#make up week

It was always the same thing when Harry Potter came to the Ministry of Magic.

Always.

Witches would rush to wherever he was going to be, whispering spells under their breaths or not to make their hair shinier or correct their make-up.

Wizards would find any reason to be in his way, to snap a picture with him, to proudly display such photo on Wizbook or InstaMagic for the world to see.

Katniss Everdeen only sighed at their behaviour. Of course she knew what Harry Potter had gone through to free the Wizarding World of Voldemort’s hold, all the sacrifices it had meant for him and his family, the losses, the pain, the desperation.

She was totally aware of all that, felt grateful for what he’d done, but couldn’t understand why witches would fan themselves at the mere sight of him, or would ramble for days because they thought he had looked at them.

The word had spread earlier that the Chosen One would be coming to the US Ministry of Magic around ten that morning, since then everyone was rushing around like bees in a beehive.

The only good thing was that there was much less people walking towards the Department of Muggle Arts towards where Katniss was heading.

She quickly checked her appearance in one of the windows that turned glass at her spell.

“You’re back again? Sure it’s for the art or for the art keeper?”

Katniss turned, scowling at the portrait of Sir Charles of Bethren that apparently couldn’t help commenting on her visits.

“I didn’t know there was a limited amount of time I could come around, Sir Charles.”

“There isn’t, young girl. You’re the one coming the most, though.”

“Well, maybe twice a month, that doesn’t make it a lot.”

“Twice a month? Well, perhaps you should start counting, my dear.”

With a wink, Sir Charles went back to the banquet in the background of the painting, yet his laugh remained.

“Damn paintings” she hissed, as she walked towards the door.

She liked this? room. Full of all kinds of Muggle things, from paintings of well known artists to things as mundane as a comb or even an old fishing boot. She liked walking around ?with these objects, the testament of a pre-witch life, when she didn’t know magic existed. 

“Miss Everdeen!” A deep voice cuts into her thoughts, bringing her back into the old room. 

“Good morning, Mr Mellark.” She answered, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to come to her lips. 

NP There was something to this man that always felt … comforting. Even back in their days in Panem’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was something to Peeta that made him likable. 

She could remember their early days in the wizard’s school. Peeta was the third Mellark son to attend Panem, coming with the reputation of solid Quidditch player, of pranksters, of heartbreakers.

Peeta was different from the first day. He wasn’t cocky as his brothers, spent a lot of time in the library, excelled in their different subjects. He tried every year for the Quidditch team, never to be picked.

Most of all, he wasn’t sorted into Fortius House like all of his family before, going instead into Altius, sharing most of his lessons with Katniss and her fellow students of Fidelius. Katniss remembered him as a kind, helping and sharing boy, always there for everyone, always smiling.

Untilit was time to go home. The Mellarks only went home for the Summer holidays, always with a sad look on their faces, a contrast to the dozens of smiles from the rest of their classes.

Katniss still remembered how he had aced all the tests, earning Outstanding marks in both their OWLs and NEWTs, how he finished at the top of their year class every single time. Professor Icarus, their Defense Against the Dark Arts absolutely wanted Peeta to train as an Auror - he always declined. There was nothing he loved more than old books or paintings.

It wasn’t a surprise to Katniss that in the course of five years, Peeta Mellark became the youngest curator of the Department of Muggle Arts, turning it into a museum and a research center.

“Katniss, please, we were in class together. Call me Peeta.” He said. 

“I know, but Mr Abernathy is adamant that I call you Mr Mellark…” She replied, as usual.

Peeta smiled as he took off his glasses to clean them, a gesture Katniss knew he did when he needed to think. How many times did she witness him doing so while at school or here at the Ministry?

Which prompted her to immediately wonder How long did I spend watching him clean his glasses exactly to be able to know he uses theis move as a way to think ?

Too long, apparently. What Katniss pretended not to notice was the amount of time she had spent watching Peeta Mellark, or being nearby Peeta Mellark.

Some days, she found herself daydreaming about a future that would never happen. How could someone like him be attracted to someone like her ?

Their relationship was based on work, and work alone. She just had to convince her brain of that.

“Then let’s do this, Katniss, when it’s the two of us, you’ll call me Peeta. If the old Haymitch is around, you’ll go with Mr Mellark. Would this work?” He asked.

She smiled her answer.“It could work, I think.”