Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

Picture Perfect (Dennis Creevey)

"Fancy seeing you here," he said when he was within earshot.

"I can't seem to get rid of you," I teased, finally clambering off the doorstep and joining him on the pavement.

"It's a small world." Dennis glanced at the sign of the shop I'd just left before asking, "Can I walk you somewhere?"

"And I need you to walk me why?" Elbowing him to soften the blow of my words, I started to walk, knowing he would follow me. "I'm plenty capable of walking myself."

"I just thought you'd want some company." Shrugging, he explained, "I remembered that when you're working you can lock yourself away for hours at a time. Who knows, this might be the only real human interaction you have all day."

It was – but I wasn't going to tell him that.

"I'm not as bad as I used to be," I insisted as we turned the corner. "If you're planning on walking me, then you can join me on my way to my studio. It's 5 minutes away."

"Your studio?" There was something in his tone that had me looking toward him. He looked at me, brows raised teasingly, "Am I being granted the privilege of being allowed into your studio? Really? You used to hex us if we tried to get a peek at your work in progress."

"At least you know how big a privilege it is that you're being allowed in." Before he could run his smart mouth again, I quickly walked the rest of the way to the building my studio was located.

Pulling my set of keys from my pocket, I unlocked the front door, holding it open for him. Then, we walked past the lift and prepared to climb the four flights of stairs – unwilling to risk our magic reacting with the lift in some way. Taking the stairs one at a time, I listened to Dennis as he filled the silence with mindless chatter about what he'd done today.

Finally reaching my studio, I unlocked the door and headed inside. I left the door open for him to enter. But I made it a short way in before realising that he hadn't followed me. Rather, he continued to stand in the doorway, his eyes searching mine out in a silent question of whether it really was alright for him to come in. He of all people knew how much of myself I could put into my work. Dennis would never know it, but I was grateful for the respect he continued to show me – to some they were just paintings but he at least understood.

"Come in," I said reassuringly, nodding and beckoning him in.

At last, he walked inside, glancing around the room to see the number of half-completed canvases that I had thrown around the place. He approached one of the unfinished paintings, squatting down beside it to get a good look at it. I left him to his silent perusal and finally set my bag of new supplies down. Uncovering the newest painting I was working on; I took a few steps back and studied it from a distance. I only looked up when I heard his Dennis clear his throat as he approached me.

"Why are you getting rid of them?" he asked, gesturing toward the abandoned paintings.

"I'm not sure, there's just something off about them." Shrugging, I muttered, "I probably won't get rid of them; I've spent too long working on them."

"Hmm."

Unable to interpret what the 'hmm' meant, I turned to look at him, "What were you doing in the Wizarding World on the night of my exhibition? The last I heard; you were done with the Wizarding World?"

"I'm doing what you're doing – hopping back and forth between both. But I didn't go back – not for a long time. I just needed the time away."

"I get it," I assured him, trying to get him to understand that he didn't need to talk about it. Not if he didn't want to.