Fleur Delacour has spent her entire 18 years of life of searching. For what exactly is unknown. But there exists a fire within her that can only ever be tamed by her painting.
As a recent graduate of Beauxbaton's School of Magic, Fleur couldn't care less about Gamp's Law. All she's ever wanted, ever needed to was to paint. Her father, Sebastien, a man who's amassed a comfortable wealth promised her a gallery in return for actually graduating.
3 weeks she's been officially open and the gallery has a simultaneous feeling of emptiness and abundance. Walls are decorated with canvases of all sizes and filled with every hue imaginable. One area is filled with bold reds and oranges illuminating sunsets which reality could never create. Another holds almost photo like stills of Hogwarts, Beauxbaton's, and the Louvre. Fleur is merely proud of the failures she calls art pieces which have actually sold.
Peeking through a unassuming door in the back lies her studio. Already, paint flecks every surface. Bottles of paint are neatly organized in one corner contrasting to the canvases lay across the floor, hanging on easels, and across tables. This is the greatest external reflection of Fleur's self. A horrible, paint-filled mess lost in a sea of chaos in search of meaning. A constant strive for answers through the words she cannot say, expelled through her brush.
Immersed in another painting, this time of a hyper-realistic Diagon Alley, Fleur does not notice the man who walks into her space.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Fleur looks up to meet the green eyes of the stranger. And that flame, the one that never allows her to rest flares higher than ever before quelling to dull embers.
She must paint him.