Toodles to Doodles by Elpeciss
Chapter Notes: This is my first fanfic, so if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please throw them my way by way of reviews and whatnot.
Hermione Granger sat in Professor Binns’ class staring out the window. It was a beautifully sunny autumn day, with birds chirping and a slight breeze swaying the leaves of the trees outside. Hogwarts castle had been very quiet the last two months; barely half of the students had returned to school, their parents bidding them to stay home for fear of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The discovery of the Dark Lord’s return in the Department of Mysteries the previous year had taken a toll on the entire wizarding community. Yet even with the awareness of the threat of the Dark Lord and with the absence of so many students, the inhabitants of Hogwarts found the school’s processions more calm and laid back. Not wanting to add any more stress onto the students, the professors had taken the lessons to a slower pace and assigned less homework.
This had left Hermione with more than enough time to complete her daily assignments. Done with everything and not knowing what else to do, she had read ahead in all her classes. So naturally, being the know-it-all she is, the class lectures began to become repetitive. She tried many times to take notes, and once in a while she did manage to gather snippets of new information, but most of the time she found she wasn’t learning anything new in her classes. She had also tried many times to not read ahead so that she’d have something new to learn in class, but the truth was, it was all just so interesting…
And so Hermione sat, staring out the window, and it was only reluctantly that she forced her eyes away from the open window and turned to stare at the ghost of a professor and his droning.
She looked around the classroom: most of the students were glaring at Professor Binns, sleeping with their faces to the ceiling, or staring out the window absentmindedly. Harry was slowly flipping through the pages of his History of Magic textbook, not really seeing the text printed on them. Ron was slumped over in his desk, his face smashed on the closed cover of his textbook in front of him, his mouth wide open and drool gathering at the corner of his mouth.
Hermione looked back down at her desk with her open textbook and blank parchment bearing the date and today’s subject of notes. Nothing new today; she’d read it already the night before. She glanced at her watch. An hour left to go. Bored out of her skull, she picked up her quill and began to doodle.
* * *
“You know, Hermione,” Harry said as the trio exited the classroom and began to walk towards their next class, Charms. “I think you’re starting to let Professor Binns get to you. I’ve noticed that you haven’t been taking notes for a while.”
“What!” Ron jerked a little for he had been walking in a slight trance in between them. “Well, then who’s going to give me their notes to copy now?”
“Oh, Ron. If you hadn’t been so busy in dreamland, then you wouldn’t have this problem!”
“Yeah, but that’s because I’m allowed to sleep in class! You’re not! You are the notes provider, I’m not.” Ron finished with a defiant air.
“Hey, what were you doing if you weren’t taking notes? I saw you writing on your parchment, but it didn’t look like notes to me.” Harry looked at the slightly pink Hermione curiously.
Hermione didn’t answer.
It’s not that she wasn’t ashamed of it. It was just that what she had produced so randomly and without barely thinking about it that surprised her immensely. She had never thought herself to be artistic in any way.
No, that was a lie, she thought to herself. She was ashamed, Hermione had to admit. Ashamed of letting herself go and do something completely not her, all because of a moment’s boredom. Yes, she knew it all already, but since when did she let that prevent her from listening in rapt attention to her professor as she scratched on her parchment hurriedly?
In the back of the Charms classroom, Hermione pulled out her textbook, quill, and parchment, and there, amidst geometric shapes and patterns was an extremely detailed sketch of a small bird.
***
That night, Hermione spent half an hour looking over her doodles of the day. Besides the bird in History of Magic, Hermione had sketched a Snitch in Charms and Crookshanks in Transfiguration. It had taken a while for the disbelief and wonder to subside. She simply didn’t understand. How could she all of the sudden picked up a quill and drew these things, free hand, so perfect and so detailed, without ever doing so before in her life? When she was a child, she had drawn mountains and houses for fun, but they had looked no better than the average child’s drawings. Where was this talent all this time? Why hadn’t she ever tried drawing before? If she’d had a knack for it, she’d probably be painting portraits right now. But yet now, years after her childhood drawings, she had taken up the talent so quickly, it just didn’t seem possible.
Her doodles laying flat on the bed, Hermione sat cross-legged pondering this new discovery. She felt a pang of guilt as she admired her drawings. It just felt so wrong. Hermione wasn’t an artist, she was a student. A student of magic. She read books and studied and filled her head with knowledge. She hung out with her friends and she helped them and supported them in every way she could; but let them a firm hand and a word of caution when they needed it. She loved to learn, not to draw. For Hermione, enjoying drawing was like enjoying Quidditch; simply impossible. Wrong.
But it felt right. For some reason this felt right. There was so much to discover in life, and apparently there were still things she was discovering about herself. These doodles seemed to be coming from nowhere, but Hermione that they must have been coming from somewhere. At that moment, Hermione decided to take this newfound artistic talent further and discover its roots.
***
It was breakfast a week later and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting with Ginny and Neville in the Great Hall. They were the only ones left in Gryffindor that Hermione knew. It was rather strange seeing half of the Great Hall missing, but when she was truthful with herself, she found she enjoyed the peace more.
And so now she sat, awaiting an order she had placed at a small artist’s shop in Diagon Alley, and here it had come. Swooping toward her came a barn owl, dropping a package into Hermione’s outstretched arms.
“What’s that?” asked Ginny at her side.
“I’m not so sure…” Hermione hesitated. She knew very well what it was, but decided it was better not to tell anyone, not even Ginny.
“Well then, open it,” Harry suggested, glancing at Ginny quickly before turning his gaze on the mysterious package.
Ron apparently hadn’t noticed anything. He was stuffing his face vigorously with scrambled eggs and toast.
That night, alone in her dormitory, Hermione opened the package she had received that morning. The brown wrapping paper revealed an artist’s painting set, complete with canvas, drawing and coloring utensils, all sorts of brushes, and paints of every color you could imagine.