Sunday Morning

James Potter let out a low groan. He could tell without opening his eyes that the sun was not shining brightly through the window as usual, and he could hear the soft tip-tapping of the rain on the window.

He opened his eyes slightly and turned his head to the right, where his wife slept. Her dark red hair was spread out over the pillow. Her right hand was over her heart, and her left was holding his right.

James slowly and quietly crept out of bed and down the stairs. The calendar on the wall told him that it was Sunday. In the kitchen, he took out a bowl and poured some sugary Muggle cereal into it. He had teased Lily when she bought the cereal, but he ate it every morning. After sitting alone in the kitchen listening to the rain, he tiptoed back upstairs. He had never been good at being alone; he was almost always surrounded by a multitude of friends.

Eventually, James found himself sitting at the small, round table for two next to the window in the bedroom. He watched the rain as he chewed slowly. The drops were blowing forcefully against the window and then slowly streaming down the pane, leaving little paths behind them. It seemed like they all knew where they were going. He turned back to watch Lily, and after a few moments he quietly set down his bowl and went to the spare bedroom.

James grabbed his easel, some canvas, his palette and paints, and his favorite pencil. He silently carried them back to the master bedroom and set them up. He spent about five minutes moving around the room looking at his subject through the little box he formed with his fingers, as if seeing his final picture on canvas. Then, he shifted between which view to paint. Ultimately, he chose a spot mere feet away from where he had been eating. James quietly dragged the director's chair from the corner of the room in front of his easel. James couldn't helps smiling amusedly: Lily had charmed the chair to say 'arrogant berk' on the back.

And he began to sketch.

First, he sketched her hair, radiating from her head like a scarlet fan. Then he did her eyes. He wished they were open so he could paint them with emerald green, his favorite color, but continued anyway. Her nose was next, then her mouth, set in a faint smile. On to her chin, neck, and upper torso. The bed linens covered the rest. Soon he had sketched the bed and everything else in the room

Now on to the paints, his favorite part...

James opened the wooden case and ran his hands over the paints, cool and smooth. He paused at a tube labeled 'crimson.' After squirting some of the paint on the palette, he painted Lily's hair. He moved on to paint the rest of her and the room in the same order he had drawn them.

Finally, it was finished.

James signed--or rather, scribbled--his name in the bottom right hand corner, making sure his J was extra loopy. He put his supplies back in the spare bedroom. When he returned to the master bedroom, he propped the painting up on the table so Lily could see it when she woke up. He then climbed back into bed.

His sudden movement must have awakened Lily because she turned her head to face him. "What is it?" She questioned groggily, her left hand reaching for his right.

He gave her a small smile and grabbed her hand. He entwined his fingers with hers and rubbed his thumb over her hand affectionately. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

She nodded with a tired smile and turned away from him again. This time her hand came to rest on her pregnant belly.