The Crowned (h.s)

VIII

Hello! If anyone is reading thing, I hope you're doing well! The last year has been a bit crazy, hasn't it? I was thinking of this fic for a while and wanted to try and come back to it. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Let me know what you think, and I appreciate your patience with me.

for pictures and imagery that help to inspire this story, visit eviewinterfield.tumblr.com

The gallery, though empty of people, still had us surrounded as we walked across the marble floors, leaving the sounds of voices and the small orchestra behind us. Still, the music seemed to quietly waltz around the hall, dancing around the gold frames, each which claimed their own space and captured memories of people I didn't recognize. Though my father and mother had commissioned some paintings over the past several years, most present in the gallery hall depicted a bygone time, recognized largely in the old-fashioned gowns and coiffures adorned by the brush-stroked ladies who were dancing and being charmed in a distant past. We had hardly been in the hall for a minute before Harry stopped himself in front of a portrait.

My breath hitched for a moment. The painting was my favorite in the entire hall and had captured my attention since I was a child. I followed Harry's gaze to the woman immortalized as her young self, blue eyes bright and jovial to match a reddened smile, lips looking like they were about to curl into a laugh. A gold chain around her neck, she sat beside an equally jolly dog and seemed to be sitting in front of a wooded area. Though the background was painted quite darkly in shades of green and blue, the young lady was bright in her white dress and looked youthful with a pink blush across her cheeks. As a child, she seemed to be the picture of who I wanted to be. Like my personal Mona Lisa, I often wondered what it was she was so bright-eyed about. Her festive face was a deep contrast to many of the other paintings hung about the walls which showcased neutral, if not unimpressed glances.

Lost in looking at the lady, I nearly forgot where I was and who I was with until Harry broke our silence once more, "I think she rather looks like you, whoever she is."

I turned to look at him almost curiously before returning my glance to the unknown young woman, the comment seeming foreign to me, "I'm sure I can't tell what you mean by that."

Ignoring my response, Harry continued on down the wall to examine the next set of paintings. Without anything else to say, I followed after him.

His eyes stayed inquisitive and focused on the artwork, not sparing a glance towards me for several frames, although he seemed to acknowledge my trailing behind him with a simple nod of his head as he walked. "This is quite a collection your family has acquired," his eyes roam over a landscape portrait of our orchards, "It doesn't rival our own galleries at home, but yours do hold merit." Eyes finally meeting mine again, the corner of his lip quirked up at me.

I shook my head, curls wisping around my face before I crossed my arms at him, "If you're trying to form a compliment, thank you. My mother especially loves these paintings, so if she gives you her own tour, you'd best find a better way to phrase your contemplations." My annoyance glinted through my voice, though it softened again when my eyes turned back to the painting of the orchard as it brought my mind to other thoughts. "When my mother was young, she was known for spending all her time outside painting. My grandmother would chastise her for coming inside with her hands covered in oils. Hers aren't hung here, but I'd like to think they could be. She loved to paint landscapes, just like this one."

"Painting is an impressive talent. It takes special eyes to bring the world onto a canvas," Harry remarked. "I didn't mean to sound unimpressed. I'm only used to speaking exactly what's on my mind. Sometimes it comes out harsher to others than it sounds to myself."