Hermione Granger Drawings Novels & Stories

A scrapping of a chair breaks the deteriorating conversation across the dinner table, Athan moving his chair back and heading out to the hallway. “Athan what are you doing?” His mother calls out after him, her eyes flickering between Calian and me. “I’m…here…I made this earlier on.” He enters back into the room holding a folded piece of paper in his hands. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hand it to his father, or even his mother…but moves towards me, placing it out in front of me. “I drew this.” He looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to take it from him. I do, unfolding the paper to reveal a drawing of a female dressed in a black jumpsuit, a black cape…long lilac purple hair and glowing eyes

Grace, being Grace, knew something was happening anyway. She'd started drawing more. Filling notebook after notebook with pictures of our family—Emma and me, Grandpa Richard, Uncle Cas, the vampire guards she'd named and considered personal friends. She'd started arranging her block stables in defensive formations that she claimed were "just interesting architecture" but suspiciously resembled the tactical layouts she'd seen on the war room display when she'd sneaked in last year. She was five years old and she was preparing in the only way available to her. Making art about the people she loved. Building protective structures with blocks.

It was chained, sealed, forgotten. Moira walked toward him. “Heard who?” Emery looked up at her. His pupils were dilated, so wide she couldn’t see the color of his eyes anymore. “My mommy,” he whispered. Then he pressed the sketchbook into her hands. “I drew her again. But now she’s not alone.” Moira flipped the page. The drawing was almost the same—but this time, a second figure stood behind the woman. Larger. Almost featureless. Just a black outline with long fingers and a crown made of antlers.

He flipped one open, scanning the lines of text, but his eyes weren’t really reading. Every few moments, his gaze drifted toward the couch—toward her. And each time, he told himself it meant nothing. That it was just habit. Instinct. But his jaw tightened anyway. Elena knelt on the rug, watching Draco’s small hands move with careful concentration. He had drawn a house first—crooked but detailed, with a little chimney puffing smoke. Now he was adding people. “That’s you,” he said, pointing to a stick figure with long hair. “And that’s me.”

No wonder Killian couldn’t look me in the eye this morning. I reach for the sketch pad Elara left by the nightstand. My fingers tremble, but I grip the pencil like it’s my lifeline. I don’t even think, I just draw. Symbols. Circles. Eyes with fire spilling from them. A wolf with a shattered spine. A crown that burns. A clock with no hands. My hand stops only when I notice the paper trembling beneath my touch. Not from me. From the floor. A low vibration hums through the wood. Like a warning.

I said. They hesitated. “Alpha didn’t,” “*I did,*” I snapped. “Want to question me again?” They exchanged wary glances, then unlocked the gate and stepped aside, their obedience silent but reluctant. The door creaked open, the sound grating against the quiet. Hermoine was curled on the floor in a crumpled heap, her once-proud posture broken. Her hair was tangled, her dress wrinkled and stained from days in the filth, her face pale with frustration and bitterness. But her eyes,*her eyes still burned.*

Without a doubt, Harper was the only right woman for him and also for Heidi. Alex continued to stare at Heidi's drawings one by one until he stopped at the last picture on the far left. The picture shows a woman holding a baby. That's roughly what Alex could get from the image of the large lump the woman was holding. Then next to it there is a picture of a little girl holding the hand of an adult woman. The curve that Heidi drew on her mouth showed the happy expressions on everyone's faces drawn there. Alex then frowned when he found the names written under each picture. The name of the smiling adult woman is Harper, then the little girl with braided hair is Heidi, while the picture of the s

"You can look now, Ate Graziel." Graziel accepted the drawing with a warm smile. Three stick figures were drawn on the paper. One was a tall man. One was a little girl. And the last one was a woman with long hair. All three of them were holding hands. A gentle smile appeared on Graziel's face. "It's beautiful." "This is Daddy." Junie pointed at the tallest figure. "And this is me." Graziel nodded. "And this..." The little girl smiled brightly. "...is you."

"It did." She came home to Eli in the entrance with Gerald Junior. Standard configuration — frog container under one arm, observation notebook under the other, the specific waiting posture of a child who has something to show and has been managing his patience for the appropriate duration. He held out the notebook. Inside was the drawing — the one from Chapter 100, the facility with the five figures and the arrow labeled the future. She recognized it because she had put it in the drawer and he had apparently retrieved it. He had added something.