verity || d.m.

07 - burning buildings

"Yes, the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I see."

"But it wasn't during the crossfire, or at least not in the end." Draco can feel his heart begin to gain speed as flashes of red and orange enter into his head again. He sets his hand down on the leg that has started to bounce up and down. "Are you going to tell me about your friends?"

"I am equally as bad as you are at remaining in touch with people, if not worse. There's the occasional owl from Astrid which never fails to remind me that I should be writing letters to everyone else too, and of course annual Christmas cards. We're pretty scattered throughout the continent though. Harper is in Spain, Paloma is on a suspiciously long trip around the Greek islands, and I honestly don't think anyone knows where Brielle is. She likes to disappear from time to time."

"Look at us, two well-educated magic folk who've somewhat become recluses, sitting on a muggle train together to go stare at paintings." Draco never would have believed it a few years ago, much less if someone had told him Anya would be the one accompanying him.

"We aren't just staring at paintings," she teases and gently kicks his shin, to which he feigns deep anguish. "We are going to let said paintings tell us stories, and I'm going to make sure you pay attention and listen."

"Well I must have lost my sense of hearing, because I don't ever recall hearing a piece of art utter a word."

"That's because you don't have the patience for it. Trust me, there's a lot more than what meets the eye." She opens her sketchbook back up and seems to examine a particular spot from various angles, switching off tilting her head and tilting the book.

"How is Viktor's sister doing? Alyona was her name, right?"

She whips her head up towards the top of the wall above Draco and quickly says, "This is our stop." Her sketchbook and charcoal go into her bag in a hurry, yet still in an organized fashion.

He raises his eyebrows slightly, lips pursing as she stands up even faster than she spoke or put her art supplies away. She squints as the blood rushes and she has to adjust, all while avoiding eye contact once again, despite staring so intently at him just a minute ago. It all happens within seconds, but Draco somehow finds his body following after her without his mind ever commanding it to do so.

—

From the way Anastasiya rapidly moves through the crowd, easily maneuvering through the exhibits, Draco reckons she is a regular patron to the National Gallery. They started off in the larger halls, which she explained were arranged by time period. She seems to have a distaste for the flocks, as she skips past a painting of water lilies and another of outstretched arms that has dozens of muggles clustered together in front, each pushing forth to take a photo.

She shows him some more grotesque paintings of severed heads on plates and men turning into monsters. The latter strikes Draco, his brows furrowing as he realizes there are still magical motifs that have made their way into muggle art.

The two finally settle into a small alcove, where a family of three is admiring the last painting in the circle before leaving them alone. The walls are painted a muted burgundy and a few small lights illuminate the pieces.

"This is my favorite muggle artist, J. M. W. Turner," she whispers as her eyes trace the first canvas.

"That's a mouthful of a name," He chuckles down at her.

He would have missed it if his focus was on anything else, but Anastasiya glances up at him for half a second, the faintest glimmer in her eye. "It's much less of a mouthful than Joseph Mallord William Turner, don't you think?"