Chapter 5: Am I worthy?
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the product of J.K. Rowling's imagination.
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Author's Note: Well, what can I say? Your reviews did it! So here is the chapter you've been waiting for! Anyway, I'd also like to mention that the story is ending really soon. So keep the reviews coming guys!
"Paint me" is all she says, and he comes undone. His whole world collapses around him at that instance because she knows. She knows his passion. She knows his obsession. And he panics. He panics because once again he does not know what to do. But then he remembers her words, and he realizes that he needs to listen to her. He realizes that he needs to listen because he has no other choice.
But he does not understand why. He does not understand why she's naked in front of him. He does not understand why she's asking him to paint her. He does not understand why she hasn't gone completely crazy after discovering his obsession. He does not understand anything and he tries to tell her. But no words come out. So he closes his eyes instead. And he feels her fingers graze her face.
"Paint me," she says again. He tightens his jaw, trying hard not to react from her soft touch. She presses her body against his and for a second he feels like falling. He's shaking. His hands are twitching at his sides. He does not trust himself to touch her.
She breathes into his ear, and says,
"Paint me like I'm worthy to be painted."
He opens his eyes. And when he looks at her, he realizes just how vulnerable she is. He realizes her self-consciousness. He realizes her shame. And yet he also realizes her willpower despite all these.
She moves away from him. She has her eyes down. She has tears in her eyes. For a few seconds, they just stand there, not really doing anything. Not really knowing anything. Finally, she stoops down to pick up her discarded clothes. He suddenly feels an urge of unexplainable emotions. He tells her,
"Stop."
She looks at him, in shock. For a second, he curses himself. For a second, he panics. But then she nods her head and she leaves her clothes on the floor. She stands up, straightens her back, raises her chin, and looks at him straight in the eye.
Sacred. Regal.
He motions her to sit on the bed. He grabs the blanket and wraps it around her lower body. He does this without touching her. He transfigures a chair into an easel and grabs his materials. He takes a final look at her. And then he begins to paint.
With a pencil he draws her silhouette. He outlines the soft curve of her face and the strong angle of her cheeks. He sketches the leanness of her arms and the roundness of her breasts.
With a brush he creates the only palette that can project her-cinnamon, in all its shades and hues. Her hair is the darkest of all shades. Her skin is the lightest of all hues. Her eyes are the shiniest of all finishes. Her lips are the plumpest of all textures.
He does all these without saying a word.
He works without stopping. He works till the hours tick. He works without wondering whether his muse is turning numb. He works without thinking. He works without knowing. He just lets his passion overcome him. He lets his obsession take over. He lets his soul go free. He drinks on the pleasure of finally doing this in her presence.
And when he finishes, he feels content. It is his best work. For the first time, he smiles. For the first time he looks at her. Really look at her.
And he realizes she's crying.
"Hermione?" he whispers. She covers her whole body with the blanket. She rocks back and forth. She tries to suppress her whimpering.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asks again.
She does not answer. Instead, her cries become louder. He feels his heart ache, watching her like this. But he decides not to say anything. He decides to let her cry instead.
Finally, after a couple of minutes, she stops. He expects her to say something, but she doesn't. Instead, she gets out of the bed to stand up. The floor creaks. He turns to face her, and for a second, he holds his breath. He is in awe because she is ethereal under the moon's illumination. The blanket is sheer against her body and her face projects an untouched innocence. And he feels dirty before her. He feels dirty and sacrilegious. He feels that he has no right to see her in this light. But then she proves him wrong.
She removes the blanket again, and engulfs him to appreciate her naked glory.
He closes his eyes, but she tells him to look at her. So he opens his eyes. He captures the smoothness of her shoulders, the pinkness of her breasts, the delicacy of her hands. And then he looks at her eyes. He sees a manic glint. Suddenly, she pulls him up. Suddenly she presses against him.
"What do you see Harry?" she asks, softly.
"I see you," he replies.
She traces a finger down his jaw.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she whispers. Her eyes look at his with apprehension.
"Hermione-" she does not let him finish. She looks as if she doesn't want to know the answer.
"Am I worthy?"
This time no words come out. He tries to answer her. He tries to tell her that she's the worthiest of all that is worthy and sacred and holy. But he cannot find the right words. He cannot find the right words that will bring justice to what he wants to say. She does not mind though. She just continues with her questions, as if in a trance.
"Am I worthy enough to be in a portrait?" she asks as her hands move down his chest. He can feel her breath now.
"Am I important enough to actually spend some time on?" He closes his eyes. He has all the answers to her questions. He just cannot say it.
"Do you think a man will actually have me?" she has her hands on his nape and her fingers are crawling up his scalp. Finally, she asks,
"Will you have me, Harry?" And with that, she grabs his hand and places it on her breast. He tries to grasp all the coherence left in him before it leaves him to do something he will regret.
"What do you feel, Harry?" she asks.
Suddenly, she moves away. She begins to cry, again. She collapses to the floor and she starts to shake. He touches her naked skin for the first time. He holds her against his body and wraps his arms around her. He rocks her back and forth to relieve her sobbing.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asks while he runs a hand down her hair, and the other holds her tightly.
"Tell me what's wrong, Hermione," he repeats.
"I'm disgusting Harry, aren't I? Whoring around the night before my wedding-" she finally says. She starts to shake again, and Harry feels her turn warm, in shame.
"No, Hermione, you are not disgusting. You can never be disgusting," he comforts her.
"Well, I'm ugly and worthless, then," she says in between sobs.
"What are you talking about?" Harry pulls her away and looks straight into her eyes. He can see the hurt, and the longing, and the pain. He can feel anger rising up inside him. Hermione gives a deep sigh.
"Awhile ago, after Viktor left for his bachelor's party to be precise, I overheard one of Viktor's `girl friends' telling some friends of her I'm quite plain-"
"That is just one girl's jealous opinion-"
"And then she asks them what the hell he's doing with a girl like me…" she closes her eyes. Her breathing becomes uneven and Harry can just feel how painful this is for her. He wants to stop her from telling him, since it's too painful on her part, but she continues,
"She asks them what he's doing with someone unworthy. Someone not good enough for a Quidditch star. Someone not beautiful enough, and someone that no man, in Viktor's position, will have."
"Hermione, that girl is a jealous twat. She does know bull about you. Look Hermione, you're beautiful. You're worthy and special, and the most important girl to me… and to Viktor. He's marrying you, not her."
Hermione breaks out into a smile. She wraps her arms around him.
"Do you mean that?" she asks.
"Yes, Hermione, I mean that," he answers.
"Have you lost your self-respect for me?" she asks, timidly. He pulls back to face her. He looks straight into her eyes, and says,
"No, I can never lose my self-respect for you because-" He stops. She looks at him with deep curiosity. She looks at him with deep anticipation.
"Because you mean so much to me," he finally says. She gives a small, sad smile and hugs him again. He wonders why he can't say the words `I love you'.
They stay that way for a while. But when the clock hits `1', she finally moves away.
"I have to go," she says. He gives a nod. She stands up and wraps the blanket around her while she picks up her clothes.
"By the way, you never asked me how I found out about your talent," she says with a small smile. He suddenly remembers. He gives her a questioning look, but does not say anything. She continues,
"You left your suitcase open. The nosy parker that I am, I took a look at the canvases. I thought they were souvenirs, turned out I was wrong."
"And you're not mad? Or freaked out?" he finally asks.
"No, I'm not. On the contrary, I felt really special. Nobody has done that for me. That's why I returned the favor, by shaving you." Harry looks at her, in shock. Suddenly, everything makes sense-the peculiar look in her face, the shaving, everything.
Finally, Hermione walks towards him, and kisses him on the lips. Suddenly, a fire burns inside him. Suddenly, he feels alive. But she pulls back, almost immediately. She gives him a smile, and tells him,
"See you tomorrow Harry. Don't be late."
And with a pop, she's gone.
Harry realizes that she has the blanket with her.
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