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Malcolm Mercer III

Be clearly aware of the stars...

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Malcolm Mercer III

There weren't a lot of empty walls in the trophy room, but it was quiet enough in here that Mal knew he could paint a mural without being too disturbed. Or found. That was the real concern here. Dropping his backpack on the ground and kicking it to the side, he surveyed the wall space in front of him, chewing on his lower lip. What he wanted to do wasn't really big, and he didn't consider himself a real ~artist~ by any means, but he needed a Large Area to practice his work. And today's work involved dragons.

 

Fishing around in his backpack for his notebook, he retrieved it and flipped to the dragon page, smiling at it fondly. This was probably unlikely to happen, but if Malcolm made enough friends in the Ministry he could potentially get them to send Wesley and Olly to a trip somewhere where the dragons were fierce and scary. He just wanted Wesley to get singed. A little. 

 

And that's what this drawing was going to be all about. But, in large form. 

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Harlow Carr

The vast student population of Hogwarts, most of which Harlow did not know, made for great people watching sessions. She would sit idly- often resting after meal times- and watch people pass by. And although it may seemed lonely, her mind was alight with the stories she made up for them, borrowing from their conversations on days where inspiration was lacking.

 

Sometimes, people were easy to read. Eyes locking onto one of her classmates ('dead' boy Malcolm), she noted his walk with intention. He was going somewhere, to do something, and alone. It was probably stupid of her to decide to follow him (she risked following someone rushing to the loo, or something,), but Harlow did so anyway- because she was interested- loo or not. And so they ended up in the trophy room.

 

Now what? Indeed... She lurked momentarily, a brief moment of person (sing.) watching before something caught her interest.

 

"Is that a dragon?" she blurted. 

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Malcolm Mercer III

Malcolm screamed.

 

Then he whipped around to see who had followed him in here, the face making a match in his mind of the girl that, he was pretty sure, thought he was dead that one time years and years and years ago. When he realised she spoke of the thing in his hand, he looked at it, then back at her, and nodded. 

 

"Yes," he said, glancing back down at it. "It is... indeed a dragon. I don't really like dragons, honestly, I'm more of a space invader guy, but that one wasn't finished yet so I couldn't prepare to draw it on the wall." Plus, he didn't have enough paint to completely paint the wall the dark color of Deep Space, so that was going to be a work in progress. He needed to get Wesley (or Olly, since he really could try that) to mail him some more paint. An owl would be able to carry all that, right? 

 

Returning his attention to her, he pointed at her and then gestured to his paints. "Do you want to help? I'm Malcolm, by the way. We've met, but not really?" He shrugged and reached down to get a paintbrush, flicking it over to her as an extension of his invitation.

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Harlow Carr

Ok, Harlow hadn't expected him to scream. It seemed like a vast oversight on her behalf; after all, she had been following someone... into an empty room... alright, she could see why Malcolm thought she was a serial killer. The girl offered a wonky smile, followed by a meek 'sorry', before approaching further, heart lifting at the sight of paints.

 

Plopping herself by him cross-legged, she tucked the paintbrush invitation behind her ear. "Yeah I'll help!" she replied, merely grateful he hadn't shooed her from the opportunity to take part in what was evidently going to be a masterpiece. "I'm Harlow, and yeah, that was pretty weird... I'm glad you're not dead though," with a chuckle, she pulled the brush from behind her ear and balanced it upon her upper lip. With a contemplative look on her face, she leaned over to get a closer look at the drawing- the artist's vision if you will, in order to try and align herself with it or something. In this situation, it was a little difficult.

 

"Who's that?" she asked with a frown, pointing at the unfortunate male figure depicted: his beautifully coiffed hair being singed by the dragon.

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