Art Imitates Life, Supposedly PV Gabriella Finished

Officially, Gabriella was a writer. It just made sense - her parents were both English teachers, and she had learnt to read and write at an early age. Her first attempt at writing a novel had been at age six - not that she had got any further that chapter one, of course - and she had had a short story published in the local newspaper the previous year. Until quite recently, she had aspired above anything else to become an author. A bestseller. She was going to become one of the greats, someone whose name would go down in history. But now, she wasn't quite sure. For one, she was in the wizarding world now, and she assumed she would have to get a wizard job, but it had also occurred to her since joining Hogwarts that she wasn't actually very good at writing. Being a Ravenclaw, she was suddenly surrounded by people much smarter and more creative than herself, and she had seen the kind of things they wrote. Their stories were nothing compared to hers. And so, she had turned her attention towards art and painting. Parchment, it seemed, was good drawing paper, as it resembled sketchbook paper in many ways, and parchment was something she seemed to have a lot of - not to mention the fact that she found she was exceptionally talented at art.

Since her twelfth birthday a few days previously, Gabriella had gone for walks in the grounds an awful lot. Back at home, her mother had always told Gabriella she'd be allowed out of the house alone once she reached twelve, and now she was twelve, that was exactly what she planned on doing, especially seeing as there was a lot of space to walk at Hogwarts. And it wouldn't exactly hurt to get a bit more exercise...

During these walks, Gabriella always took some parchment and a set of paints with her, should inspiration strike. And today, the creative juices were flowing inside her head - she just needed to find a beautiful, serene spot to paint a picture of the Hogwarts grounds. Today was a good day for it, too. The snow was melting, and green grass was beginning to poke through again. Snowdrops, white and purple, stood in clusters on the grass, and the lake glistened in the distance. She was definitely going to produce a good painting today - she could feel it in the air.

Suddenly, Gabriella spotted a figure sitting on the ground a few hundred metres away, facing in the direction of the forest and the lake. She couldn't quite tell the age or the gender of the person from this far away, but she decided to approach the figure anyway. As she got closer, she realised it was a girl, around her own age, and that she, too, seemed to be preparing some artwork. Gabriella broke into a light jog, wanting to get to this person as quickly as possible without seeming too creepy.

Gabriella slowed down as she got close to the girl - she didn't seem to have noticed Gabriella yet, and the Ravenclaw didn't want to frighten anyone. She stopped. "Hi," she said, softly. "Do you mind if I join you? I'm going to attempt to paint the grounds, too." Gabriella said she would 'attempt to', but that was only out of politeness - in reality, Gabriella knew she was going to paint a perfect picture. It was as if the grounds were whispering her a secret: you will produce a masterpiece today... you will produce a masterpiece...

Not waiting for a reply - because, frankly, even if the girl told her no, Gabriella was going to do it anyway - the Ravenclaw laid her winter cloak out on the ground and sat down on it, ready to paint.

@Rhea Miller

Word count: 637

[font=times new roman]Okay, so this was hard. Very hard. Rhea had attempted to draw a light outline of the scenery with a pencil by looking back and forth between it and the paper, but everything looked off, somehow. One of the mountains was slightly lopsided, and she had pressed down with the pencil too hard on the trees, so erasing them was futile and they looked simply ugly. That was an insufficient plan. She had tried to hold it up to the light and trace the scene, but the paper wasn't transparent enough, and also it kept bending to the point where it became nothing more than a mess of scribbles and pencil-poked holes. At that point, the Gryffindor was very close to throwing her sketchbook into the lake.

This was why she had been afraid to draw. Because drawing was difficult and she was bad at it.

At that moment, someone - an unfamiliar pace, an unfamiliar voice - asked to join her, then they seated themselves without waiting for a response. Rhea felt mildly irritated at their hubris (probably not using that word correctly, but no matter), then realized that had she not been in a bad mood, she would've automatically permitted this person to stay, so it wasn't fair of her to feel irked by their actions. She moved on.

Rhea turned to look at this person to discover that it was a young girl like herself, a Ravenclaw. This new information had approximately zero impact on her. The Gryffindor was too focused on her own work.

She turned back to look at her sketchbook, which had the world's worst sketch of anything ever in it, and proceeded to plant her pencil in the middle of the page and rip through it. The paper tore badly, crumpling on the side. She yanked it out with exaggerated ferocity, smashing it into a ball, and shoved it in her bag. In a situation this excruciatingly pitiful, the least she could do was act angry about it.

With a few seconds of even breathing, she returned her gaze to the blank page in her sketchbook. It seemed to mock her, with all its potential, and the fact that she would almost certainly ruin whatever she tried to make because let's face it! She was not creative, nor would she ever be creative, in any way. She was practically negative creative.

Rhea was absolutely incapable of living up to her mother. She would forever be a failure in that area.

Slowly, she put pencil to paper, and began to gradually sketch the outline of a mountain. Forcing herself to do this required a painful amount of willpower, especially considering that she had absolutely no will to do this. Just an odd moral reasoning, and an internalized desire to be good at everything.

Satisfaction enveloped her as she stared at the finished line. It was perfectly crooked, exactly shaped like the edge of a mountain should be. Now to start another line and finish this part of the drawing.

She began. Immediately, the fact that the second line was much darker than the first became quite apparent, and she was hasty to erase it. Okay, starting over. This time, the line looked fine at first, but she got too cocky, and accidentally drew a sharp angle in the middle. Frustration began to poke at the back of her mind. She erased again.

The third attempt was the worst of all. The line curved so badly that the whole mountain became lopsided. Rhea groaned loudly, breaking the silence and likely startling her Ravenclaw companion.

One more try, she told herself. This is the one.

It wasn't.
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@Gabriella Haworth

Gabriella was beginning to regret sitting down next to the girl, who she now saw was in Gryffindor. The girl was clearly frustrated and in no mood to socialise with her - but this spot did have the best view, and there was unlikely to be another day this beautiful in a long time, and she had to capture the image. Now she understood why many Muggles were obsessed with taking pictures of things - they felt they had to grasp what they could see before it disappeared for good, like what they could see was a treasured possession that they would lose if they didn't take a photo right now. Back when she lived with her parents in the Muggle world, she had never owned a phone or a camera, so she had never really had that desire, and painting was more special than taking a picture any day. You can add your own twists to a drawing if you want to, whereas the only thing you can do on a camera is add filters and that, Gabriella thought, looks fake and begs for attention. With a painting, you can get away with doing whatever you want to the natural look.

Gabriella frowned at the Gryffindor girl's failed attempts at her sketch. She could see why the girl was getting frustrated - without meaning to be rude, even if she didn't say anything out loud, Gabriella could see that the girl pressed far too hard, moved her pencil far too fast and the sense of proportion was all messed up. These three problems were easily fixable, of course, but Gabriella knew she was an awful teacher and always had been. The only way she would be able to demonstrate was if she were able to physically draw on the paper itself, and she had the feeling the Gryffindor wouldn't enjoy that very much. There was no way that Gabriella would be able to fix the problem with just her words - art was a physical subject, after all. She felt she had to say something, however, as the Gryffindor let out a huge groan. She couldn't just sit here and paint her own - probably beautiful - painting, not when there was another student struggling right next to her. Gabriella was going to have to jump in.

"Are you ok there?" asked Gabriella. "You - you seem to be having problems." It was a lame start. She knew it was a lame start. But what else could she say? Your painting's shit and you're not getting anywhere? Gabriella clapped her hand to her mouth in shock. She had just thought - not spoken aloud, it was true, but thought - a swear word. A profanity. A curse. Gabriella could imagine her mother screaming at her. HOW DARE YOU SAY WORDS LIKE THAT UNDER MY ROOF... Gabriella blushed and lowered her hand from her mouth. She wasn't under her mother's roof, so there was nothing to be ashamed of, right? And it wasn't like she'd said the word...

"I just mean to say," said Gabriella, meekly, "if - if you need any help, I'm here..."

Word count: 525 words

@Rhea Miller

[font=times new roman]Rhea scowled. "Please leave me alone," she said coldly, before widening her eyes as the Ravenclaw abruptly put her hand to her mouth in horror. As if she had revealed some dreadful secret, or said something terribly offensive. She looked ridiculous, frankly.

"What?" Rhea snapped, her voice more nasally than usual. She felt herself taking on the role of the mean girl. It was typical of her, especially in a situation that meritited a snark or several. Ironic, since the mean girl was her least favorite movie trope currently. At any rate, the stranger didn't seem to be listening. Too absorbed in her own unprovoked yet somehow intense panic.

"I noticed," Rhea muttered. "I'm here too, you see."

She looked away, glowering, a bit proud of that one but unwilling to admit it to herself.

Rhea returned to her sketchbook. The flimsy papers stared back it her, glinting cruelly in the dim sunlight. She looked around herself for a moment, feeling the cloak beneath her, before wrapping her fingers around the kiddie paints. The plastic tubes squished a little, and she released her grip immediately for fear of the cap popping off. Rolling her eyes internally, she retrieved it and set it on her sketchbook.

The Gryffindor pulled off her jumper, as she was beginning to get hot (perhaps from the weather, perhaps from fuming- it could've been either) and dropped it on the ground beside her, forgetting about it instantly. Following this action, she uncapped the blue paint and squeezed some onto the paper, having given up on her sketch entirely and impatient to start on the sky. It wasn't a bad color. Quite nice, actually. With that in mind, Rhea grabbed her paintbrush and began to spread the stuff carefully.

It looked fine, if not a bit dry and uneven. But that was okay. She could fix it later. Not really paying attention, she placed the blue paint beside her, unintentionally on her sweater, unintentionally uncapped. A grave mistake on her part.

The second color Rhea selected was grey, for the mountains. Even though she had the scenery right there in front of her, she had continued to reference her mother's painting. The mountains in that one had been done in a deep plum color. Rhea did not have access to that shade. Her paint set had only come with a pale violet.

Rhea put some paint on the paper, as one does, and made a thick grey line over her sketched line. It looked terrible, like something a six-year-old might've created. A voice nagged at the back of her head. Copying something doesn't require creativity. You aren't un-creative, you're untalented.

Frustrated as all hell, she propped her cheek in her open palm and accidentally planted her elbow on the tube of paint, which naturally squirted a ton of blue color all over her wool sweater. She almost groaned aloud. Her day was turning out to be full of bad movie tropes. The mean girl, the spilled paint- what was next? The discovery of a hidden talent?

Rhea regarded her disaster of a painting, doubting it.

She turned to the other girl. "That didn't happen," she said fiercely. "Got it?"

Quickly, she folded her sweater in half to hide the mess, fully aware that there was no salvaging the poor thing. Another voice played in her mind. Just ask for her help. She knows what she's doing. She can help you. It's not weakness to request assistance.

Yes it is! the voice from earlier argued. This is such a simple thing to do. Begging for help makes you look childish, no matter the context.

As she battled herself, Rhea realized she was still staring daggers at the girl. She quickly looked away.

@Gabriella Haworth

The girl was clearly having problems, but she had made herself very clear. Please leave me alone, she had said. What else was that to mean but leave me alone? It meant what it meant, nothing more. So... Gabriella should probably leave, right? No, she told herself. Just because a stranger your own age tells you to leave doesn't mean you should leave. She was perfectly within her rights to be there too, and she was going to do her painting, no matter what the other girl said.

Gabriella got out her own parchment and paints and laid them on the ground. It would have been better, she realised, if she had a canvas, but that wasn't an option. Her twelfth birthday had been recently, and her parents had bought her an art set including a sketchbook, paintbrushes and some good-quality paints, but she didn't have a canvas. Well - she would just had to make do with what she had, like the other girl was doing. Or at least, trying to do, but it appeared she was having problems. Blue paint covered her jumper, which lay discarded on the ground, and the painting was - to tell the truth - a mess. Gabby wanted to help, but feared being snapped at again - being told off was something she hated, even if it was by a stranger her own age. She wanted to stay on people's good side - with a few exceptions, she reasoned, thinking of her Gryffindor arch-enemy.

That didn't happen, said the girl, fiercely. Gabriella nodded vigorously. She didn't want to offer her help to the girl, but maybe if she started painting, and it was a good one, the girl might give over and ask her... There was one thing the Ravenclaw wanted to say, though.
"You can use my supplies, if you like," she offered. "I have paints, paintbrushes, a palette. You can use them too, if you want to, that is." Carefully, Gabriella slid her supplies over so that they were in between the two girls.

Now, time to start the painting, she said to herself. First of all, she needed a light, neutral colour to serve as her background - a light blue would do it, she decided. She dipped her paintbrush in the lightest blue she had, before mixing it with white on the palette to make it an even lighter colour. Then, she began to paint onto the parchment - long, sweeping brushstrokes across the paper, from the left all the way to the right, then from the right back to the left, and so on until she had covered the page in light blue. Now layering, she thought, and repeated the process again. She glanced up at the scene. What was the furthest thing she could see? Surely that would be the mountains, and so surely she had to paint their outline next.

She thought back to the How to Paint Fantastic Landscapes book Gran had given her for her birthday. The book had said to draw the basic features of the landscape in very light colours first, before adding the details, and layer it from the back forward. So that would be the sky, then the mountains, then the forest, then the lake, and finally the grass in front of her. And she had to do it in light colours first. Ok Gabby, you can do this, she told herself.

Irritatingly, the paint set she had been given had many different shades of blue and green, but no grey, so she had to mix a tiny bit of black with a lot of white to get the light grey she wanted. Gabriella selected a paintbrush with a thin brush-head this time, and carefully started tracing the outline of the mountains, her eyes darting up every three seconds to define the exact outline. Then, she filled in the outline, and because there was still a tiny bit of blue sky to be seen through the mountains, she put on three more layers of grey paint, just to be safe.

Suddenly, she remembered that the Gryffindor girl was still there, and she glanced up to see the girl still staring at her. "Er - are you ok?" Gabriella asked.

Word count: 709

@Rhea Miller

[font=times new roman]Use her supplies? Rhea tried to be inconspicuous as she glanced over what Gabriella had to offer. Her paints were certainly better quality. Using them wouldn't automatically improve Rhea's skills as an artist, but they might make her feel more professional. "I'll think about it," she said.

For now, she could stare at the stranger's process, and try to observe.

The Ravenclaw used a pale blue to paint over the entire page, a much nicer shade then Rhea even owned. The way she had gone about it was new, however - she had mixed it with white on her palette. That strategy that had not even occurred to Rhea. It made the Gryffindor's color look horribly bright in contrast. Rhea made a mental note of that for later use.

Next, the girl carefully mixed black and white as Rhea tried to guess what she was going to paint next. Presumably the mountains, right? Nothing else was grey, as far as she could see, except maybe the mist, but that was lighter yet than what her companion was now meticulously tracing over her now blue parchment. Rhea noted that she was repeatedly checking the scenery she was copying, almost to the point where even Rhea became irritated about her consistency, but the end result was much better than anything the Gryffindor could've ever done. Carefulness is key, she found herself quoting mentally. It was a phrase that she head heard a thousand times in muggle school. That place had tried to coin it, actually, only to discover that another company had done so. She almost had to stifle a laugh recalling the pitiful situation.

Anyway, the Ravenclaw was now in the process of filling in the mountains; she was on her second layer, clearly doing her utmost to make sure no blue paint was visible. Rhea once again regarded her own work with disgust.

She waited through two more layers of the grey, honestly astonished at the amount of patience this girl had. How did she do this - on purpose - just for amusement? Was it therapeutic to her? Rhea knew some people painted to soothe their souls or whatever but she herself was far too impatient to find calm in this kind of activity. There were too many factors, and she wanted a complete masterpiece already.

The girl spoke, startling her. "Oh! Erm, I'm okay. Of course." She scrunched up her brow. "I just... I have considered your offer, and I have decided that I don't want to use your supplies. However..." She stuck her tongue between her teeth, trying to calm her heart, which was racing. She was actually asking for help. For the first time ever. "I would like to use your paint. The shades you've mixed. They are precisely what I needed- need." She corrected herself. "Ahem."

Without waiting for a response, she hastily stuck her brush into the girl's paint, splattering it badly, and began to gently pull it across a clean sheet of her sketchbook. She messed up instantly, as she knew she would. Her eyes burned. Her fingers shook. She felt a tingly sensation in her ribcage that usually accompanied a sense of humiliation.

Slowly, Rhea turned back to Gabriella. "I, er, changed my mind," she said thickly, trying to keep up her composure. "Please... please help me. Or, not please." She straightened, wiping the frustrated tears that had almost started to bloom in the corners of her eyes away. "I need you to show me how to paint. I am trying to learn new skills, and you seem more advanced than me at this particular one."

There. She had done it. One more thing popped into her had. "Oh, and my name is Rhea Miller. I'm a half-blood, if you're one of those that cares about that. Pleased to meet you."
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@Gabriella Haworth

The Gryffindor had said she'd think about Gabriella's offer, but she hadn't mentioned it, and the Ravenclaw wasn't about to chase her up on it, either. The girl seemed to be pretty irritable, and Gabby didn't want to start an argument unnecessarily. Suddenly, however, the stranger spoke. "I have considered your offer," she said, "and I have decided that I don't want to use your supplies." Gabriella nodded, wanting to keep the peace.
"Ok," she replied, simply.
"However..." The girl spoke again, and Gabriella jumped, nearly knocking her grey paint all over the painting. "I would like to use your paint. The shades you've mixed. They are precisely what I needed - need."
"Sure," began Gabriella, but the Gryffindor had already begun to use her paint, sticking her brush messily into the dollop that was already on the palette. It splattered; Gabriella winced. She generally liked to keep her palette clean and tidy, keeping the blobs of paint in a restricted area, so that she could mix as many colours as she wanted and there would still be room on the palette.

Eager to see what the stranger would do with her paint, Gabriella leaned over and watched as the Gryffindor began to pull a large blob of blue paint across her sketchbook. Gabriella was about to butt in, and offer the girl advice, but stopped herself just in time. This new girl, whoever she was, probably wanted to be left to do her work independently. Gabby turned back to her own painting and began to draw the outline of the trees of the forest.

The girl spoke again, making Gabriella jump - again. I changed my mind," she said, abruptly, and it was all Gabriella could do to stop herself rolling her eyes like she always rolled her eyes at Jacob, her brother. "Please... please help me. Or not please. I, er-"
The Gryffindor said some more, but Gabriella didn't hear, as she immediately began to speak enthusastically over her.

"Of course I can!" she exclaimed. Not only did she desperately want to point out where the stranger had gone wrong, but she also really just wanted to help. She tried to convince herself that the 'helping' was her primary motivation.
"I'm Rhea Miller," said the Gryffindor. "I'm a half-blood, if you're one of the ones that cares about that."
"Gabriella Haworth," replied Gabby. "Muggle-born. Oh, and you can call me Gabby, if you want to." She paused for less than a second before rushing in with her advice. "Ok," she said. "Basically, I can see that you're trying to be gentle, but it won't work, with the amount of paint you've got on your brush." She hesitated, wondering whether or not Rhea would be ok with her taking the paintbrush off her to demonstrate. Again, she decided against it, and thought she should probably just speak instead. Yes, that seemed more reasonable. "Just wipe that paint on the side of the palette - there we go - take just a bit of it, and mix it with some water. Then you'll get a much more gentle look, if you move your hand in the same way as you did before... make sense?"

Word count: 536
@Rhea Miller

[font=times new roman]"Oh, and you can call me Gabby, if you want to."

Rhea scowled. "I will call you Gabriella, thank you very much." She was doing what she could to cling to her last string of dignity; any option she had to make a choice, she would go her own way and not be influenced by others. It was a pathetic thing to do. Useless by any measure. As usual, she did not care about that.

The Gryffindor tried to ignore Gabby - er, Gabriella's - incessant hovering and advice, and obeyed quietly. She felt babied, terribly so. Cradled in the gentle words of the Ravenclaw as she timidly did her bidding with her tail between her legs. Well, okay, it wasn't that dramatic. Gabriella wasn't not being helpful. But still! Rhea would not be treated disrespectfully.

"Just wipe that paint on the side of the palette -"

Rhea did so, still deep in thought. Gabriella, meanwhile, seemed to be struggling with not taking Rhea's paintbrush and doing it herself. Rhea fancied herself frightening enough, and convinced herself that that was why Gabriella seemed to be staying out of her way. Yes, that was definitely it! Gabriella didn't want to get beat up.

"- take just a bit of it, and mix it with some water."

"Sure," said Rhea. She thrust her brush in the water that Gabriella had cleverly brought along with her and pulled it out immediately, flicking colorful water onto the Ravenclaw's clothing. Rhea considered apologizing, then concluded that if Gabby wanted clean clothes, she shouldn't've worn them to paint. "Oh well," she said instead.

Ugh, not Gabby! Gabriella. Gabriella.

A much more gentle look? That sounded appealing, although Rhea could not comprehend how something could look gentle. Well, you could look like a gentle person - kind of synonymous with a nice person - but like, there were no gentle-looking things. You could have a gentle touch, maybe. A soft touch. That was nice. What was a gentle-looking painting? A smooth painting? A light painting? One that depicted a sunshiny scene rather than, say, a gory one?

Whatever it was, it would be interesting to find out.

Carefully, she touched the tip of the brush to her paper, and pulled it across. It looked, well, watered down, with more transparency. The water and the paint hadn't totally combined yet, so clear liquid was visible, soaking into the canvas slightly on either side of the blue streak. She tilted her head. The whole thing had less objective clarity and, honestly, did look prettier.

Rhea re-dipped her brush into the blue, swirled it for a short second in the water, and made another line. She peeled back the paper to discover that several of the sheets under it had been dampened by the water. Therefore, she had a significantly lower number of second (and third and fourth and fifth and sixth and seventh) chances if she messed up again. The stakes were high.

Rhea began to fill in the whole background, pulling the brush back and forth and in swirls and circles, trying not to press down too hard. Still when she finished, it didn't look quite right. The paper was coming up in the little bits and there were so many uneven spots. The top right corner was dark and full but a lopsided rectangle in the middle barely had any color.

She kept her composure for as long as she could. Eventually, her vexation overtook her, and she stuck her brush in a deep angry red, then stabbed the page with it. The red blob produced was far darker and more prominent then the nice blue sky behind it. With a frustrated growl-esque noise, Rhea found herself splattering paint everywhere, all over the page, releasing her fury into this mess. She was a failure! A terrible artist! So why not embrace it?

Finally, she stopped, and stared down at her horrible creation, feeling... hmmm.

Feeling better.

"Who's the artist now, Gabriella?" she said, grinning.

@Gabriella Haworth

Gabriella frowned as Rhea stubbornly stated that she wouldn't be calling her Gabby, and would instead stick to Gabriella. It wasn't that the Ravenclaw didn't like the name Gabriella - no, she was glad that her parents had chosen a pretty name for her - it would just save everyone a lot of time if they didn't use her long, four-syllable name each time. Ok, not a lot of time, but it was just easier to say Gabby. So Gabriella didn't mind it when Rhea said she would only use 'Gabriella', but she did find herself wondering why.

As the Ravenclaw guided Rhea with her painting, she noticed that Rhea might be feeling slightly uncomfortable with what Gabriella was telling her - but Gabby couldn't see the problem. Maybe she was being slightly condescending, that was a possibility, but if Rhea had a problem, she should be telling her, the Ravenclaw decided. Usually she wouldn't mind people not telling her what they thought, but Gabriella had to admit she found Rhea quite a difficult, uptight person, and while she really wanted to help the Gryffindor, it was hard when Rhea didn't communicate much. At least a smile, a 'thank you' would be nice...

Suddenly, as Gabriella continued to instruct the Gryffindor, a large splash of coloured water landed on Gabby's white t-shirt, creating a clearly visible stain. "Oh well," said Rhea, and Gabriella frowned again. Of course, the Ravenclaw was far too nice to say anything, but she could have at least said sorry...
"It's alright," Gabby said kindly, instead of vocalising her thoughts. "It's only water; it'll come out in the wash."

As Gabriella continued to instruct, she was pleased to see that Rhea was making progress - her teaching was actually working! She had watered her brush, which gave the background a much more watercolour, washed-over look, and her brushstrokes were long and precise.
After Rhea had finished the first layer, she began on the second - but this time, however, she didn't use long, sweeping strokes. Instead she began painting these funny little swirls and circles, that suddenly gave the painting a far more rushed, uneven look. "You probably want to carry on doing long strokes for now, before you add any detail," said Gabriella, but it was too late - Rhea would need to put in at least ten more coats of Gabby's paint for it to look natural again. Either that or use a different colour, but the Gryffindor would have to mix it for herself, Gabriella decided. After all, she did have her own picture to paint.

"Uh-" began Gabriella, as Rhea thrust her brush - without washing it - into a pot of deep red paint. Gabby flinched; now bits of blue floated among the pure, red shade. Horrified, the Ravenclaw watched as Rhea splattered red paint all over her paper, completely ruining everything she had done so far.

"Who's the artist now?" Rhea asked, a maniacal grin spreading across her pale face. Well, at least she's smiling, Gabby reasoned with herself. She leaned over and looked at the painting. It did give off a strange, compelling feeling, and Gabriella felt that if Rhea gave it a fancy title or a metaphor, it could go to a museum of abstract art. Not really the Ravenclaw's style, but abstract was a very appreciated style among many people.
"Abstract," she shrugged, hoping to sound genuine rather than condescending. "That is one way of doing it." She passed Rhea a sheet of her own paper - the Gryffindor's paper was, by this time, getting pretty soaked - and laid it out on the ground. "How about you paint the scene, but with less... less intricacy, this time?" Gabby wasn't sure where 'intricacy' came from, or whether she had used the word correctly, but she hoped Rhea wouldn't know what it meant either and assume she was smart. Like Gia had on the day they had first met, when Gabriella had happened to use the word 'extrapolate' properly. You can still paint the Hogwarts grounds, but allow it to be more fluid, more abstract. You don't need to add every tiny detail. Have you seen any of Picasso's paintings? Try it like that."

Absent-mindedly, Gabriella rolled up her sleeves and tied her sleek, black hair into a ponytail, before continuing with her own painting.

Word count: 732
@Rhea Miller