Drarry Oneshots

Bruises and Artwork

Harry wilfully ignored his year two teacher as he watched a beautiful inking of a fairy appear on his left forearm.

'Mr Potter! Please stop drawing on your arm and pay attention.'

He smiled angelically, batting his eyelashes. 'Yes Miss. Sorry Miss.'

The petite woman couldn't help but smile at him; he was ever so sweet, and well-mannered. She turned back to the board, explaining the primary colours and which you could mix to make what colours. She handed out sheets of A4 paper and paints, telling them to put their aprons on and then paint a picture of whatever they wanted, as long as they didn't fight over the colours. Harry gleefully dashed over to the hooks and pulled a stained apron over his head.

Dudley was home sick, so his classmates treated him much better and no one tried to trip him on his way back to his table, not even one! He still steered clear of Piers though, who was giving him the stink-eye.

Harry carefully selected a thin brush, dipping it in water and swirling it in the green paint. He hovered the brush over his paper, contemplating what he should paint. Looking out of the window next to his seat, he grinned when he saw a bird's nest on one of the branches.

Daubing the green paint around the edges of the page, he tried to mimic the individual leaves, with short brushstrokes and yellow mixed in. When he had a big white space in the middle, Harry washed the brush in water, giggling as the paint mixed with the water and made a lime-green tornado in the cup.

Next, he mixed the green with the red to make a muddy brown. With long, thin strokes, he painted a nest of twigs lying on the greenery. Squinting, he thought the leaves didn't look very realistic so he dashed it through with brown for branches, but that made it look messy. Harry wished he was as good at art as his friend was – after all, Harry didn't know the person drawing on his arm was his soulmate – as he stared mournfully down at his artwork.

Sighing and deciding to work with what he had, Harry cleaned the brush again and dipped it in the white paint, furrowing his brow when he realised that it wouldn't show up on the white paper. Casting around for a solution, Harry decided yellow was the second-best option. He hoped Miss Robinson, the art teacher, wouldn't mind.

Poking his tongue out of his mouth and biting it slightly, Harry focussed intently on getting the shape of the eggs right. They were a little wobbly, but he was pleased with them. He filled them in with that same yellow, then sat back wondering what he should do now that he was finished. The rest of his classmates were still painting, chattering away to their friends. Miss Robinson was wandering around the class, offering praise and help where she saw fit.

Dipping the brush back into the yellow paint, Harry figured he could use this time to draw on his arm. After all, he hardly ever got the chance.

Carefully, he drew some tiny little stars in between the delicate wings of the fairy which was still illustrated on his arm. More marks appeared, showing confetti and fireworks around the image, then words appeared. Harry twisted his arm to read it, frowning in concentration.

You like it?

The handwriting was a bit uneven, but far more elegant than Harry's was. He asked a girl on his table if he could borrow one of her felt-tip pens. When she nodded and went back to her own painting, after making him promise he wouldn't ruin it, he carefully wrote under the words on his arm.

I like all of your drawings. They are reelly pretty.

His friend drew a smiley face next to his words.

You never wrote back before?

Harry didn't quite know how to respond to that. Even as a six-year-old, he knew the consequences of telling anyone about how little he had.