Mia Black loves many things. Renaissance paintings, the muggle movie Pulp Fiction (have you seen a narrative timeline so fucked up?)... and maybe George Weasley?
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five mia, mia, mia!
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MIA WOULDN'T WALK THREE STEPS without her sketchbook attached to her, whether it be in her school bag, or clutched in one hand, the collage made of Vogue cuttings and glitter pens doodled around to make outlines. She used to love art, used to spend her Sunday afternoons in her dorm room with a pen, outlining faces she found in a magazine. Her sketchbook would have countless portraits on one page, all sitting around each other. Sometimes she'd only draw an eye, or a nose, just to practice, and sometimes she'd paint, but painting took longer, and it was easier to grab a pen and go. Sometimes she'd get Cedric to sit and let her take a picture of him, and then she'd draw his face, and she'd make him pull faces so she could tone the contortions, the crease of his eyelid. Sometimes she'd get photos of herself and Cedric, which at first felt awkward for her, drawing herself. She'd draw her mum, too, and old photos of her mum and dad together, smiles and everything. Mia loved art, emphasis on loved.
Because now she can't pick up a pen. Now, it feels too heavy, too much energy to even think about. She wishes she was still doing it, because admittedly she was good at it, but she can't anymore. Mia feels like she's aged a lifetime since Cedric died and all in honesty, she doesn't see the joy in it...
But she wishes she did — because now, she misses it. She misses the escape it gave her, the way that she could draw and focus on that and she wouldn't have to think about anything else. It let her escape into her own little world, with No Doubt and Nirvana cassettes being switched out inside her Walkman, and nothing else mattered. It let her understand her dad who she didn't remember, because she could look at these photos of him, and she could draw his face so much so that she knew it, like she knew her own, like she knew her mum's, her best friend's, Kate Moss when she was the Vogue cover girl.
Maybe the pen won't feel as heavy, because here Mia is, wanting to pick it up. Maybe the whole summer's been spent, unable to think of drawing, but now she wants to do it. Most things are possible if you just think you can do it. People underestimate the power of a dedicated brain sometimes.
