Disclaimer: None of JK Rowling's stuff belongs to me. It all belongs to her. I do not make profit from this unless you count the hell of a lot of fun it is to write. You wouldn't sue me for being happy, would you? Also, vampy-fans here might recognize the poem from the lovely Amelia-Atwater Rhodes book Shattered Mirror. That's where I got the concept of the anonymous artist thing, and I couldn't write a poem of my own, so I adapted hers. Yes, I'm a bad bad person. Just don't sue me.

Author's Note: This took surprisingly shortly, despite the fact that it's over 7000 words (probably more now). Heheh... *stupid* I forgot to put the disclaimer. Don't mind the stupidity of the author... I'm just begging to get my arse sued... -_-; Reviewers get cookies! (Not really... False advertising!) Oh, and anti-slash flamers get whacked with the mighty hammer o' doom. You haff been warned. : D

My Muse

He was just so beautiful.

Even I, his supposed sworn enemy, couldn't deny that. There was just an ethereal glow to him that makes him look like a god. Add to it that I'm an artist with an eye for beauty; it was nearly impossible to resist my feelings for him. It was terribly ironic, really. And boy, would he have given me hell for it if he had known. I'd have never heard the end of it, and just picturing the scene made me cringe. But it was there. And it gnawed at me everywhere I went. Every time I was near him.

So I'd resigned myself to watching his every move. I don't think anyone knew him as well as I did. Every feature, every expression. The faintest movement in his features had caused a whole new expression. It was almost fascinating studying him, from an artist's view. And every time I looked at him, I'd find something new about him, be it another perfection, or rarely, a flaw. I could have told you that he has a very pale scar running down his arm, from what, I didn't want to know. I could have also told you that there were flecks of blue in his gray eyes, but they only appeared when he was particularly angry. Being me, I happened to see them quite a lot.

I'll never begin to fathom how I had acted so coldly around Draco. Maybe I was an innately good actor. Maybe a part of me really didn't like him. Or maybe it was the desperation to keep my precious secret, as it was; a secret. When I looked back on spats between us, my heart would wrench, and I'd feel like I had just spattered black paint over a beautiful watercolor painting. There was no abomination worse than that, in my mind, but still I suffered in silence.

There was a cold melancholy to him when he was not casting derisive glares in my direction. His emotions were detached, and so unreadable to anyone who didn't pay as much attention to him as I did. Beautiful and distant gray eyes. Only anger seemed to touch them. It was a pity, really, and I often wondered how beautiful they'd be lit up with more pleasant emotions

I drew him almost daily, eager to capture any newfound feature on paper. It was difficult to conceal these from my dorm mates, but apparently, Voldemort must have transferred a good deal of sneakiness in me, so I managed to keep my works from prying eyes. No one knew but me, and it was my secret. But it weighed on me so much that even my health began to suffer from it.

Until I came up with an idea. It was a simple, and brilliant idea. It needed careful planning beforehand, and the help of the only person who knew how to plan this sort of thing. I went to Hermione, my best female friend. I knew if I tried to go to Ron, he'd start asking questions, and then I'd have to spill that I adored the boy who was supposed to be my enemy. And I knew Ron wouldn't care for that in the least. Hermione, I knew, would ask questions, but she wouldn't take the answers as hard as Ron would. The most Hermione had against him was a few name calling sessions. Ron had family enmity behind his dislike of him.

As I had predicted, Hermione seemed happy that I opened up and spilled such a secret to her. She was more than happy to aid me. The plan was simple. My drawings were taking up too much room, and what better game to play than to send them anonymously to the gray-eyed model I based my drawings off of? Hermione had arranged for me to use a school owl to deliver them to him, and before I would send the drawing, she would thoroughly charm it so that the receiver could not discern the identity of the artist.

The next morning, I could barely breathe, I was so nervous. My heart was going at twice the rate it normally went, and my head felt distinctly light as I made my way to the Great Hall that fateful morning. He'd get my first drawing. I was dying to know what his reaction would be, but at the same time, I dreaded it. What if it wasn't good enough, I'd think. I couldn't bring myself to even look at him as he cast me my daily morning glare as he always did when I would enter the Great Hall in the mornings. I sat down next between Ron and Seamus as I always did, and tried my hardest not to look suspicious. Hermione had warned me about that, so I was determined to go with her advice. I stared intently at my breakfast, and attempted to eat some of it, praying that he would like it.


Potter had seemed unusual that day. I didn't quite know what was up with him. He had refused to look at me when he got into the Great Hall. I had shrugged it off then, deciding that he was still infuriated at me for once again taunting him as I always did in Potions. I had waited for the morning post to come; along with my weekly box of candies that mother had always sent me. Breakfast seemed to be going normally, until a particularly scraggly owl came up to me, bearing a parchment attached to it. I recognized the owl as one of the school owls, and I wondered who would bother owling something to me rather than just give it to me personally.

Then I opened it. What I saw was almost a perfect replica of myself. The high cheekbones, the pointed face, the fair hair, and even some details that I was sure no one else had paid attention to. I was in a relaxed pose, wearing an outfit I had remembered wearing a few weeks ago, and the strangest part, was that I was holding a white rose in my hand. I knew it was white, because the artist somehow bleached that part of the paper to make it look whiter than the rest of it. It was a beautiful drawing, but it had no signature. I scowled, wondering who on earth could admire me so much to have captured me so... perfectly. I gazed at the picture for a few more moments before Pansy Parkinson took it from me.

"You'll give that back!" I snapped, trying to take the drawing back. Pansy held it out of my reach and looked at it, wrinkling her nose up. She thrust the paper back at me with a sour look.

"Looks like you've got yourself some kind of secret admirer, Draco," she said sourly, not looking happy in the least. I smirked haughtily at her.

"Jealous, are we, Parkinson?" I taunted, folding up the picture and storing it in my pocket. Pansy glared at me, and huffed indignantly before returning to her meal and tuning me out. I smirked; glad she took that route. I really didn't like Pansy, and I didn't like the idea of her going around spreading rumors about me. But, I realized with a slightly annoyed look, that was going to happen pretty soon anyway.

My guess wasn't far off. By the end of that day, every one in my house knew about the drawing, and the ones with any nerve had decided to taunt me about it. For one of the first times in a long time, I was grateful of Crabbe and Goyle, who stupidly remained my bodyguards and fended off anyone who dared tease me about it. I didn't see what was worth teasing about it. The drawing was absolutely lovely. But I didn't tell anyone that. I remained indifferent to anyone who asked me my opinion on it.

If I had thought that things would settle down after that day, I was wrong. Apparently my admirer had drawn several drawings of me, as I received another the next morning. This one was only of my upper half, in my school robes, and wearing an expression I only wear every so often, a pensive and quiet expression. I had shown almost no one such an expression, the only known or remembered exception being my mirror. Yet, like the last drawing, the artist captured it. And once again, I was holding a white rose.

It soon came to be that I was receiving these drawings almost every day. I had come to expect them as I did my weekly gift of candies from my mother. And with every drawing, they steadily became better. And each bore what I guessed to be the artist's signature: A white rose.

One day, I had received one of the strangest drawings yet. It was simply of my eyes, and it was colored with what I guessed to be some kind of colored ink. And yet, the eyes were so detailed that I found myself amazed at such a small detail of myself. I gazed off to the side of the drawing and found a poem there.

Crystal eyes like diamonds reflecting in the morning sun,

Radiant in every way except one,

Emotion that never quite reaches inside,

Where wondrous secrets hide

The words were beautiful, and accurately described the image before me. How I had wanted to know who was behind this. I didn't know why, but something about how well this anonymous spirit knew me, it touched me, and I desperately wanted to know who it was. I immediately recognized that the artist was a male from the poem. I didn't quite know how, but I later reasoned that it was a masculine sounding poem. The kind of poem an artistic male would send to a woman to woo her. I was surprised at how little I seemed to mind my artist being a male.

Normally I probably would have had to have a few days to adjust to the idea before being remotely comfortable with it, but I had guessed it was because of that special quality about the pictures. The personal level of them that touched me where other gifts had not.


Every now and then I would steal glances at him during breakfast to see his reactions. They were small, but they were there. The more idealistic part of me had decided that he was simply hiding his true opinion from the Slytherins, but the more rational side of me doubted it.

The secret was now much easier to carry now that Hermione knew, and I was very happy I decided to let her in on the plan. She was a very good person to confide things in. Especially when I decided to start adding poems to the drawings, I would bring them to her to critique before adding them into the drawings. Even though I was sending all my old work to Draco, I was still drawing more. I didn't think I'd ever stop drawing him. There was just so much about him to draw, and when I thought I knew everything about him, I'd get another look at him and discover something else for me to capture on paper.

I had doubts, of course. Who wouldn't? I often feared that Draco would not like my art, I also feared that my careful and near perfect capture of him on paper might lead him into thinking I was stalking him, which I most certainly was not. But these seemed to calm whenever I would carefully cast a glance over at him to see his reaction to my drawings. He always gave that small smile, and simply folded up the paper and stowed it in his pocket.

The next few days had gone quite well, and without problems. I was quite content with my little game, and I was pleased to see that Draco for the most part enjoyed my drawings. I often toyed with the idea of telling him that I was the artist, just to see his reaction, but then I would picture the reaction, so that thought was chased from my mind.

Feeling adventurous, one particularly rainy night, I decided to do the first, and last, drawing I'd ever do including myself in it. It would be a simple sketch, a pose of the two of us kissing, for me to stow away and enjoy for myself. Drawing myself was more difficult than I had imagined it would be, as I didn't seem to know my own features quite as well as I knew Draco's. But I finished it nonetheless, and while it wasn't my best work, it was definitely a beautiful piece. I looked out the window, and realized it was late, so I yawned and turned the paper over and tucked it under the small knickknack on my nightstand before getting into my pajamas and going to sleep.

The next morning, I realized I woke up late, as the sun was up, and no longer half hidden by the horizon. Someone knocked at my door, and I got dressed and answered it. I was surprised to see Hermione there, looking very pleased.

"G'morning Harry," she said, looking cheerful. "You're lucky, you know. Ron almost found that pretty drawing you did of you and Draco kissing. I found it before he did," she said, looking quite proud of herself. I gaped at her. She had snuck into my room? She continued. "I thought it was really sweet that you'd do a drawing like that to finally reveal your identity to Draco, so I decided to let you sleep for a bit. I mailed it off to him. But just in case, I put the charms on it anyway." She sighed, as every single muscle in me contracted in horror.

"Hermione!" I choked out, as she looked at me, quite concerned.

"What, Harry?" she asked.

"He wasn't supposed to have that one!" I sputtered, eyes wide. Her eyes widened as well.

"What? Oh my god, Harry I'm so sorry!" She frantically apologized. "I thought it was a part of your plan to let him know eventually. I thought it was brilliant, so I wanted to mail it off to him." She hit her forehead with the heel of her palm. "I'm such an idiot," She muttered. I fell against the wall, closing my eyes. Within minutes, Draco would know, and I would be the laughingstock of the school for it. "There's nothing we can do now, Harry," she said mournfully. "You'll have to go to breakfast, you know." But I shook my head. No way was I going to go to breakfast and face this. I returned to my bed and flopped down staring at the ceiling. Hermione's shoulders sagged, and she gave me a despairing look. "So you're not going then?" My silence was my reply. Hermione bowed her head. "I'll tell you how it goes, then"

It seemed like hours had passed, and I just stared at the ceiling, wondering how I could possibly worm my way out of this one. I went through several ideas, each no better than the last, and I almost gave up hope when Hermione came bursting into the boy's dormitory, grinning like a fool. "You'll never believe this, Harry!" she said. I opened one eye and glanced at her warily.

"What, did he faint?" I asked, my mood subsiding from a shocked and horrified one to a cross one. Hermione didn't seem affected.

"He didn't even get a chance to look at it. Blaise Zabini stole it from him and placed a charm on it so that no one could open it. Apparently, Malfoy's getting ragged on by his fellows Slytherins for having a secret admirer," she said, grinning. Normally, I would have been appalled that I was the cause of Draco's suffering at the hands of his own housemates, but now I was blessing it. Hermione sat down on Ron's bed and gave me a very mischievous grin. "Unbeknownst to Blaise, he just bought you time to steal that drawing back before it falls into Malfoy's hands. I can show you how to do the counter curse on the charm he put on it, and you can sneak into the Slytherin dorms and get it before Malfoy can put the counter curse on it and look at it." I stared at her.

"You expect me to sneak into the Slytherin common room just to steal back this drawing?" I asked, dumbfounded. She nodded, as if it was nothing.

"Harry, you snuck in there once."

"As Goyle."

"You won't need a polyjuice potion this time." She drew herself up to her full height, grinning broadly. "I can cast the Disillusionment charm," she said. "Normally, I'd have you go in your invisibility cloak, but if Malfoy managed to get it off of you, he'd know who you are. But he won't be able to take a Disillusionment charm off of you. You'll be free to move more easily, and you will have less trouble getting in and out." I rather had thought she had given this a lot of thought ahead of time, but I grinned, despite myself, and agreed. My precious secret was on the line, after all.


I was furious. How dare Blaise just take something that personal to me? I was only thankful he didn't look at it before casting that bloody charm on it. I half-heartedly considered going to Professor Snape about getting the charm off, but how embarrassing it would have been if he decided to open it? I cringed at the thought as I entered the common room. I was in a very foul mood, and I cast glares at anyone who looked my way. I withdrew the small folded parchment from my pocket and gazed at it, wondering what my artist had drawn for me today.

I had come to call him that, "my artist." I didn't see anyone else with drawings similar to mine, so my guess was that he liked to do drawings of me exclusively. It made sense, especially if the person fancied me. While some had the nerve to taunt me about having a secret admirer, none dared insult the drawings themselves. I made sure of it. It was almost as if the artist had poured his soul into these drawings, and just looking at them told you quite a lot about him. The pencil strokes were light, indicating that he was obviously a very modest and somewhat insecure person. His anonymity complex revealed that he was terribly shy, and his beautiful words showed an imagination that knew no bounds, and an incredible sweetness that I could never recall ever being so fond of.

It was as if I knew the artist better than I knew any of the other Slytherins. It was strange, and yet quite nice. And as much as I detested the fact that I didn't know the person who was drawing these beautiful portraits of me, the game of hide and seek was exhilarating as chases and other such games often were. I could have said then that I quite fancied the artist, and while I had a few fears about him being some first year with high hopes, I based my guesses off the quality of the work.

I had noticed that this morning, Potter hadn't showed up to breakfast. The only one that didn't seem clueless as to his whereabouts was Granger, who seemed intent on watching me. While my guess as to the gender of the artist was fairly well founded, I couldn't help but wonder, and shudder, over whether she was the artist or not. I did hope that she wasn't. Besides, I had reasoned with myself, she seemed far too logical to be so creative. And with that slightly comforting thought in mind, I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what my artist was like.


It was late, I was tired, and my legs were stiff from standing so long and waiting for a Slytherin to pass by. Hermione had Disillusioned me, so I was quite invisible to the rest of the students. I had never felt so free before, but I also felt vulnerable, and quite paranoid. I was careful to make no sound as I walked. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier, and I leaned against the wall to support my weight, staring lazily at the various students as they hurried back to their common rooms to not be caught out after hours. I thought, with a slight grin, that I seemed to be one of the only ones with little to no qualms about breaking curfew. Excepting, of course, my other two partners in crime, Ron and Hermione. But this train of thought had been cut off the moment that I saw him.

He looked tired too, much like me, as he walked. A surge of adrenaline rushed through me, both by his presence and by the new excitement of going on such a risky mission. I followed, years of being under an invisibility cloak stepping in and allowing my feet to make no noise as I walked. He led me into the dungeons, where I found it quite hard to see. His hair became something of a beacon for me to follow, what little light in the room reflected off of it, and gave me some part of him to follow. My heart was pounding, and my head was racing. My lungs were almost constricting with the fear of messing up, of making a mistake and getting caught. This made my movements all the more careful, so I welcomed the paranoia and used it to help me avoid detection.

He led me along for some time before he stopped in front of the small segment of wall that concealed the door into the Slytherin common room. He muttered the password, apparently too tired to say it normally, and the door slid open, letting him in. I took advantage of the open door and slipped in as well, trying to get my bearings on where I was headed. The room was much like I had remembered it. Dark, dank, lit only by the dim lights that hung from chains attached to the ceiling, and green chairs neatly organized into groups with the exception of a few, which had obviously been pulled away from the other groups. I saw Draco settle himself into a particularly cozy looking sofa and was overcome with an urge to go sit next to him. I shook it off, warning myself to focus, and I scanned the room for some clue as to where the boys' dorms were. There was a niche in the wall that held a staircase, and I crept up the stairs silently.

Lady Luck had decided to side with me for once, and I was very pleased to see that some goon left the door to the dorms open so that I could slip through with no noise. I guessed that Draco shared a dorm with Crabbe and Goyle, because the door to their dorm was open too, and there was absolutely no one inside.

My first thought of the dorm was that it looked very much like my own, with the notable exception that the colors were predominantly green, with the occasional hint of other colors. Apparently, house pride went so far as to get the same color pajamas as your house colors, I noted with some amusement. I was pleased to see that well tucked into the drawer of one of the nightstands, were all my drawings. I reached in and searched a bit, until I found the parchment I was looking for. I drew my now invisible wand, and undid the charm on it, sticking it into my pocket.

Things were going to plan. I was most certainly not used to things going to plan, so I was awfully careless as I tried to exit the dorm. I had upset something on Draco's nightstand as I passed it, and it rolled on the floor in front of me. With a great yelp, I tripped over it and fell to the hard wood floor with a thump. The paranoia and fear all came back full force, and within seconds I was up again, but this time, I realized as my heart contracted, I was trapped.

It didn't take him long. Within seconds he was up in the dormitory, and alarmed expression on his face, and his wand out, and ready to fire a hex at the first thing to move.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice wary. I remained still and silent, hoping he'd think it was nothing. He scowled, and was beginning to look genuinely angry. "Don't hide, I know someone's up here. I'm not leaving until you show yourself." I desperately held back a gulp at hearing that, and stepped back again. What I didn't know was that there was a nightstand behind me. At getting knocked, it fell over, and Draco pounced on me, pinning my arms to the wall and glaring at me. I marveled, for a brief second, at how good his reflexes and perception were. It was little mystery as to why he was a Seeker.

I felt him grip my arms as if trying to figure something out, and then a horrible dawning came into his eyes. I tried pressing myself back, but I knew it did no good. I couldn't simply sink through the wall. He narrowed his eyes at me, and once again, I saw the flecks of blue in his cold gray eyes. "You're invisible... Potter," He snarled. "What the hell are you doing in my room?!" I flinched, surprised for a few moments, but then remembered he was aware of my invisibility cloak. He reached out a hand and touched my shoulder, then my neck, and I wondered for a moment what he was doing. "Wait... This isn't an invisibility cloak," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. I exhaled, and I hoped he didn't notice it. I was about to speak when he pushed me ever harder against the wall, glaring daggers at me. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?" he growled, pointing his wand at my chest. "Talk, or else I'll hex the hell out of you," he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. I hesitated, then I let myself run on autopilot, as I usually did when I needed to control situations without thinking too much.

I had only one thought in my mind, and that was "damage control." I lowered my voice a bit, and attempted to make it sound rougher than my usual voice. "Would you hurt the one who sent you these drawings every day?" I asked him, my voice somewhat hurt. His eyes widened, and I was almost sad to see the slight tint of blue disappear from his eyes, leaving a cold gray. He stared at the spot where I would have been, his eyes slightly away from mine, given that he couldn't see my eyes well enough to look into them.

"Are you.... really...?" he asked, stepping back but not releasing me. I sighed, hoping this would work.

"Yes," I said, making sure to keep my fake voice consistent. He watched me with wide eyes, an expression I'd never seen him cast at me before. There was a slight bit of happiness in his tone at knowing I was there, but his expression remained surprised.

"Those drawings... They're beautiful," he said, still staring at his invisible captive. I felt my cheeks burn, and I was quite glad I was invisible, because I would have looked quite embarrassed. He tilted his head slightly, looking slightly amusing as he attempted to look me directly in the eyes without eyes to look into. "Will you tell me who you are?" he asked. I tensed under his grip, and I shook my head, but remembered that would do no good.

"No, I can't," I said, almost forgetting to put on the fake voice. He scowled at me.

"Why? This whole anonymous thing was fun for a while, but you're going to have to tell me eventually. Why not now?" he said, looking mildly impatient. I stiffened and watched him for a moment before responding.

"I just can't, Draco," I said, trying to make myself sound firm enough that he might back off, but to no avail. He let out a breath and looked at me, a pleading look on his face and it reached his eyes. My breath caught in my throat, and I stared for a moment while his eyes pleaded with me.

I don't know what snapped my control. It could have been any number of things. It could have been the fact that Draco was looking at me with a completely new expression, or it could have been that I could no longer stand being so close to him without it. But looking back, I think it was the thought that I was the one to finally bring an emotion besides anger to those cold gray eyes. Before I could stop myself, or even reason, I stepped forward and wrapped on arm around his back, and the other around his neck, pulling him to me. He gasped, and I muffled it by placing my lips over his.

His mouth was very cool, and smooth, much like I thought it would be. The moment my lips touched his, he let out a breath in surprise, but apparently had little problem with kissing the artist who had been drawing for him for the past few weeks. I felt his arms snake around my middle as he kissed me back, and I felt jolts go down my spine as he leaned against me, pressing me against the cool wall. And there we stood, arms entwined, and mouths hungry for one another.

The moment was shattered by a knock on the door. I jerked back, and without a moment's hesitation, used the distraction to get myself out of his arm's reach. Draco looked very annoyed indeed as he opened the door to admit a very confused looking Goyle. I used the opportunity to sneak out of the dorm, and out into the common room, where, as I had rather thought he would, Goyle had left the Slytherin common room door open. I raced out, and somehow managed to get myself back to the Gryffindor common room.


I didn't sleep much that night. That kiss was all I could think about. His lips were so warm, so... soft. I'd had snog sessions before. That kiss didn't even qualify as a snog session and it made me react more than any of them ever had. It was so gentle, and wonderful, and that blundering idiot Goyle had to go and ruin it. It was a bit strange, though; kissing someone I couldn't see. I sighed and touched my lips absently. The desire to know who my artist was swelled up in me like a wildfire, and I set to work, scheming and planning to ensnare that bloody clever artist in a trap that he couldn't worm his way out of.

The next morning, I woke up late. I knew I'd missed breakfast, and I know Crabbe and Goyle didn't bother waking me up, but I wasn't entirely too annoyed. I spent the rest of the morning error proofing my snare, and coming up with a back up plan. I remained in my room, on my bed, thinking, until Blaise Zabini came into my room to inform me that it was almost time for dinner. I supposed that he got wind of Crabbe and Goyle forgetting to wake me, and decided that I shouldn't have gone the whole day without food.

After dinner, I decided it was time to put my plan into action. I headed to the owlery to locate the owl that my artist had used to send his drawings to me. Fortunately, he was dim enough to use the same owl every time, so my guess had been that if I had the same owl deliver a message to him, and if I were to follow it, it would lead me to my artist, and at last, I'd know who he was.

The Owlery, I decided, was not a good place. It was full of bird feathers, and all the stupid birds looked alike, with the exception of Potter's, which stood out like a sore thumb. It was a good fifteen minutes before I found the bloody bird that the artist used, and I was in a very testy mood. I tied my short message to the leg of the bird, and showed it a drawing my artist did. "Take this to the person who sent you to give me this." I told it, feeling foolish for talking to a bird. Fortunately, the bird looked like something clicked in its little brain. "Go slow. I want to follow you." I told it. It took to the air and flew out the door, and pleased that my plan was working so far, I followed it.

I followed the thing for a good half an hour, and during that time, I was getting more annoyed at it, and beginning to doubt whether it was actually leading me to the artist or not. But then I saw the bird veer towards a wall, and I pressed myself flat, not wanting to be seen before I could ambush him. A slim and tanned hand reached out to take the message from the bird, and I realized that he was sitting on the ledge of a window. The owl then flew away, as I edged closer to the window.


I had wanted to get away from the common room, as the Gryffindors tend not to let peace last for long, and it was hard to drift off into thought with the guys from my dorm running around making noise like they always do. Strangely, though, of all things to disturb my peace, an owl had fluttered up beside me and given me the strangest of notes. It told me to stay where I was. I wished I was as knowledgeable on identity charms as Hermione was. Maybe then I might have been able to tell who had written it.

But that train of thought was cut off, when, in a flurry of motion, someone reached around the corner and yanked me off the ledge. I let out a yelp, and was expecting to hit the floor, but was instead pinned against the wall, and staring directly into the eyes of Draco Malfoy. My entire body tensed and we both stared at each other in shock. Draco was the first to speak. "Potter?!" he sputtered, looking utterly shocked. Like it did when Hermione sent my one drawing off to him without my knowledge, my heart contracted again, and I closed my eyes, trying to think of a way to gain control of the situation. But no option presented itself that wasn't a downright denial, which he wouldn't buy anyway. I sighed and nodded; finally deciding it was best to just face it.

The look of shock increased at seeing me confirm his suspicions. I sighed, and my whole body seemed to droop as I cast my eyes downward, waiting for him to tell me off, or taunt me. But only silence met my expectations as he continued to stare at me, probably trying to calculate what to do next. How disappointed he must be, I thought sadly, not daring to look at him.


Potter?! How could it have been Potter? I thought he was supposed to hate me! But apparently, that wasn't the case, because here he had just confirmed he was the artist. The one I had been tripping over myself to discover the identity of. The one I so longed to kiss again. I looked down and saw a small piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. I plucked it out and realized it was the drawing he must have stolen back. I stepped away from him and opened it, and was shocked by what I found.

If that didn't prove it, nothing would. Potter looked wistfully at what could be seen through the back of the parchment. "Funny," he said, his voice leaden with an expectant kind of sadness, as if he was almost expecting me to start raving at him any second. "Funny that I should draw us in the exact same way we kissed when I snuck into your dorm," he finished, leaning against the wall and looking down. I gazed down at the picture, and to my amazement, he was right. Harry was in the exact same spot that he would have been if he hadn't been invisible. My breath caught, and I looked up at him.

I wanted to say so much. A part of me wanted to laugh at him for liking me, another part wanted to thank him for the drawings, another wanted to know how he knew my features almost better than I did, and another wanted to just run away from it all, and retreat back to the dorm to mull things over. But the part of me that was in control wanted something else altogether, so I took a step forward, and before I could stop myself, wrapped an arm around his back and yanked him towards me.

With a muffled yelp, he came forward, and I caught his lips with my own. He tensed in my arms for a few seconds, then melted into the embrace and kissed back.


I was stunned when Draco kissed me. I never imagined he would still like me after knowing who I really was, but here he was, kissing me again. I wrapped my arms around Draco's neck, and pressed closer to him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His hands rested on my back, and I could feel the skin under my shirt react to his touch. Suddenly feeling light headed, I broke off, looking down slightly, and closing my eyes.

He was my Muse. Everything about him stirred the creativity inside of me, and helped my gift along, even improving on it. As I had once said before, I knew his features better than my own, and he was a wonderful subject to put on paper. He had the beauty, the mystery, and most importantly, the love of the artist. And there was only one thought in my mind as I reached out to pull him in for another kiss.

My Muse is mine.