Chapter 1 : Sketches
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I draw a few more lines on your robes, catching the way that the wind makes them billow out behind you, making it seem as though you’re flying on the page. Normally I’m not one to boast about my sketching ability, but you’re just an inspiration, Harry. How I wish that I wasn’t a seventh year, and you a fifth- I’ve considered failing to stay back one more year, but I know that you wouldn’t notice me anyways. You never did. I’m Alicia Spinnet, the chaser that you know absolutely nothing about, except the fact that I’m a good Quidditch player. I doubt that you even know that I draw.
Don’t get me wrong, I think as I start on sketching your hair, the way that it manages to look perfect even when you’re flying. I don’t expect you to know anything about me, because I’ve never really asked for your attention. Even if I had, I doubt that I would have gotten it. You must have been blind these past two years not to notice the girls that giggle whenever you walk by in the hallway, try to smooth out their hair and robes as you approach. You’ve gotten quite good looking in the past year or so, even though that’s not why I liked you in the first place. No, it’s something much deeper than that. Whenever you fell off your broom in your third year was when I really started noticing it, I guess. But it had to have started long before that.
Why don’t you notice the way that girls look at you? Maybe you’re naïve- maybe you’re gay.
No, as much as I’d like to believe that you’re gay, and that I really am pretty enough to catch a guy’s attention, you’re not. Every time that you look at that Chang girl a smile twitches at the corner of your lips, and you quickly look away, stealing glances at her every once in a while. I’d be stupid if I couldn’t see it; it’s a toned-down look of the way you smile whenever you’re flying.
I lower my head, letting my dark brown hair fall around my face to where I can’t see you, and you can’t see me while I finish up the sketch, adding shadows and a smudging of background. It’s not as if you would have been looking at me anyways.
As I finish, I look up to check my sketch, to make sure that the lighting is right, but you’re not flying any more. I sigh deeply, thinking of you, as I do every breathing moment of my existence. Why don’t you do that for me?
“Hey.” Your voice interrupts my thoughts, and I wheel around, staring. “That’s good.” A smile plays across your mouth, your emerald eyes dancing with laughter that I can only begin to guess at the source of.
I blush a little, hoping that you’ll attribute it to the compliment. “You think so?” I inquire with a nervous smile. I think about smiling and giggling like Katie suggested, but decide against it. Chang is giggly, but you never seemed attracted to Patil or Brown, so I don’t see the point.
You nod. “You think that you could make another one of those for me?”
“You can have this one,” I reply, quite taken aback, hoping deep inside that you want it because I drew it, not because it’s a good picture. “I’ve got some more up in my dorm if you want to look at them.”
I mentally kick myself. Hard. “Yeah, I’ve done quite a few of the whole team,” I lie, and the smile fades from your face a little. “You’re an easy portrait, though, so I’ve got a few more of you.” You smile again- you’re not conceited, are you? No, maybe you’re pleased that I’ve been noticing you. Or that could be me trying to convince myself that you’ve noticed me.
“Well, thanks.” You take the picture, and hold it, almost reverently, and not folding it. I’m not sure if that’s good or it’s bad; if you folded it, it would mean that you didn’t care about what condition that it stayed in. But since you didn’t fold it, does that mean that you’re going to frame it or something? You can put a little caption underneath: “The Boy Who Lived, drawn by one of his adoring fans that he doesn’t know even exists”. Now wouldn’t that be nice. “I never knew that you drew.”
I shrug again, fighting to tear my eyes away from yours. “Most people don’t. I don’t draw much, just whenever I feel inspired to.”
You raise one eyebrow. “I’m an inspiration?”
I laugh. “Maybe,” I reply with a smile before getting up and walking away, feeling your stare on my back as you head off. Yes, I think, feeling my stomach fill with dozens of butterflies. Yes, yes, yes.
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