CH54 - The Portrait

"Are you sure you're ready? You're comfortable enough to maintain that position for a while, right?" Cecilia asked sternly. "Because once I start, it'll be a couple of hours before you can move."

Edmund saluted, keeping the rest of his body perfectly still. "I'm good. You don't have to worry so much about me, I promise. Just because I like to move around doesn't mean I can't sit still and be lazy once in a while."

"Uh-huh," she deadpanned disbelievingly, "When's the last time you took a break to 'be lazy,' huh?"

Edmund inhaled deeply to retort but was cut off by Cecilia's qualifier. "Not counting time spent with me or your other friends. That's social time. When have you ever taken an hour for yourself to relax?"

Edmund stopped.

Rewinding through the past weeks, he mentally catalogued his activities. 'It must be during Easter break, right? But I guess that was more mental preparation than it was time off. Maybe—'

"That's what I thought," Cecilia scoffed.

Perhaps she was right. With exams coming up, his inevitable confrontation with Moros was also looming closer and closer. Maybe some space was what Edmund needed to reorient himself for that.

If he were to pick a time, he would get no better one than now.

Classes were progressing well. His tutelage with McGonagall, Voldemort, and Elspeth was also on the right track. His rapport with his friends was better than ever.

Everything seemed perfect, though Edmund knew the feeling would be temporary. It was the calm before the storm, so to speak.

"Alright, alright… I bow down before your superior knowledge heiress Burke," Edmund grovelled in the stuffiest voice he could conjure.

Despite herself, her lips twitched upwards. "Not an heiress."

The use of the false title was a running joke between the two of them and likely always would be—a nod to their first interaction.

Throughout their playful banter, Cecilia had slowly been setting up, retrieving her supplies from within an expanded bag of her own. For purebloods, such artifacts were less rare and more frivolously used.

Case in point: Cecilia's artistic passions.

Stabilizing the easel she had set up with a flick of her wand, she placed a black canvas about two feet wide and three feet long onto the stand. Tens of tubes of magical paint tumbled out of her pouch next, well-used and stained. Inspecting her paintbrushes meticulously, Cecilia let out a nod of satisfaction before she began mixing the colours to form her palette for the day.

"Is this common among the pureblood kids? Painting, I mean? I figured, with there being no art class at Hogwarts, that it was more of a niche subject," Edmund queried.

"Art in the younger generation of the pureblood community is less about pursuing a passion and more of a tool for the heads of houses to flaunt and boast about their kids," she explained, still focused on perfecting her shades. "If they don't push them into painting, they propel them into some other 'respectable' hobby. Traditional dance is another popular one, summoning the earth's magic through ritualistic movements. If you go to any traditional festivals, you'll find groups of kids there performing it. Opera used to be the third, but it's less favoured nowadays. With the Wizarding Wireless on the rise, music is considered less posh in a way."

"I get it," Edmund nodded. "It's like piano and other musical instruments for muggles. Parents like to compete with each other about their child's talent."

"Yes," she agreed. "But because most are forced to learn it, there's no genuine desire to learn behind their motivations. Once Hogwarts starts, these things fall to the side. It's very few people who actually continue their studies."

"But you enjoy it enough," Edmund commented.

Cecilia hummed in response. "Painting was a nice escape for me when I was younger. I was always good at it, which made me like it more."

He chuckled. "Most people like doing what they're good at."

"Yes," she smiled. "I didn't have many subjects to practice with, though. I've drawn many portraits of Dad at his desk, but he hasn't got much time to pose for me properly. Grandma, on the other hand… Well, grandma gets quite cranky when asked to do anything she doesn't want to."

"I've done some tapestries of the grounds back at home as well, but I'm shite at painting natural settings. Faces are what I enjoy the most. The human form in general," she admitted.

"How does the magical aspect of it all work?" He asked curiously.

"It depends on what effect you're trying to achieve, I guess," Cecilia said eventually. "The classic moving portraits need to be done on canvases made of magical animal fibres, painted with special materials that can conduct magic. Then, a consciousness has to be imprinted and placed within it. That could either be the painter's own understanding of the subject, or, more often, the actual person performs a spell to link their portrait to themselves. What I'm doing today is simpler, in comparison. It's a non-mobile painting, but the art should radiate a specific emotion if I do it correctly."

"Interesting," Edmund muttered.

"Yes, it is. Now hush. I have to do your face. Try to relax your muscles and keep your expression natural," she commanded.

Edmund watched as Cecilia lost herself in her work, drowning out her surroundings entirely. Her hands moved deftly, with confident strokes and steady lines. Her brows scrunched up; her tongue half stuck out in concentration.

It was not until several hours later that she came out of her trance with a broad smile.

"Done?" Edmund asked, interrupting the girl's self-appraisal.

"Come see," she offered. "It's probably my best work yet."

Walking over, Edmund stretched his limbs, working out the cricks that had formed from the long period of inactivity. His stiffness was soon forgotten, however, by the sight before him.

The painting featured Edmund sitting on a regular school chair, his tail end not entirely leaning against the backrest. He was tilted forward slightly, with his hands clasped together in his lap. His knees were up above his waist just a touch, owing to the small height of the chair. His robes were messy and untidy after a long day of schooling. His tie was half undone, and the top button of his dress shirt was opened haphazardly.

His long locks of hair flowed all around his angular face, encircling it with a layer of darkness. Or it would have been if not for the light shining in from the window, illuminating his left half.

But his eyes and lips truly stood out to him, more alive than anything else. His hazel irises seemed luminous, a calculating yet charming gleam evident within them. His lips were curled up in a smirk, steady and reassured. There was no uncertainty in his form—only pure power, like a predator waiting to spring upon its prey.

Confidence. The painting exuded it in waves.

"You weren't exactly smiling like that. That was mostly me. But it suits you. The way you walk, the way you talk, the quiet composure… It just fits. What do you think?" Cecilia asked softly, though Edmund's unresponsiveness had likely already given her an idea.

"It's amazing," he complimented unreservedly.

She huffed out a pleased sigh. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. It matters less to me, but if a moving painting isn't done well enough, the animated portrait sometimes complains about its appearance. It's why magical painters never appreciate working with more vain people. They're never quite satisfied no matter what."

"You won't be hearing any complaints from painting-me. Ain't that right," Edmund asked.

The emotions from the canvas seemed to grow even stronger, giving Edmund tacit approval for his statement.

"It's incredible, the eye for detail you've got here," he exclaimed upon closer investigation. "Art is beyond me, but the attention you've put into this is nuts. How could you even see that?"

Edmund gestured to a small mole, barely visible behind the flap of his earlobe.

"Well, I didn't have to see it to include it, you know. With the amount of time we spend together, I've picked up on those tiny details. It's a painter's habit, you know? I don't mean to be creepy or anything. I mean, it's not like I've been staring at you…," Cecilia continued to ramble, growing increasingly red.

Edmund's answering grin was far more teasing and smug than it had been painted as, something he simply could not help. "Why, thank you. I must have some particularly interesting features for you to pay such close attention to me. No need to feel embarrassed. It's flattering, honestly."

"Arse," Cecilia mumbled.

"Oh? Have you been looking at that area as well? How does it compare to the rest of me," he waggled his eyebrows, already running away in anticipation of her retaliation.

"It'll be a lot more bruised by the time I'm done with you," she exclaimed furiously as she chased him down the halls, shooting stinging jinxes at him continuously.

"Kinky," Edmund countered, laughing even harder at the rage his one word had invoked in her.