the painter // george weasley //

1

The Poet's Garden, Vincent van Gogh, 1888 Oil on Canvas

Ottery St. Catchpole

 May 1999

one year after the war

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (well of course...) Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard. The garden was overgrown and messy with lots of flowers and the pond in the distance sang, from all the frogs that habituated it. The air smelled like lavender.

A girl in overalls and a jumper, with paint brushes and her wand sticking out of her bun, was walking up the garden path when she started to hear the liveliness going on in the house,

"The American is here, mum!" she heard, who she was assuming one of the sons announce. With a soft chuckle she raised her ink stained fist to the wooden door and gave it few taps. A few scuffled steps were heard behind the door, and then a middle aged, short and plump, with red hair and a kind face greeted her.

"Hi, Mrs Weasley?" The girl stuck her hand out, Mrs Weasley's face lit up.

"Oh, Dear! Call me Molly!" She smiled sweetly, "Come, come in." She pulled the girl into the kitchen. "Olive? Correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Olive smiled, in a thick Boston accent, "Olive Good."

"Good?" Molly's eyes went wide, "As in the Sa-"

"Salem Witch trials? Yeah, she was like my great great great... and so on grandmother..." She laughed, "But enough about me! I'm here for you and your family. Are they all.." she looked around the empty kitchen "here?"

"Oh, of course," Molly smiled, a very motherly smile, "they are all in the living room," they began to walk to living room, "my son George couldn't make it.." Olive could sense the sadness in that sentence, "he's a store owner you see, and he's been very busy.."

"Oh, no worries!" Olive told her, "Me and him will have other chances to meet up before I start the portraits."

"Oh, good." Molly smiled, "Sit." She ushered into an armchair across from a large group of redheads, and a few others.

"Hello." She smiled at the group, leaning over the coffee table she stuck her hand out to all of them, "I'm Olive, I will be painting Fred and Maeve's portraits."

A women, with long brown hair and few grey strands welcomed Olives hand with both of hers and engulfing them. "I'm Emmeline, Maeve's mother." She smiled, "This is my husband, Sirius"

"Hi there," she smiled, "So, I have heard a lot about the two... Actually, all of you." Her eyes floated over to the famous trio, "I understand that Fred has a twin, but" she looked over at Molly, "I hear he is busy today.. Which is totally fine, I won't actually start painting the portraits yet.."

"So how does this work?" A one of the younger looking, red hair males said, that she had seen in the newspapers, Ron. "How do you make them come.. like alive.."

"I am classically trained, right after I graduated from Ilvermorny, I trained aside a few artist in London and Rome. I actually worked aside the man who painted Albus Dumbledore's portrait."