My 8 Year Old Has A Cold Sore

[Harry Potter] True colors

Title: True colors
Author: leireel
Beta: Kukiness
Summary: "Your beauty goes straight to the heart of those who can see. "
Wordcount: 992 (W)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters / Pairing: Fat Lady / New Character
Prompt: Breccia @ fuoco_dal_cielo
Genres: Introspective, Romance.
Rating: K
Notes: Um. Yes, I realize, a fiction on the Fat Lady is not exactly something you would expect, especially in a Fest. Ma .. er. Boh. I liked it, I think.
Written for the second week of F3.U.CK.S. Fest organized by fanfic_italia , thanks to the community fuoco_dal_cielo . And this time in advance, muahahahah.
names have been caught at random from the lexicon under the heading famous witches and wizards, in case you were wondering.
Disclaimer: The Fat Lady belongs in all its fat lobes to Rowling, blessed woman even if his name is all mine ghghgh * * Same thing goes for Thaddeus Nutcombe: exclusively the undersigned, then down the ruddy hands.

True colors

But I see your true colors shining through
I see your true colors, and that's why I love you So do not be afraid
Let Them
to show Your true colors are beautiful like the rainbow

Ophelia of Wenlock had never been better. Her features did not fit at all the canons of beauty of the time (nor, she believed, to the canons of ages past or future), its forms were too heavy to be attractive, or at least pleasing. The bad grace with which they move, laugh too open, the insolence with which he addressed his peers were all attributes that hardly would have gained the reputation of 'beauty'.
He began to suffer at the age of twelve, when, in frequent visits to the court magic London had the opportunity to see how the attention of young people present if they were moving very frequently on her friends, and never about her, the heart was broken when the page was in love that you had declared his undying love for Guinevere of Gorsemoor, but without her deigning a glance. In those days he wept for a long time before the mirror, wondering desperately why he could not be like other girls: beautiful, graceful, beloved.
By the time he had learned not to care. He was young, had a cheerful and lively, it was well-liked by parents and friends, also from what he had heard about the long prison love, arguments, jealousy, betrayal, had begun to consider not being loved - and not love in return - as a privilege that allowed her to not having to endure this harassment. He was young, healthy, well-liked by everyone who knew her: it was not pretty, and it made her suffer in silence, without any of the emotions he felt on his face emerged. He had developed an unhealthy aversion
However, for mirrors. In its rooms had been fully covered by heavy curtains of black velvet, and I could not stand the sight when he was in the private chambers of his mates. He did not need to look at her reflection in order to know the truth, to realize that he could never be loved by any man, he did not need, and we carefully avoided them, with a grimace of disgust on his face. For its part, their very existence was unnecessary.
No wonder, then, if the proposal to pose for a portrait she had found so distasteful. She was not beautiful and she knew she would not be immortalized by the pitiless strokes of an artist accustomed to very different kinds of women. She had tried to oppose the decisions his father hiding his fury under a cold shower, but the father was adamant, and had to resign themselves to the idea of having to see his ugly face that smiled at her every day until his death. That day, the first after many years, he cried again.

The portrait, a Nutcombe Thaddeus, had occurred in their villa the following week. He was quite young, with a hunched posture betraying the weariness of long sessions of painting and a look bright and attentive. He had a serenity of spirit that seemed to radiate from him to permeate the entire room, and Ophelia immediately hated him for that inner peace that showed off her with calm indifference.
The pose he had chosen for her, he had to admit, was not particularly difficult to maintain, however, be observed so long had the upper hand early on his lack of patience.
"Sir, I'm tired, I no longer no desire to continue in this pose. Return another day, please, "he snorted a half hour later.
Thaddeus had looked up from the canvas, clearly surprised, it was then paused to look at it for a long moment, then nodded with her serene smile, and she was discharged with the utmost courtesy. That evening, Ophelia had failed to think about is how it has dealt with a feeling that he had vaguely recognized as remorse.
The next day was reintroduced at the same time in front of their door, and the smile that had sent it as soon as he had seen was, if anything, even brighter than that of the day previous year. He continued his painting with greater concentration, without stopping for a moment, except to compliment you on how to redeem some of its pink complexion, Ophelia was blushing and had not responded.
Over time, the discomfort of being watched had slowly disappeared, but it was not until the Thaddeus announced that it had finally completed the painting that he realized that he did not want to give up his long glances, which seemed to digging the soul. Annoyed, he asked to see the portrait - the installation would not be stuck for few days before the final spell, and had felt the immediate urge to see how the painter had stopped her being in the canvas. He wanted to see the way he had seen her.
Look again its image was something shocking: her lips, her cheeks, everything seemed strange, yet familiar, like a memory blurred and confused. The line of the face was softer than I remembered, more gentle and sinuous, his mouth he could not remember a fold in his sensual pose, but then gave incredibly round face. But the eyes ... the eyes hypnotized. They had the perfect shade of bistro in the frescoes he had seen at court, and a seductive line that the blush would surely have done had it not been so mesmerized by what was behind. Those eyes had a light that she was sure they had never had live on his real face. They were the eyes of a person other than a happy person.
Thaddeus smiled, a warm and sincere smile that he had learned to love. And, for the first time, Ophelia felt loved.
'immortalize your beauty, my lady, is an impossible task, but if I have made my love for you immortal, it will be like to have preserved the memory. Your beauty goes straight to the hearts of those who can see. "
And, for the first time, Ophelia finally felt better .