Atticus woke up late that day,  the weekends caused him to spend more time in bed and out of the public eye. Rolling out of bed he landed limply onto the floor. His roommates had all scattered before he opened his eyes. So it seemed was on his own again for the day, no complaints he rather enjoyed it.

He finished washing up and dressing by lacing up his leather boots. Fixing a hat on his wet hair he sighed knowing it wasn't going to get any better than it already was. Grabbing his sketch pad, quill, and some extra ink he headed down to grab something to eat before wandering to a familiar empty classroom for a day of random sketching.

The hallway was empty and quiet. All he could hear was his boots clapping against the floorboards. Most people were outside during the day and he really couldn't blame them. Anyone with half a brain and a desire for social activity would be outside. Hence why Atticus found his way to an open room filled with the scent of old books and aged wooden panels.

Slipping inside he proceeded to sit down on the floor. Laying out his sketch pad, Atticus pulled some of the older pictures he was working on out. There were some things he needed to edit and touch up before he filed it away at the bottom of his trunk. The sound of a distant clock ticking down caused him to relax into an almost trance like state. The quill proceeded to scratch away rhythmically.

No homework today. Okay there was a pile of it that was nagging at Delilah’s conscience, but she would avoid it all day if she could. It wasn’t due for a few days so there was no need to rush. She could push it back some more, plus homework was no fun. Defy the authority figures! That was what she had to think. Annoy them with your lack of homework focus. Delilah had yet to not hand in an assignment all together so she didn’t exactly think they thought she did nothing at all. Delilah could perform better if she tried though.

It was the weekend and she was going to enjoy it. So with her bag slung over her shoulder holding some snacks and book she was headed off to find a classroom to sit in. Tucked deep in her bag were a pair of ballet slippers if the mood struck her. She was so rusty and she was sure her mother was not going to be exactly impressed with her skills when she came home. Delilah could see the look and hear the tone, she was even sure Dagan knew that look and tone. He expected it too because he had asked about her practicing the other day. He even gave her that look that said ‘mom won’t be pleased.’

Going home was not looking good with the state of her ballet skills, not to mention she would be losing her Sunday morning sleep in for church. That thought made her want to enjoy tomorrow morning’s sleep in even more. As these thought walked through her mind she started to hum Clair De Lune in her head. She found a classroom on the fourth floor she thought would be out of the way and opened the door. She continued to hum the song as she entered the room with closed eyes and did a little spin and gracefully placed her hand on the door facing it. She pushed it closed and heard the latch sound over her humming.

She dropped her bag on the floor and started to move backward and was going to do a dance move just for the sake of it, considering no one was in the room. Or so she thought because the next moment she was hitting something hard and falling backward. Her eyes went open wide as her arms started to flail. “Jesus Christ!” Her father would hate to know she took the Lord’s name in vain but right now she didn’t care because she was taking a very ungraceful fall to the ground. Actually she never met the ground completely as she was now on top of what she had fallen over, or rather who.

“Oh Jesus Mary.” She said as she tried to move off him. “I am sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” A blush rushed over her skin. She hated how easily she blushed it was because her skin was so darn sensitive.

Listening to the scratching as he worked on the eyes of the person who dogged his mind as of late he heard nothing. Not the ticking, the moving of the latch and certainly no humming. His head was filled with thoughts of the awkward glances he stole while in his classes with the girl with the brown hair. Maybe it was her features that triggered the pathological need to create or that she didn't blather on like the other useless weasels in school.

It was her quiet drew him in almost to drown him. There was no raft to keep him a float. Only those eyes that haunted him when he was in class. He tried to stop for a long time he stared at dots in the classroom but his need to go back and memorize the curves of her features and the flaws that made her so human only fed his sick need to watch more.

It was sick, he was sure of it. He didn't always have to do this when he was struck by someone. But she wasn't a usual subject of fixation. This was not a typical picture either. It was only a pair of eyes and a few strands of hair. It was recognizable to him and maybe anyone else who cared to really look and piece the two together.

Zoned in on his work he had no clue he played a speed bump to someone entering. "Bloody hell!" When she started spouting off at the mouth he froze. His eyes inched up to see who it was. There was no effort to hide his picture or the others spread out on the floor all he could do was stare wide eyed. It took a few minutes of silence before he broke the stare and shot his eyes to the floor.

"Well there is" his voice was gruff but he felt like the aire was being sucked out of the room. How could she show up in the very room he was trying to expel her vision from his thoughts in.

Delilah was horrified and stunned that she had actually fallen onto someone. As she finally completely moved from the boy she let his face register in his mind. Atticus, yes she knew him by name but had never really spoken to him. He was the boy she saw watching her, well she had convinced herself that he was looking passed her but it was that boy. She had mentioned it only slightly to a friend but they both figured he was just looking passed her. Of course now he looked utterly shell shocked, probably because she had fallen on him.

“Yes obviously there is,” she said back with a bit of a tone to her voice. She was not an idiot she could feel someone when she fell on them. She shook her head some of her hair falling into her face as she finally looked down to see what her hand was on. It was a picture a really good picture of a really nice landscape. She picked it up and looked at it but what was underneath caught her attention more. There was no way to deny it, that was a picture of her. In class it looked like, the way she sat slightly slouched in the chair trying to hide from the Professors eyes when she had not completed all the reading. It was so detailed it was so her, he had really captured her in the way she pictured she looked.

When she moved the piece of paper aside she found another picture of her underneath. As much as she was flattered she was also royally creeped out. So he did watch her and he drew her. Funny thing was she never remembered him drawing when she saw him stare. The whole thing was kind of making her nervous and a tad self-conscious.

“Why do you draw me?” She said looking up at him. “I um,” she paused for a moment to think of what to say. She was actually at a loss for words. Nervously she rubbed the back of her neck and chewed her lower lip and then let it loose repeating this a few times.

For the love of Merlin and all that was sacred why was it her? Of all the ruddy people in this freaking school he had to have the one person with eyes that taunt him practically body slam him into an empty classroom floor. She was there staring at him the way he stared back as if the other had two heads.

When she asked him why he drew her he felt his throat go dry, "I don't" he replied trying to pick up the pictures she was now eying. The last thing he wanted was another reason for people to label him a freak. It wasn't like he gave a damn what they thought but hearing them whisper about him as he passed.

"I don't draw you, I draw people and things... that cross my field of vision" His light green eyes never met hers as his denial was transparent. Of all the times for him to feel weird this would be the one that stood out the most. Generally Atticus could shake off the feelings of nausea that hit him when he was caught gawking where he shouldn't be.

She couldn't know that he studied her and copied it later. That his memory knew the curves of her face better than most of his school books. That might come off as odd considering this is the most they have spoken, um... ever.

Delilah looked at him confused, but here eyes were just watching him not really showing the true confusion and worry she felt. She was flattered she was but she was a little concerned. It was like finding out someone was stalking you or something. He had drawn pictures of her that were so detailed in her features it was like he knew everything about the way she looked. She doubted she could ask any guy about certain features on her face and have them know. She wondered if George could even recall the colour of her eyes and she knew for a fact if she asked Atticus what colours hers were he would be able to tell her.

“You obviously do draw me. There are a few pictures there, and you are drawing one right now.” She pointed down to the one he had been working on. Why didn’t he just admit it? “It is flattering just a little odd. Like I thought you stared but I didn’t think this.” Well she had always told herself he didn’t stare but now it was painfully obvious that he did.

“You don’t even know me.” They had not talked before this so that is what made this entire meeting so awkward. “I can prove that you know draw me. What colour are my eyes?” She said as she closed them quickly and wondered if he would say anything but the light shade of blue they were. She was sure he knew but he could always say something else. Her eyes weren’t completely blue either but that was what she always said anyway.

Stalking was such a strong word. He preferred watching from a distance which was what he did. There was no point where he followed her. She just happened to be around a lot. Delilah was in his classrooms, in the Great Hall, and when he was outside she passed him frequently. She caught his eye in the beginning of the school year, though he was sure she had always been around he never noticed her like he did that year. That was what triggered his infatuation, just one close up look in her eyes and it was done.

Funny how the object of ones obsession, even if just for sketching and drawing purposes, were so easy to spot in a hall jammed with people. He could be in Hogsmeade minding his own business walking with Nicola or having Ava drag him off somewhere and Delilah would pass his eyes gazed and his mouth would go dry. Like he was forgetting to do something. "I know I don't know you..." They weren't even in the same house it made no sense.

"They're not just one color" he replied quickly without thinking. "They are a mixture of light blue and a hint of green" the sound was so foreign to anything he meant to say out loud. Why the hell was he validating his stupid obsession with drawing her. He kept his eyes down before he looked up to see her eyes were closed.

Not just one colour? She knew he knew and she was sure if she asked any boy they would say something silly like brown. She looked up at Atticus and raised an eyebrow as she finally opened her eyes. He was looking at her again, which was a change from where his eyes had been. His eyes had been on the floor since she confronted him and Delilah felt a little strange for missing the fact he wasn’t focusing on her. It was polite to look at someone when they were talking to you.

“See I knew you knew,” she said softly looking at him a little lost for words again. She felt completely out of place but also on show at the same time. What was so fascinating about her? Delilah thought she was rather plain and simple looking. She didn’t do much in the ways of make up but some lip-gloss and eye shadow now and then. What made her so worthy of drawing?

Delilah moved reaching passed him for her bag that she had placed on the ground before the unfortunate tumble. Her eyes locked on Atticus’ for the moment as she pulled her bag towards her. In the process she successfully dumped the contents onto the ground. Her bag of sweets tumbled to the ground, followed by her book she was reading, Frankenstein her bookmark moving from the pages. The last thing to drop was one ballet shoe, the wood in the toe making a loud sound against the ground to fill the quiet air. The other shoe was still safely caught in the bag as she pulled it towards her chest.

“Crap,” she grumbled as she reached out to pick up the bag of sweets first and shoved it in her bag and then going for her ballet shoe.

A simple, 'who bloody cares what color they are' might have gotten him out of this mess. No, he had to be specific and inform her exactly what color he knew they were. Why for once when his silence and sarcasm was needed did it fail him? A critical moment mussed up by his stupid need to tell her, yes her, the truth.

Damn those eyes. "Alright so you were right... it doesn't prove anything. I just know the difference in colors." Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt.

Lip gloss and makeup had little to do with the pull. It was everything from the way she sat and the way she behaved to her features. One didn't have to have the sight of a skilled sculptor or painter to see the features she held. He had a muse or two but she was the one that occupied him mostly.

When her bag tumbled he caught himself moving to help pick the things up studying them as she scooped them up. It was between the book, the candy and the unexpected wooden shoe that dropped that caused him to tilt his head looking at her like she made him even more curious.

"What in the hell is with the wooden shoe? Are you dutch?" His words slipped out and he decided not to try and get them back.

“Yeah right, most boys wouldn’t be able to tell me the colour of my eyes.” Delilah ust looked at him for a moment. She was currently more worried about getting her things back into her bag. Not many people, if any other than Dagan, knew about her ballet dancing. She wasn’t even sure if she had told George about that during that time of their closeness.

“It isn’t all wood!” She said as she tapped the toe onto the ground. “If it were then it could be a clog.” Delilah rolled her eyes as she shoved it back into her bag rolling up the ribbon and shoving it in afterwards. Picking up her book she carefully placed it in her bag, which she clutched to her lap. “It is a ballet shoe.” Delilah spoke weakly, “I take ballet from my mother and she gets mad if I don’t practice a little over the school year.” Why her mother was so set on ballet she wasn’t even sure. Delilah much preferred football to ballet, and she was never going to be a professional ballerina like her mother.

“Now you know an embarrassing fact about me.” She gave him a forced smile. “You know I take ballet, and I know you draw me another people.” Delilah was not quite aware of the affect she had on Atticus. If she did she would probably just kiss him to see his reaction. Lucky for the awkward situation she didn’t know the extent of what she did to him.

Scoffing slightly he waved it off, "If they paid attention they would know what color," he muttered still annoyed with the way the day had panned out. Pulling out his pictures from the message bag he stuffed them in he hopped onto a desk and took a seat. Atticus proceeded to adjust the paper trying to flatten the ends of it. The damn things were nearly ruined just by being caught by the subject he had been drawing.

Counting his small blessings that Nicola wasn't there to witness the humiliation, Atticus figured when he told her about it later he could at least make it sound like he was less of a lump on the floor in the story. Ah yes there would be a whole lot of laughter when the night was through and he could get Nicola to see that really he was the victim in it all. It's not like he asked her to show up, or worse yet to question him unmercifully about his reasoning.

"Clogs, wooden ballet shoes... isn't it all for dancing anyway? I don't honestly see the difference," yeah there wasn't much chance of him saving face. "Yes, so I draw other people it's not like that's a problem. I have it under control," lies. But still it was his nature to recreate, he enjoyed it. While others played quidditch or went to charms club he sat in solitude and drew pictures. Someday he would make that his career and then who will be laughing?

Probably other people still, but that didn't matter. Oliver always thought his brother's habits were a bit off, but he figured Atticus would grow out of it. When he didn't he just split off a bit and got a life of his own while his brother continued to perfect things in private.

"Okay so your mum makes you dance about in ridiculous costumes while wearing clogs, I suppose drawing other people isn't as off putting as I thought." It was a slight attempt at humor in an awkward situation. If she kissed him he might very well jump out of a bloody window for the shock of it. Most people if they were subjects to his drawings had little contact with him unless he knew them well enough to let it be known. This was not one of those instances.

“Well they don’t pay attention,” she mumbled under her breath. Atticus Pennyapple was strange, very strange. Delilah just started getting back up to her feet and flattening out her outfit a bit. She might as well try to look presentable, and save face after the less then graceful fall. Of course she had the intention of leaving soon anyway to leave this weird classmate up to his strange activities.

“It isn’t the same at all,” she paused and mumbled whatever under her breath and looked at Atticus. “If you say you have it under control then you have it under control.” How come she didn’t believe him? He was obsessively drawing her and that was just weird. Whether he was actually drawing her that much other than the few pictures he had here it didn’t matter but she was sure he was obsessed with drawing her now.

“Right,” she said awkwardly, “Thanks for the insult.” Delilah rolled her eyes. “They aren’t clogs and I don’t wear a costume.” It was obvious he didn’t care nor would he ever attempt to understand. Delilah took a step backward towards the door she definitely felt this was something she needed to talk out with Waker about.

Atticus shrugged as he heard her get all stuffy with him. Well that tore it just fine. He didn't need to be tripped over, laid on, and bloody insulted. Grabbing the pictures he shoved them back in his bag. "I'll be sure to get rid of these when I get back to my dormitory."

Checking his boots to make sure he wouldn't trip over his laces as he darted out of the room he broke away from the conversation to the doorway. "So I suppose this is goodbye. You won't have to worry about me watching anymore," his voice was bitter. To lose a muse like that so suddenly was not what he was expecting.

Moving to the hallway he turned heel and walked up the corridor steam practically flowing from his ears. If he has ever been this angry before he can't exactly remember when. 

The heat flowed up his neck and he was certain it would stay that way for a while as he went through his sketch books pulling out old pictures and tossing them in the bottom of his trunk. That was his task for the evening, to remove his anger and find something new to occupy his time. "Stupid clogs" he muttered some more as he walked away.