Closed Like a Monet PV Rafal Devereux

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Spring at Hogwarts was beautiful, no doubt about that. After the dullness of winter, the grounds burst into life, colours exploding in clusters of daffodils and blossoms. Swapping heavy cloaks for thinner robes was a great relief, especially as those warm clothes were hardly great fashion statements most of the time.

It was easy to see why students would seize upon the weekend as an opportunity to make full use of the enchanting weather, yet Rafal was not amongst them. Tucked into the base of one of the many great oaks dotting the landscape, the Slytherin had came down first thing in the morning, a satchel full of textbooks and ready to grind. Exams were scarce two months away, had they all gone mad?

However, he supposed he could not feel so superior. Currently, his History of Magic textbook laid forgotten across his lap, quill and parchment untouched by the side. Rafal was not typically one for distractions, but try as he might, he simply could not tear his eyes away from this one.

She had been here for a long time. Rafal would know, he had been watching her ever since she set up her things. Painting had never been anything he was too interested in, preferring practicality to the frivolous - but there was just something about this painter.

Perhaps it was the blissful harmony of the entire scene you couldn’t help but pick up on, even from a distance. Rafal couldn’t see the girl's face, but all that blonde hair and elegant posture practically screamed fairness. And she was excellent in her craft, with practiced brushstrokes and a certain immersion that was impossible to overlook.

Gosh, he sounded like a creepy stalker. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Rafal quickly looked down at his textbook. Did anyone notice him staring at her? He hoped not. While he didn’t know how it would have looked from a bystander's perspective, Rafal was certain it couldn’t be too favourable toward him.

All right, no more of that. Rafal had came here to study, and that was what he would do. No matter how many blondes started setting up canvases, he would not be sidetracked again.

It was at that moment he noticed a loose page of paper had drifted in front of him. Leaning forward to pick it up, Rafal stared at the contents. Then up. Then back down.

No doubt about it. This was the painter girl's sketch, likely blown away by the wind and - naturally! - stopping right smack in front of him. Rafal couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

Well, the gentlemanly thing was to give it back to her, right? Standing up perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, Rafal clutched the sketch paper very tightly in his hand, pausing for a moment to look toward the girl uncertainly. His long abandoned textbook slid to the ground. What if she didn’t want to be disturbed? Or somehow knew about the way he had been staring at her the entire afternoon? Or-

Ah, what the hell. Steeling himself, he swiftly took off in her direction - if he stopped, he would likely loose his nerve. Coming to a stop behind the girl, who appeared to be taking a short break, Rafal cleared his throat to alert her to his presence.

"Uh, hey. I think you lost this?" He awkwardly held the piece of paper up in front of himself and feeling remarkably foolish.

Interacting with @Stelle Mims

₊⁺⋆ Date: April 11th, 2025| Number of words: 446 Dialogue: #aa5713 ⋆⁺₊

The afternoon slowly fell over the gardens of Hogwarts, tinting the sky with a soft orange hue that turned golden at the tops of the tallest trees. It was one of those moments when the world seemed to pause for just a second, as if even the castle held its breath to admire the end of the day. The air was crisp, scented with the promise of spring, and the breeze gently stirred the loose strands of Stelle’s hair as she once again escaped the bustle of the indoors. She had chosen a quiet corner of the gardens, not far from the lake, where a row of trees offered gentle shade and the sound of water whispered softly in the background, the perfect final touch. There, on a neatly spread blanket, with a small wooden box at her side and her sketchbook open, Stelle worked silently before her canvas, sitting on a small wooden stool. That day, she had chosen something simple yet elegant to wear: a long denim skirt and a blouse-dress with ruffles that blended naturally into the setting, as if not to disturb the harmony of the place.

She wasn’t drawing on commission, or for a class. It wasn’t homework or duty, and that made her brushstroke freer, looser. The day was warm and picturesque, and so her inspiration had been a landscape—something simple and light. She painted each stroke carefully, having chosen a pastel palette that allowed her to capture the scene beautifully. With perfect posture, she felt as if it was just her and the painting before her. Sometimes she wondered if anyone else would ever understand what she was trying to express when she got lost in her drawings. If they would see the hidden melancholy behind every flower, or the longing in the tiny birds lifting toward the light. Maybe not. Maybe they would just see a pretty landscape. And that was okay. Not everything needed to be explained. Some things simply existed to be beautiful, even if they meant a thousand words. Just like her.

A couple of butterflies danced nearby, weaving between the tall grass stems. Stelle looked up to follow their flight, and a small smile—barely a gesture—curved her lips. It was a valuable moment of silence, like a secret shared between her and the afternoon. One of those moments where she could breathe without having to be anyone else. Not the brilliant student, or the polite girl with perfect manners, or the half-Veela everyone seemed to look at differently. Just her. With her painting, her thoughts, and the sun warming her skin. She loved butterflies—it was something she had never said out loud. They were so beautiful and curious.

A small gust of wind passed by, and a loose page from her sketchbook drifted to the side, revealing part of an older drawing. Stelle reached for it gently, pressing the page down so it wouldn’t fly away, and as she did, she glanced at the sketchbook with an expression that held both vulnerability Stelle sensed the presence before the voice. It was a subtle shift in the air behind her, the faint crunch of footsteps on the grass, followed by a pause, as if the person approaching wasn’t entirely sure they should continue. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the rustling leaves and the warm afternoon light wrap around her a little longer, as if she could delay the inevitable.

Then, she heard a boy’s voice. It made her turn, calmly, with the same quiet grace that usually accompanied all her movements. The first thing she saw was the paper, held a bit stiffly in front of a face that, for a few seconds, seemed unsure of where to look. That made her smile—a relaxed, genuine smile.

—Thank you—. she said softly, taking the drawing. Her fingers brushed his for the briefest moment, and for that instant, the texture of the paper was the least remarkable part of the contact.

She looked down at the sketch. A landscape made of quick, imprecise lines. It wasn’t finished. It wasn’t meant to be seen—not yet. And yet, there it was, in someone else’s hands. Then she looked up at the boy and held his gaze for a few seconds. Not awkwardly, but with a gentle honesty, like someone weighing whether a secret shared too soon could be safe in another’s hands.
—You saw it?—. she asked at last. She didn’t sound upset. Not exactly curious, either. It was an open question, as if she hadn’t yet decided how to feel about it. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with grace, then began to braid it quickly.

—I don’t usually lose sketches, and I don’t show many people what I draw—. she murmured, not looking at him directly. —I suppose this one wanted to be seen—.

Stelle looked at him for a second longer than politeness might allow, as if trying to understand the meaning behind the gesture, and finally tied off the end of her braid.

—What did you think when you saw it?—. she asked plainly, but with a kindness so refined it didn’t sound like a test—more like an invitation. She turned her face to him then, with a soft smile that just barely lifted the corner of her lips. There was no irony in her question. Just the quiet ease of someone who had spent the whole afternoon alone in her little corner and was now, suddenly, choosing to leave the door slightly open for someone else. She had good intuition with people—that was how she’d recognized her childhood friend—and something told her he might just be someone who could appreciate her art.

ABILITIES: Part-Veela
VISUAL: Here!
INTERACTIONS + MENTIONS:@Rafal Devereux

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It wasn’t just that the girl was pretty, though she certainly was. With all that silver hair and those big eyes that fell upon Rafal as she turned, he felt remarkably like he would gladly do anything at all for her.

Frankly, it unnerved him a little. Was this some sort of magic? That couldn’t be good. Though as she smiled at him, it was suddenly rather difficult to remember the reason as to why. When her fingers brushed against his, Rafal had to make sure he didn’t forget how to breathe. What was it again? Two in, one out?

As the girl looked down at the piece of paper, the Slytherin was struck with an abrupt feeling of nervousness. Gosh, maybe this really wasn’t hers. And did he crumple it a little on the side there? He hoped she wouldn’t be mad, he might quite literally die.

When she looked back up, Rafal noticed her eyes were a clear blue, pale and yet somehow striking at the same time. Under her gentle gaze, he was utterly transfixed. When she asked him a question, he scrambled to reply as quickly as he could.

"Yes, I did." Nodding vigorously to emphasize his point. "It uh, blew over to my side." He gestured vaguely behind him, but could not seem to bring himself to tear his eyes away from her.

When she next spoke, it was while looking away, so he was not entirely sure if it was to him or herself and simply kept silent. Somehow, the girl's manner of speech fit very much in with her overall aesthetic - light and airy and elegant. And was that a Scottish accent he detected?

The girl had been braiding her hair with impeccable grace throughout this interaction, and now it was finished. It spilled down her back in an intricate pattern, and Rafal focused on it more than perhaps was strictly necessary.

"I thought it was brilliant." He answered honestly. "I don’t normally like paintings, but yours was something else."

Interacting with @Stelle Mims

₊⁺⋆ Date: April 11th, 2025| Number of words: 507 Dialogue: #aa5713 ⋆⁺₊

The afternoon breeze carried the murmurs of the lake and the distant echoes of students still lingering on the grounds, as if the world had chosen to fade into the background so that this scene could unfold without interruption. When he said he thought it was “brilliant,” Stelle’s fingers gently closed around the edge of the sketch, and a small line appeared between her brows—but her lips curved upward softly. It wasn’t a look of displeasure, but one of quiet surprise. As if she wasn’t quite sure how to receive the compliment. There was something curious about him. Not just in his awkwardness—which, truth be told, she found more endearing than ridiculous—but in the way he looked at her, like he had mistaken her for something from another world. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at her like that. But it was the first time it didn’t bother her.

—Brilliant?—. she repeated with a soft laugh, that gentle cadence of hers always seeming to carry half-formed thoughts behind it. Her eyes found his again, clearer now that she’d heard him speak a little more. —Thanks for bringing it back—. she said, more softly this time.

And although she didn’t say it aloud, a part of her had already accepted the odd logic that it had been him who found the sketch. As if, for some reason, the drawing had wanted to land in his hands.

—Does it happen often? Random flying sketches coming at you?—. she added with a more defined smile this time, even amused. Her eyes sparkled a little more. Maybe from the light, maybe because she was beginning to feel more at ease around him.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. His posture, just a little too stiff, as if unsure where to put his arms. That kind of honest awkwardness that wasn’t unpleasant, just… real. A kind of truth she wasn’t entirely used to.—You’re not usually into paintings?—. she asked—not with judgment, but genuine curiosity. Then, with a faint smile, she added, —So why this one?—. Then she smiled. Not an automatic or polite smile. A real one—brief, but bright, like sunlight slipping through the branches.—That’s odd—. she said frankly. —But… I like odd—.

She turned slightly and, with a graceful motion, nodded toward an empty space beside her blanket.—Do you want to sit?—. It was a simple invitation, with no pressure. But her voice held that blend of calm and curiosity that could be hard to resist. As she spoke, she smoothed out the paper and tucked it back into her sketchbook, as if each movement had its own quiet rhythm.“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before—I’d remember,” she added with a soft smile and reached out a hand toward him. —I’m Stelle—. Truthfully, she found him kind of cute—mostly because of how gentle he seemed.

ABILITIES: Part-Veela
VISUAL: Here!
INTERACTIONS + MENTIONS:@Rafal Devereux

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Of course the girl had an unfairly captivating laugh too. This whole fairy princess thing she had going on wouldn’t be complete without it. "No problem," he said, voice just a tad higher than normal. "No, it doesn’t happen too often. It’s uh, the first time, actually." Her demeanour seemed more relaxed now, maybe even - amused? Rafal sincerely hoped she wasn’t laughing at him.

The next question was a bit more difficult to answer. Why had he liked this painting? Was it just because of the artist? The Slytherin's gaze strayed over to the canvas, brows slightly furrowed as he tried to look at it with an appraising eye.

"It’s very… real." He finally said, feeling rather silly. Rafal was hardly an art expert, after all! But he continued on, "I can’t explain it, but it's like there’s some sort of hidden meaning in everything you came up with. Like you really get what you pain, you know?"

She probably didn’t. Rafal wasn’t even sure he knew what he was going on about himself. He stopped abruptly, swallowing nervously. "And uh, it’s just a very good painting in general. Like, objectively." He finished lamely. She was right. Everything he had done was odd. He might as well put it in his name at this point.

A very large part of Rafal wanted to leave now, before he could make an even bigger fool of himself. But it was like there was some sort of invisible force drawing him to this girl, and the thought of just turning away seemed almost risible. At her offer, he nodded quickly and sat down where the girl had gestured, crossing his legs.

Rafal wasn’t sure if saying she would remember if she’d seen him around was exactly a compliment, but he decided not to pry. Trying for a reciprocating smile that perhaps came out a bit apprehensive, he leaned forward to shake the offered hand. "I’m Rafal." She had told him her name! This was exciting.

Interacting with @Stelle Mims

₊⁺⋆ Date: April 11th, 2025| Number of words: 588 Dialogue: #aa5713 ⋆⁺₊

Stelle didn’t take her eyes off Rafal as he spoke, though her fingers froze against the blanket as if the world had slowed down a little. His words weren’t polished or particularly unusual, but they carried a kind of honesty that sank deep—like a spell cast without a wand. She didn’t interrupt him. She let him speak, let him stumble a bit over his own thoughts. She listened with a kind of quiet wonder, as if it amazed her that someone could see something beyond the colors in her painting.

«Like you really get what you pain, you know?»

That disarmed her a little. Not because she hadn’t heard similar things before (many sensitive people, especially adults, had told her things like that about her drawings) but because of the way he had said it. Hesitant. Uncertain. Like it had slipped out without much thought, and because of that, it felt truer than any carefully crafted critique.

—That was…—. she began, unsure of how to finish the sentence.—It was a really beautiful way to put it. Please, go on—.

Her voice was low but clear. Her fingers now toyed with a loose thread on the blanket, as if that small distraction helped her sort through her thoughts.
—That’s what scares me the most, you know? That someone might look too closely—.

She glanced at him, not accusingly, just thoughtfully. Tilted her head slightly, pensive.

—So don’t even think about running off now—. she added jokingly, with a strange note in her voice, like seeing something really seeing it,was more complicated than it seemed.

When he accepted her invitation and sat down, Stelle shifted slightly, settling into a cross-legged position on the blanket, playing with her braid, which had come a bit undone. Her expression softened when Rafal told her his name. She didn’t laugh at him, didn’t crack a joke to break the tension. She just repeated:

—Rafal—.

She said it like she was trying the name out loud, like she wanted to remember how it sounded.

When he took her hand to greet her, the handshake was gentle but not shy. There was a certain carefulness in the way he moved, as if every gesture had been quietly rehearsed—not to make anyone uncomfortable, or perhaps, not to reveal too much. And in that brief exchange of hands, there was silence. But it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence where you could hear the wind rustling the branches, the distant noise of students, lost laughter, the occasional hoot of an owl still finding its way home.She let go of his hand and stretched out her arms, then lay back to look up at the sky.

—You know—. she said,—I liked the way you said it earlier. It wasn’t technical. It was real—. Her fingers moved absentmindedly along the edge of the paper as she spoke. —I don’t know much about you, Rafal, but something tells me you’re not someone who always finds the perfect words… and yet that doesn’t stop you from saying what really matters. I like that—.

She shrugged, as if trying to play down her own reflection, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested otherwise.She could feel his gaze on her from time to time, but she wasn’t sure if she should say something. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. She didn’t want him to think badly of her later, either.She would tell him, yes, but at a better time. After all, it was just the beginning of their connection. Her moment would come.

ABILITIES: Part-Veela
VISUAL: Here!
INTERACTIONS + MENTIONS:@Rafal Devereux

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The way Stelle spoke, it was like something straight out of a a medieval adventure drama book. There, sitting so close to her in the golden light, Rafal could very easily picture her with draping robes, made up hair and the glossed over eyes of a Seer, saying something ominous like 'The stars align, the chosen one approaches'. Or whatever. Rafal was bad at impromptu prophecies.

Honestly, he was a little flustered at the way she had described him. They’d only just met, but Stelle spoke like she had seen deep into his soul and knew everything there was, and Rafal couldn’t decide if he was revered or unnerved by that.

"Are you from Ravenclaw?" He blurted out. "Because you feel like a Ravenclaw."

He looked down at his lap, fiddling with his hands. “And… I’m really not all that, you know. The way you put it - ," Rafal laughed nervously. " - It’s like I’m some sort of hero in those action stories, and I’ll save the world with the power of friendship or something."

"I don’t mean to offend you, at all." The Slytherin added quickly. "That was honestly one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard anyone say in real life. You’re so," he struggled to find the right words. "Literate". Oof, that was definitely not the right word.

What was it about this girl that basically made him a dim-witted Gryffindor? Half of sounding brainy was owning it, so that was what Rafal did. Pretending that he didn’t just use the most random adjective to describe someone who had previously made him sound like Harry Potter before he went off the deep end, Rafal shot Stelle what was hopefully a rakish grin, all the while trying desperately of somewhere else to steer the conversation.

"That’s a nice necklace," he remarked, pointing at a particular pendant-looking object dangling from Stelle's neck. "Is it - Did you - buy. It?" Stumbling over his words was not what he was going for, but it wasn’t Rafal's fault! His interest in jewellery was like his interest in dungbombs - nonexistent save for when it can get him out of awkward situations.

Interacting with @Stelle Mims

₊⁺⋆ Date: April 11th, 2025| Number of words: 733 Dialogue: #aa5713 ⋆⁺₊

Stelle looked at him for a moment, with those clear eyes that seemed to hold the entire spring sky inside them. And then, she smiled. A full, wide, genuine smile. The kind that starts at the corners of the lips and ends in the light sparkling in the eyes. The kind of smile you just can’t fake.

—I’m not in Ravenclaw—. she said, still with that playful glint. —Though I’m flattered you think so. I always imagined Ravenclaws as the type who raise their eyebrows at you while solving Latin crosswords. I’m… not that sophisticated—.

—Actually, I’m a Hufflepuff. And You?—. she murmured gently.

She laughed gently, the sound just a little louder than the breeze rustling the leaves around them. She seemed completely at ease, not a trace of judgment in her expression.And then, silence settled between them for a moment—but it wasn’t awkward. It felt like a soft pause, like the breath you take between one page and the next in a good book.

—What does Literate mean?—. she asked with interest.

She glanced at the pendant for a second, thoughtful. With a soft motion, she brought her hand to her chest, brushing her fingers over the necklace Rafal had mentioned. It wasn’t anything fancy, really: an old locket with a floral pattern, set in a worn silver frame. Its value was more sentimental than aesthetic. But honestly, to her, its age made it beautiful.

—It’s from my mum—. she explained, her voice dropping to a near whisper. —She gave it to me right before I got on the train for the first time. Said it would bring me luck. And… I don’t know if it does, but it reminds me of who I am—.

Then she lifted her gaze to Rafal again, her face soft with quiet sweetness. —Do you have something you really treasure?—. she asked curiously.

Stelle fell silent for a moment, letting the distant murmur of the castle and the persistent birdsong fill the space between them. The golden rays of sunset played with the shadows of the trees, stretching long silhouettes across the grass and tinting everything with a warm, almost nostalgic hue. She lowered her gaze to the open notebook on her lap, but this time she didn’t go back to the drawing right away. Her fingertip traced the edge of the paper, as if she were weighing something she hadn’t quite decided to say aloud.

She had been hearing about the Spring Ball all week. It was one of those events that made the halls of Hogwarts buzz with a particular kind of energy a mix of excitement, anxiety, and expectations that lingered like an overly sweet perfume. The girls talked about their dresses, the colors they had chosen, the robes they hoped certain boys would wear to match them. The boys, on their part, pretended not to care, though some had been spotted practicing dance steps in the corridors when they thought no one was watching.Stelle liked those kinds of rituals moments when the castle seemed to transform, shedding its ancient solemnity for a few hours to become something human, warm, alive.Finally, she spoke in a softer voice, almost like a confession:

—Tonight is the Spring Ball, did you know?—. she said, looking up at the sky. —I’ve been wondering whether I should go or not. I guess a lot of people get excited about it—the music, the colors, the dresses floating through the halls like petals carried by the wind—. She loved those things, getting dressed up, seeing everyone else dressed up too. Everyone looked nice, and secretly, she sometimes enjoyed the way that meant she didn’t stand out so much (when it didn’t bruise her ego, anyway). —And I like the idea... in theory. But sometimes, moments that shine that brightly make you feel too exposed. I’d like to go, of course. I love dancing, even if my feet hurt afterward. And seeing how the Great Hall transforms with all those floating lights and the floral decorations the elves prepare with such care—.

Then she looked up at him again, with a kind of honest shyness.

—Are you going?—. she asked, not with any pressure, more like she was imagining it—trying to picture him there in her mind.—I think you’d be one of those people who ends up in the middle of the dance floor, even if you didn’t mean to—.

ABILITIES: Part-Veela
VISUAL: Here!
INTERACTIONS + MENTIONS:@Rafal Devereux

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Stelle told him she wasn’t that sophisticated, but maybe she really was. Rafal knew that he certainly wouldn’t mind if she were to raise her eyebrows at him while he sweated over Latin crosswords.

"Wow, Hufflepuff." Rafal definitely wouldn’t have guessed that. "Are - are you sure?” He couldn’t help but ask. "It’s just that I’ve always thought Hufflepuffs were more… plain or earthy." And Stelle definitely wasn’t that. If the boy weren’t unconsciously being influenced by this girl's Veela allure (not that he knew anything about that whole thing yet), perhaps he would have realized that what he just said might be interpreted in a rather offensive manner.

He opened his mouth to reply to Stelle's accompanying question, then abruptly stopped. It would of course be unfair to presume that all badgers had a lousy opinion of snakes, but did Rafal really want to risk it this time? "Just out of curiosity, what house do you think I am?"

Luckily, Stelle did not find his unexpected lethologica off-putting or pathetic. Her laugh was infectious, and Rafal soon found himself smiling along as well. "It means well educated. Well read."

As Stelle explained the meaning of the pendant, her voice dropped to a near whisper, so that Rafal had to lean in to hear properly. He tried not to focus on her scent, a light mix of lavender and honey that made him couldn’t help but feel as if he was surrounded by calming air. The story would have sounded clichéd from anyone else, but she somehow managed to make it incredibly heartfelt.

The Slytherin tried to think of anything he owned which held significance that could come close to what he had just heard. His mom certainly hadn’t bothered to get him anything before sending him off to Hogwarts, she didn’t even accompany him up to the Hogwarts Express. And he had no relatives of which he knew about, so there was nothing on that front. Suddenly, Rafal felt a bit annoyed. "Nothing," he stated shortly, with a sharpness that was uncharacteristic from what he had displayed so far in this meeting.

He didn’t want to dwell on this subject matter, so it was fortunate that Stelle was prompt to bring up something else up entirely. "You mean the Spring Soirée." He corrected subconsciously, then fell silent. Truth be told, Rafal hadn’t given the whole affair too much thought before now - even if he was one of the rare few.

Of course, he was planning to attend; the posters and general buzz around the topic gave the impression the whole thing would turn out to be a merry occasion, and Rafal was quite enthused by the prospect of an evening of games and meeting people. But the more specific aspects - outfits and dates and such - he had just been planning to wing it.

"You should go." He said without a doubt. Stelle would fit right in. "I know I am." And maybe it was the way she was looking up at him with those big eyes, maybe Rafal was just in a reckless mood after the earlier necklace business. "Why?" His tone was almost playful, as he arched a brow pointedly. "Are you offering to join me?"

Interacting with @Stelle Mims