Author: a beautiful catastrophe PM
Like life, revenge can be a messy business and both would be much simpler if only our heads could figure out which way our hearts will go. But the heart has it's reasons of which reason cannot know. An almost stalkerish, not really Regulus/Marlene tale about painting. Written for The Original Horcrux's Revenge Competition.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - Regulus B. & Marlene M. - Words: 445 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Published: 08-17-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8437770
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This is for The Original Horcrux's Revenge Competition.
Quote: They say that vengance taken will tear the heart and torment the conscience. If there's any truth to it, then I know with certainty that the path I'm on is the right one. Like life, revenge can be a messy business and both would be much simpler if only our heads could figure out which way our hearts will go. But the heart has it's reasons of which reason cannot know.
Inspiration: "Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees." - Peeves, Prisoner of Azkaban
On the fourth floor of Hogwarts, there is a majestic portrait depicting a landscape of lush green trees in a dark forest and endless meadows. In the top right corner, in Everlasting Ink reads the name Anonymous in a distinctly messy handwriting with a curled tail on the "y" and a barely noticeable slant on the "n".
I had known who the artist of the painting had been; I had known her since I was eleven. She may not have ever known who I was, but I knew her.
She had intrigued me from the start of her piece of work until the very end.
On the left side of her head was a black, knitted beret. Towards the right, her long golden curls spilled out of the elastic holding it in a voluminous side ponytail. Her blue eyes were always squinted in concentration and her hands were always at work.
Every day I would cast a disillusion charm on myself, and watch her paint from afar, without her ever noticing in the slightest.
Off by heart, with no need to even look at the picture, I knew how each element of the pictured had been created. On the blank canvas, it was the upwards stroke of the brush dipped in a mahogany brown paint that created the tree trunks, then a rich emerald green in short dabs for the leaves. A deep blue representing the midnight was splayed across the top of the canvas in overlapping long strokes.
Before I was going to end my life by retrieving one of Voldemort's horcruxes, I needed to see the painting one last time.
And as the Inferi dragged me under the cold, murky water, I couldn't help but think of the artist and her painting.
Marlene McKinnon and her painting.
And I hoped she would enjoy life more than I would, and that Kreacher would break open the locket to give Voldemort his revenge best served cold.
Hope you liked it!