threatening, that's it…
He looked around the table, at the expectant faces. "I…don't know," he admitted, letting his dark hair fall slightly into his face, shading his eyes.
"You don't know?" Lavender said, disappointed. The table radiated with moans.
"Wait, that means…" Seamus nudged Ron and Dean. "Harry has a secret admirer!"
The girls squealed.
"Ooh, that's so romantic!" By now, Harry was certain he resembled a rather delicious vegetable he loved…in fact, both delicious vegetables he loved.
Carrots and tomatoes, he thought crossly, trying to hide his face. Why can't they just not say anything?
"Harry?" The table looked at him eagerly. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, it's a secret admirer."
"Well, open the scroll, then!"
Pouting, he opened it, disregarding the whispers circulating around him.
Dear Harry,
Hi. I'm guessing that some of your housemates are starting to realize about these letters of yours.
Harry snorted. Now, that was an understatement. He tilted his head to the side. I wonder if he's a Gryffindor…
Took them a long time…I do believe I gave you four already.
He covered his mouth to hide his laugh. Now, he knew his admirer wasn't a Gryffindor. The house was very proud of it s members, and never usually condemned the people in it –unless for specific reasons, Harry thought darkly, remembering Peter.
He continued reading.
I realize that this may not be the best time to tell you something –breakfast is hardly a private time to spill my heart to you.
However, I'd like to confirm something of rather great importance to me…
I'm a guy.
Harry looked at the letter in shock.
Now I know that this is kind of…sudden, but if you do not…cannot have the same affections…then it would be best for us not to continue…
This is your next riddle.
Love will paint a picture
And speak a thousand words…
Levitating softly…safeguarding treasures
Of a lifetime…
If you cannot return my affections –then please do not try and find your gift. I know you will respect my wishes. I will...try not to grieve…
Love…your admirer…
Harry looked at the letter, his eyes filling with tears. He'd suspected that the letter had not come from a girl –the letter was filled with honour, and not the usual simpering, sickening love notes he received everyday by the mail.
He did not mind. After all, he was bisexual –in fact, in recent months, he'd even considered that maybe he was completely gay. He hadn't really hit it with Cho. It was like his hormones had been going wild, and had temporarily lost control –but he'd never felt more than a shy, twelve-year old boy would have –it was just attraction, and there was no spark.
He was glad his admirer wasn't a girl.
Standing up quite suddenly, he walked briskly through the door, trying to ignore some of the murmurs around him.
"I figured…you know…he's been kinda shy lately…" Harry snorted.
"Yeah, and did you see? He received one last week too…the girl must be pretty persistent…" Harry smirked. If only they knew.
He headed towards the stairs…
If only they knew…
Harry entered the charms
classroom. "Aperesis!" A cloth-covered frame appeared beside his desk, the now-familiar scroll lying on top of the adjacent table.
He'd guessed right.
Retrieving the scroll, he took a look at the veil-covered frame. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the cloth off of the frame.
Harry looked at the painting in awe. He was sitting by the lake, on a rather grassy piece of land. By his side, a box sat, and a necklace hung on his neck. Looking closer, he gasped, seeing that they were the gifts that his admirer had given him in the past weeks.
But what caught him most was the expression on his face. In it, was such a look of peace, and love, that he felt like crying.
I want to feel like that, he thought wistfully.
He looked closer yet again. Arms wound across his picture self, and he could tell that his head was resting against someone's shoulder.
He wasn't sure, but from what he could tell from the arms that were holding him so tenderly, lovingly…he knew it was his admirer.
He looked at the painting –perhaps it would give him a clue about who his admirer was. He tried; but the painting was too shadowed. He sighed, then started reading the letter.
Dear Harry (for you are dear to me),
I see that you have found the painting. If so, then I assume that you are not offended that your admirer is a boy.
Harry grinned. Good thing it is a boy, too, he thought. After all, I kind of like my admirer.
He continued reading the letter.
However. I have a confession to make.
This painting that you see before you, is not completed.
Harry stopped reading. Not completed?
He looked at the painting in awe…if this was not completed…
He turned back to the letter.
I have given it to you as my third gift, so you may watch the scenery gradually appear. Every gift that I give you, that you have accepted, will appear in this painting, just as the presents I have already given you have done.
You will also notice, that you are…with someone in the scene.
This is because before I reveal myself, I do not want to give you an idea of who I am.
Harry stared, perplexedly at the letter.
Yes, Harry. The one in the painting…holding you…is me.
Harry's stare grew fiercer, his eyes getting wider.
Once I reveal myself, the shadows that obscure the face in the painting will disappear, revealing my identity.
Harry read on, fascinated.
The painting will immediately become alive –both the 'you' and 'me' in the painting will be able to move freely.
However, this is only if you accept…what I am going to ask of you…
Should you refuse…the painting shall disappear forever…
Harry gasped. He looked at the painting –it was so beautiful, surely his admirer would not want to destroy such a beautiful painting…
He read on.
You see, the painting shows us…in such a loved position. Should you reuse me, Harry…I do not think I could, or would, bear the thought of that painting and what we could have been.
The painting shall not be revived –it will be as if it was never painted, and the figures would never have come alive.
This is for the best.
I…
Harry noted that there was an inkblot at this point, almost as if his admirer had wanted to put something, but had refrained from his instincts…
Your secret admirer.
…And had signed hastily off.
He frowned slightly. Then he smiled.
He was pretty sure the painting wouldn't be disappearing anywhere. He was getting quite attached to his admirer. He smiled a secret smile.
Grabbing the painting, and handling it gently, he walked towards the dorms.
Night would see him place it gently behind his trunk, and tenderly brush his fingers over the frame. It stood a couple of inches away from the wall, to prevent damage…
Night smiled, and saw that the sky dimmed just a little, for the tousled haired boy.
There would be three more weeks…
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