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Hazel Wheeler

if i were an artist, then i could be yours

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Hazel Wheeler

Hazel liked to imagine she had some shred of a secret talent that she hadn't exactly discovered yet. Maybe if she just took the time to pick up a ukelele or a paintbrush, she would simply just have the ability to create. Ignorance was bliss, after all. Sure, she was good at plants and could probably recite the native flowers of her hometown, but she couldn't paint the way the flowers made her feel. And that was the most disappointing thing. Art was meant to be felt and understood. From the smallest note or dash of color to the biggest masterpiece. Feeling too discouraged to really try anything, Hazel stuffed herself in the greenhouse. She developed her skills there and made sure that she could at least impress quite a few professors with her knowledge.

 

It had become quite the routine since she didn't spend as much time with Simon anymore. In the mornings she'd eat breakfast with Behati or Alyssa, smothering herself with as much toast as she could handle; followed by classes and a few hours in the library with Julian; but her free time was spent elbows deep in potting soil. Today was no different, after spending time with Julian, she returned her books to her dorm and changed into a pair of short overalls so she wouldn't get her robes filthy (and collected her prized cactus, Anastasia Pritchard, that Julian had given her). Escaping toward the hallways in order to spend some quality time with her plants, Hazel heard the muffled sound of frustration echoing around her.

 

Knowing that she could hold off on plant time in order to try and improve someone's mood, Hazel immediately followed the voice to the cracked door of an unused classroom. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the easel, and she almost burst in at the sight of it alone. THERE WAS AN ARTIST IN THERE. But, it was the disgruntled figure of a boy that had her stumbling her way into the classroom.

 

"My goodness," Hazel muttered as she cradled her cactus in her arms, "Are you alright?"

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Radueriel Benson

The plan was simple enough.

 

With him to Hogwarts this year, Rad had taken with him a nice wooden easel so he could keep painting. But he had quickly realized that neither the Slytherin Common Room nor his Dorm Room provided what he needed— in both places,  unsavory characters might come across him, disrupting his peace and asking questions or just (in the case of Lester Roach) being downright mean. So he found himself with the need to discover a better place to paint, and with this need, a brand-new problem:

 

It had been difficult enough to lug the easel, certainly not heavy but unwiedly where it was taken care of for him and brought up to his room. How in the world was the tiny boy supposed to drag the thing all around the castle with him while executing his hunt?

 

The answer lay in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two.

 

So, though Meadows had not yet taught these to them, Rad set about learning Reducio and Engorgio, in order to make the easel pocketable. He did what he normally did when learning a spell: there was highlighting, and there were flashcards, and a whole lot of muttering under his breath to boot. But as was often the case when it came to Charms, the boy’s very best subject, all it took was a try, and it all came together.

 

The easel had been sitting on his bed; a moment later, a miniature, faerie-sized easel lay as a bright spot on the blanket contrasting the dark green. Rad couldn’t help but whoop a little, proud of himself. He slipped the cute little thing into his pocket and set out up from the dungeons and into the castle proper. He actually had a destination in mind, that classroom in which last year he’d gotten Alvis unfairly in trouble with a Slytherin Prefect.

 

It took a little while to get there, mainly because he was still relearning how to deal with the staircases without totally messing it all up. When he arrived, he pulled the easel out and, kneeling, set the small thing up on the ground. Then he took a deep breath, pointed his wand, and said, “Engorgio.”


Nothing happened.

 

Okay, okay, sometimes this is how it went. Sometimes it took him a couple of tries to get a new spell to do what it was supposed to do. So Rad breathed in again, and then on the exhale pushed out “Engorgio.” The little easel sat there, mocking him silently, as two attempts became five, became thirty, became fifty, became Rad sitting on the floor staring wide-eyed at the easel, muttering under his breath, practically willing it to change back through eye contact alone.

 

He was just about to give up altogether and write to his mum for a new easel when the door opened and somebody came in. The first thing Rad noticed was the cactus in her arms. The second thing he noticed was that he’d seen her before— sitting in the stands next to @Simon Reed and somehow cheering for him during the Tournament Finals last term. “Um, I’m… I’m fine. I just… I just…” He blushed, not wanting to admit that he couldn’t get the spell to work. He picked the easel up and showed it to her. “I’m having trouble making this big again.”

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Hazel Wheeler

Hazel peered around the door, palm resting into the grain of the wood. She could see the small canvas that the boy was gesturing to, and she took that as an invitation to enter the room. The Hufflepuff still cradled Anastasia in her arms, the prickly spines of the cactus threatening to poke her through her t-shirt. She nodded as she listened - thinking that Julian would probably be more suited for this situation but that she'd try her best. 

 

"Oh! That's engorgio right?" Hazel remembered learning that in Charms, never really sure if she would find a use for it. Outside of making pots larger for plants, that is, "I'm pretty alright at Charms."

 

Feeling a bit more sure of herself and wanting to help as much as she could, Hazel gently set Anastasia down onto one of the desks. She turned back to the Slytherin boy and pulled her wand of vine from her back pocket. The situation now fully in front of her, Hazel took her time to assess the boy. Hazel had seen him before, recalling watching him as she tried to piece together the last bit of hope that Simon would still want to be her friend. It had all been messy. She supposed that's how it goes.

 

"Can I give it a try?" Hazel gestured over to the canvas and tried to turn her thoughts away from the Ravenclaw she was sure she wouldn't ever stop liking, "I'm Hazel, by the way. You're friends with, Simon, right?"

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