Novel & Cerita Sketchbook Harry Potter

’ I tell Finn. With a surge of determination, I crushed the steel lock in my grip. The drawer creaked open, and inside lay a single book. I picked it, as I turned the pages. My breath hitched in my throat and my eyes burned with anger at what I found. It was sketches—of Emily. Page after page, after page, her face filled the papers, accompanied by what appeared to be her white wolf with a mark of the moon goddess on her forehead. What kind of obsession was this?

“I’m tired, Haruki. But the exhaustion only hit me... after I stopped running.” “I know.” Haruki’s voice was almost a whisper. “And you don’t need to run tonight.” The room fell into silence. Outside, the rain seemed to know just when to hush. Evelyn glanced at the bookshelf beside her and let out a small laugh. “Is this… the 2014 sketchbook? You still kept my first design?” Haruki nodded. “The one you drew in the corner of a café—with a dull pencil.” “The one that bled ink onto the table?” Evelyn chuckled.

he said simply, and held them out to me. I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. I took the supplies with shaking hands and sank into the oversized armchair near the bed, bracing the sketchpad on my knees. The pencil flew across the page like it had a mind of its own. Every movement was sharp with memory. The cover—aged leather, cracked and rough, drawn in long strokes. The spine thick, ancient-looking. On the front, I etched symbols that shimmered in my mind’s eye—runes that glowed faintly in my memory, drawn from the hazy edges of my last vision.

Her beautiful, wild silver hair spills over several pieces of parchment. I reach out, my fingers sliding one of the sheets from beneath her forearm. It is a sketch of a sleek, aerodynamic shoulder pad for a professional hockey player, but she has modified the collar to fit the heavy, thick neck of a shifted wolf. The lines are precise, sharp, and dripping with raw talent.

I sketch everything except people because I'm simply terrible at drawing people no matter how hard I try. Lately, I've been obsessed with all kinds of glorious animals like rare breeds of white tigers. However, they are not the type I am talking about, what piqued my interest were the wolves. They are the things that fill my mind and my sketchbook - half the book is filled with sketches and doodles of them. I don't know why, but maybe because I've read too many novels involving werewolves, vampires, witches, and all those supernatural creatures - I blame Athena because she forced me must read all of them, although I have to admit that half of the books she recommends are very good.

Maven was busy, Eryx wasn't an option so I had to stick with Aiden. We got the groceries we needed and proceeded to the counter then I remembered I needed a new sketch book and a set of pencils. "You can go ahead with the payment. I forgot something," I told Aiden. "Okay," he replied. I went back to the art section. Scanning through the shelves, my fingers trailing over the different art tools, I found a sketch book with a striking blue hard cover that drew me to pick it up. As I admired it, my eyes caught a male figure at the opposite side of the shelf. His facial side view looked a bit familiar. My intuition was right the moment he turned his face.

I sketched that at least a couple of weeks before Orlando got the call about his father. "Oh, I must see the others," Charles says. "I'd love it if you could send them to me." "I actually have my sketchbook right here," I admit, tentatively reaching into my bag. "But I'll warn you again - they're nothing special. Just little things I did for fun." I flip through my notebook until I find one of my other pictures of Orlando. I didn't know how to draw him as a sexy alpha wolf, so instead, I sketched him morphing from a man into a half-man, half-wolf, werecreature.

That sketchbook was my private book. It was a diary of my obsession. Page after page of a naked man, not just any man. It was a rough sketch of Mr Chadwick's naked body. I had never seen him naked before I just imagined it while he teaches in class and then I draw them. I honestly hoped he doesn't realize it. Chadwick closed it with a sharp thud. He sighed heavily and let out a dry, rattling laugh. He leaned down, his hands gripping tight on my chair, trapping me.

Carefully I took out the sketchbook to see the content of it. I went towards the balcony and flipped the pages. The first few pages had nothing specific in it. They looked like her futile attempts to draw something as she had tried to draw something but had covered half of the page with black paint as if she was having trouble painting whatever she wanted to. After around 10-12 pages I saw a sketch that had left me horrified. The sketch was beautiful, yet scary at the same time. It was a sketch of a girl trapped in a cage. She had depicted it so beautifully but the question was why did she draw something like that?

She saw the various pictures of what he did. Arosh was flabbergasted at what she found out, on the grounds that she recently dated that the two of them love human expression. She figured she and Harry would get along, at some point. "Concerning you, do you have an image of your drawings on your telephone?" Harry inquired. Arosh scratched her head prior to replying, "Ah, nothing. I don't picture my works. My drawings are on my sketchpad." "That's what ok is along these lines, well later, satisfy showing it to me."