paint { r. lupin }

II

  The lovely oak desk was all Clarke could focus on at the moment. The rich color, the rough texture and the scratch of her pen on the wood. Marigolds coated the top of the gorgeous desk face. She knew she should have been listening in this class, art history, but she truly couldn't be bothered. Her mind was more enticed to drawing than learning.

   The breach in her serenity was startling and it caused her to drag her pen across the already filled desk. As her head snapped to attention she heard the words the Professor was speaking.

"Ms. Crowe! Do you have the faintest idea of what I just asked?"

  Clarke's eyes skidded across the room searching for an answer she knew wouldn't be there. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, both from her blush and the stares of the rest of the pupils in the room.

  Her salvation came in the form of a messy haired, bespectled boy who wore a knowing grin. His lips mouthed the answer as she nodded her head indicating her immense feelings of gratitude.

"Professor McGonagall I believe the question was to explain Eclecticism in your own words."
Clarke grinned from ear to ear as McGonagall nodded her head briskly. 

"The whole question if you had been listening," Professor snapped, "was not only that but also to state one artist who best fits this type of art form."

An older student raised his hand, which wasn't entirely needed in McGonagall's classroom, when her sharp eyes bore into his he began to speak.

"The form of art means to draw from other sources and fuse their styles with a style of your own. Raphael Sanzio is truly an artist who perfected this method." The boy's answer finished with a lazy eye roll.

"Thank you for being on top of your studies Mr. Longbottom," Professor McGonagall smiled at her star pupil.

Clarke's pen swirled across the desk top, obviously not learning her lesson. A delightful sketch of an eye soon joined the many flowers etched into the desk top as if it was a forgotten hill, left to grow in peace with no one to trample the new growth.

As the class ended Clarke grabbed her bag filled to the brim with paints, sponges, and one large white canvas. She always wanted to be prepared in case she caught wind of a new inspiration. That also why she had the camera strapped around her neck. You never know when to be prepared. And she was forever Grateful for that.

Clarke sat by the lake on campus, raising her camera than lowering it slowly repeatedly. There wasn't a good shot she hadn't taken yet and the immense disappointment was settling itself deep in the chasm of her chest. That was until a playful yapping filled her ears. A stick went flying over her head and she quickly dodged a large dog that was diving after the stick.

Her eyes latched onto the boy, née young man, who threw the stick. Her breath caught deep in her throat as she saw his chest rise and fall with the laughter his dog had caused within him. His finely chiseled face had a deep scar running from his right temple down to his chin. His eyes were the richest hazel, flecks of sky blue surrounded the iris. High cheekbones and a prominent Adam's apple made him seem like a sketch as opposed to a living breathing person.

Clarke's mind was blank as she rushed to her dormitory, hoping none of roommates were back yet, she had taken a perfect snapshot of the beautiful boy and his dashing dog. A huge solid black beauty. The dog not the boy. The boy however had an air of mystery surrounding him, from his lanky limbs, to his scarred face, and his lovely hazel eyes. When Clarke saw those eyes she swore her heart was stolen. She needed to paint those eyes before she forgot them, but she felt as if the eyes would never leave her mind.